Incredible client testimonial of a client going through a very significant aluminum elimination and how his symptoms of depersonalization have shifted as a result of this elimination. Amazing stuff. Mineral balancing does this.

Musical talent indicates genetic fitness and cognitive flexibility. Even pursuing or maintaining an artistic craft can boost one's energy and, consequently, IQ (Criscuolo et al., 2019). Peat observed that playing music or singing activates the brain in ways similar to speech, yet without the social inhibitions and defensive tensions that so often paralyze verbal discourse. This absence of social pressure lends music its restorative power. It offers an avenue of expression that bypasses armoring, as Peat pointed out that those who struggle with severe stuttering in speech typically find their fluency restored when they sing. As many of you know by now, birds maintain the highest metabolic rates of any vertebrates, generating the immense energy required for powered flight and migration. This heightened cellular metabolism and fine neural differentiation have equipped them with an efficient respiratory system and a dense brain with an expanded high vocal center (HVC). The HVC is the primary control region responsible for learning and executing complex motor patterns, most notably birdsong. A larger HVC volume directly correlates with a more complex song repertoire. Because producing intricate melody demands developmental success and strong immune health, females favor males with expansive repertoires--treating their song as an unfakable, costly signal of biological fitness (Pfaff et al., 2007). Many bird species amplify their songs with precise physical sounds such as rhythmic foot tapping, wing snaps, and beak rattling. The HVC coordinates these audio-visual spectacles, allowing birds to effectively "dance" to the music they create. Birdsong is inseparable from their high metabolic output, which supports complex courtship rituals and allows females to assess a male's health and, as I argued many times before, the energy needed to maintain a monogamous relationship. In essence, birds are nature's artists and romantics. For similar reasons, women, often colloquially referred to as "birds" in British slang, find musically talented men attractive because their musical ability functions as an "honest signal" of high energy and an unarmored state. In The Descent of Man, Charles Darwin (1871) proposed that musical expression preceded articulate language and evolved primarily through sexual selection. Because genuine artistic expression requires spontaneous motor coordination and intelligence, it cannot be mimicked through superficial calculation. In other words, musical talent cannot be faked, and the average pick-up artist cannot replicate the skills needed to create music or art. Building on his earlier observation that music bypasses physical armoring, Peat further noted that it creates an "enriched environment" driving neuroplasticity. This ability to forge new neural connections allows talented musicians to act as agents of healing, making them naturally magnetic in a world highly reactive to frequencies. This restorative power of sound brings us back to the birds. While their intricate melodies serve as an unfakable metabolic signal for courtship, to me, the most intriguing aspect of birdsong is that it does not function merely for reproduction or territorial defense but it also unifies offspring and signals environmental safety. For nestlings, a parent's steady, melodic song is an acoustic barometer of a predator-free habitat. When the forest falls dead silent, armoring takes hold for the young, and when the melody resumes, their nervous systems relax and spontaneity returns. Beyond loud territorial songs, birds rely on soft "contact calls"--intimate, rhythmic notes that maintain familial cohesion without drawing unwanted attention (Elie et al., 2010). These gentle frequencies calm the nest, signaling that a protective presence is near. The capacity to move freely and sing skillfully is a shared trait among great heroes of the past, who radiated abundant energy and soared to great heights, much like birds. Gérard de Lairesse's (ca. 1675–1680) painting (see below) depicts Achilles in a moment of introspection from Homer's Iliad (ca. 8th century B.C.E./1990, 9.185–191). Deeply alienated by Agamemnon’s authoritarian hubris, he withdraws from the Trojan War. Instead of fighting, he plays a lyre and sings "glories of men" (klea andrōn), recounting the deeds of past heroes while consciously choosing not to create his own legacy on the battlefield. In this moment, Achilles is not just a subject of epic poetry, but also a poet and creator of history himself. Achilles's immortality arises from his own rhythmic self-determination, expressed through action, art, and conscious inaction--for deliberate stillness can serve as a powerful refusal of authoritarianism. While martial violence can be conscripted by Agamemnon, an armored "king who devours his people" (1.231), spontaneous music and creative autonomy remain completely beyond the ruler's grasp. Plato (ca. 375 B.C.E./1991, 435a–441c) partitioned the soul into three parts: the rational head (logistikon), the spirited chest (thymoeides or "thumos"), and the appetitive gut (epithymetikon). Centuries later, Wilhelm Reich (1945) identified the counterpart to this spirited chest in the thoracic armor segment, observing alongside Elsworth Baker (1967) that chronic muscular tension in this area suffocates genuine emotional and artistic expressiveness. The chest cages deep emotions such as heartbreak and rage, and the arms and hands act as direct physical extensions of this segment. In unarmored musicians, energy flows freely from the center of the chest through the shoulders and down into the delicate nerves of each fingertip. When the chest is armored, however, the rhomboids and trapezius pull the shoulders backward in a permanent muscular attitude of "holding back" and spiteful resistance of "I won't" (Reich, 1945, p. 376). The limbs turn rigid and mechanical, losing the natural fluidity and buoyant mobility seen in singing birds. When energy flows unhindered through the chest, it ascends naturally into the cervical (neck) and oral segments, which govern the voice. Chronic spasms in the masseters lock the jaw, producing a flat, monotonous timbre, while constriction in the throat renders the voice high-pitched, strained, or weak. In other words, armoring in the deep cervical muscles acts as a dam, forcing the armored individual to literally "swallow down" tears, sobbing, or intense rage before they can reach the vocal cords (p. 375). Within the Greek camp--a claustrophobic environment dominated by factional posturing and dread--Achilles strikes his lyre, and the vibrational pulse of his unarmored heart cuts through the noise. His companion Patroclus sits across from him in quiet attunement. When Agamemnon’s envoys, Odysseus and Ajax, arrive to plead for his return, they stop short at the perimeter, momentarily disarmed by the presence of living music in a place prepared for slaughter. Much like a bird's contact call, Achilles' song establishes calm amidst a battlefield of frantic destruction. Reich noted that a lack of musicality can be a defense mechanism against feeling. He describes a patient who, appearing completely unmusical, had repressed his senses as a child because the emotional sensations triggered by his abusive mother’s singing were too intense for his armored self to handle. It is telling that Agamemnon sends Odysseus and Ajax in his place to offer material bribes, as he possesses neither a song of his own nor the biological energy required to make a single note of genuine human contact. While Achilles remains perfectly in tune with his body, yielding to his lyre to give voice to grief and living memory, Agamemnon, haunted by his own mother’s sexual betrayal with his uncle Thyestes, cannot even bear to be present for the song, remaining tightly armored and trapped within the camp's discord.

aware women would be avoiding all of these. so how are aware women getting aluminum poisoning and kids with autism

This is the absolute LAST post I ever expected to be making on the Monday of my bodybuilding show week. After months of weighing every gram of food, tracking every calorie, hitting my workouts, doing my cardio, practicing my posing, and preparing myself mentally, physically, and spiritually to step on stage this Saturday, I spent this past weekend binge eating in a way I’ve never experienced before. And when I say binge eating, I don’t mean I went out and enjoyed a cheat meal or ate a little more than I was supposed to. I mean I completely lost control. I kept eating long after my stomach was telling me to stop. I was physically uncomfortable, I wasn’t even enjoying the food anymore, and yet I continued eating. And the scariest part wasn’t even the amount of food I consumed. It was what was going through my head while I was doing it. At a certain point, it felt like I was intentionally sabotaging myself. Like there was a part of me that wanted to ruin everything I had worked so hard for. And I’ve spent the last couple of days asking myself WHY. Was I afraid I wasn’t going to look good enough on stage? Was I afraid of disappointing myself? Was I putting so much pressure on myself that I subconsciously wanted a way out? I don’t have all the answers. But those are some uncomfortable questions I’ve had to start asking myself. After the first binge, I told my coach Chris Elkins everything. Every single thing I ate. We talked about it, and the plan was to move forward, reassess, and take things day by day. The next day, I got right back to my routine. Tracked my food, followed my plan, and genuinely thought I had moved past what happened. Then nighttime came. What started as one extra bite of food turned into another binge. And this one was even worse than the first. I can’t even explain how disappointed I felt afterward. Not because I had eaten food that wasn’t on my plan. But because I had reached a point where I felt like I couldn’t stop myself from doing something I knew was hurting me. I woke up physically miserable. My face was extremely swollen, my body felt awful, and I was looking at myself in the mirror trying to understand how I had gotten here. And now here I am. Five days away from the competition I’ve spent months preparing for, roughly 10 pounds heavier than I was going into the weekend, and genuinely uncertain whether I’m going to step on stage this Saturday. Chris believes competing is still an option. Part of me wants to finish what I started. Another part of me wonders whether postponing until November would be the better decision. Because I know how much work I put into this prep. And I also know that the choices I made this weekend have consequences. I’m not going to sit here and blame anybody else. I’m not going to pretend it didn’t happen. And I’m definitely not going to ask anyone to feel sorry for me. But I also don’t want to spend the rest of my life beating myself up over two days. I made those choices. I have to own them. And now I have to figure out how to move forward. One thing this weekend has forced me to recognize is just how much pressure I’ve been putting on myself. Not only with bodybuilding, but with life in general. Constantly working. Constantly thinking about what’s next. Constantly being on my phone. Constantly feeling like I need to be doing MORE. And somewhere along the way, I stopped giving myself enough room to just live. So regardless of whether I compete Saturday or in November, some things are going to change. I’m prioritizing my sleep. I’m taking real breaks from social media. I’m giving myself time to recover. And I’m going to take a serious look at my relationship with food and the pressure I’ve been putting on myself. I’m not going to pretend I’ve figured everything out in 48 hours. I haven’t. And I don’t want to turn this into some inspirational story about how I fell down and immediately got back up stronger than ever. I’m still figuring it out.