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Samuel Claiborne Co-Creative Healing Announcements

Hello friends and colleagues. This is a short missive about two subjects:

1) I have two clients in NYC who would love to see me, but I need a minimum of three to make these trips financially feasible. If anyone has interest in seeing me in NYC on October 9th, please contact me ASAP. 

2) I am working feverishly to complete my first book, Walking Through Snow. The main manuscript is in the hands of a great editor, and I am now working on the appendices.

But I need your help. Here's the scoop:

In 1992, a freak accident rendered me completely paralyzed from the shoulders down and in almost unimaginable and essentially un-treatable pain. I was 32 years old, the sole breadwinner for my two young children and my wife. 

This book will tell the story of how I refused to accept the dire prognoses of the medical establishment, overcame their often negligent, sometimes cruel and infantilizing “care”, and with the help of many alternative healers and modalities, awakened my own inner healer and in doing so, far exceeded their expectations. My doctors told me I’d never climb stairs again and that I’d be in rehabilitation for at least six months. Instead I went home a mere five weeks later, under my own power, to a four story walk-up apartment.

Part memoir, part expose of our flawed medical system, part how-to primer on how to be the Senior Partner in your own healing journey, I believe that this book will be inspirational and aspirational for all readers. For those facing significant health challenges, and their family, friends, caretakers, it is also directly motivational and concretely applicable.

I was called a 'miracle', but I wasn't one. I pulled off this 'miracle' with willpower, stubbornness, ingenuity, thinking way outside the box, and never taking anything at face value. But that was only the beginning of my struggles. Government bureaucracies, terrifying drug side-effects, a failed lawsuit against New York City, my struggle for nine years to re-learn how to play guitar, severe difficulties  with depression and bitterness over the loss of my youth and many of my memories, and my years-later battle with brain damage and undiagnosed Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome all propelled me into a spiritual quest for greater autonomy, greater empathy for others, and greater self-love and self-acceptance. 

This quest ultimately brought me to a place of incredible gratitude, and also manifested a long-nascent desire to render service to others, which led me to leave my affluent career in computers and embrace a heart-centered life as a co-creative healer.

Editing costs money, the research I am undertaking for the various appendices does too. And as someone who has given up a lucrative life as a software developer to do healing full-time, money is often something in short supply. To that end, I have set up a campaign on Patreon.com that lets you become my patron. You pledge a monthly stipend, which can be as little as $1 or $5 per month, and this will help defray my costs. At higher levels of sponsorship. there are percs that range from autographed copies of the book when it comes out, to CDs of my music, to thank yous by name in the acknowledgements section of the book when it's published.

If you'd like to support this work, please go to this site: www.patreon.com/WalkingThroughSnow and contribute what you can, and please spread the word. Thank you. 
 

(Excerpt)

Pain is the road back


So there I was, in the Neuro Intensive Care Unit, awake at 3AM. Just another long scary night like all of the others; the monitors screaming, signaling my imminent death every time I did manage to  duck the feeling of electrocution long enough to drift off into a morphine sleep of shallow breaths and dreams of running, threading needles gleefully, of feats of athleticism and coordination. Another psychotic fear-filled night full of alarms, and murmurs from Robert, the comatose ex-cop somewhere near my head. Another night of seizures, alarms, and close-calls for Adnan in the bed somewhere near my feet.   

This night, the pain was really bad, and Cleve and the other staff had been just too busy to get to me. Not that there was that much they could do, but at least they could turn me over and stretch me, and change my smelly diaper. And then of course, there was Morphine, which couldn’t kill the pain, but could sort of distract me from it into those exultant denial dreams of playing sports and guitar.  
 
My arms were stiff blocks of burning wood. I was repeatedly convulsing in a feedback loop of vicious spasms. I was sweating from the convulsions, exhausted, and feverish too. I felt that my whole body below my neck was a mass of smoking, burning, crackling, arcing wires, all plugged right into my brain’s pain center. The new pain in my foot was starting to compete malignantly for my attention, another unbearable burden to bear. If I’d been sane, I’d have marveled at the body’s sheer unexcelled power to produce pain. But I was buried within it, not intellectualizing about it.

The exhausted staff seemed nowhere to be found. There were no crises, no emergencies now, and it was almost dead quiet, just the subdued howl of my monitor whenever I breathed too shallowly. Just the chirps and beeps of the alarms of the others around me, as they also danced their own little pas de deux with death, advancing, then retreating from his arms.  

I guess because no one was around, I finally gave myself permission to cry hard. I mean really, really hard and loud. I felt like one of those soldiers who has been tortured to the point that he’s completely broken, that he’ll do anything, say anything to stop the pain. Up to then I’d largely been joking, superficially confident and almost ‘inspirational’ to my friends – telling them that this accident meant something, and that if it didn’t, I’d make it mean something. And I’d been somewhat stoic when alone, always hoping for things to ‘ease off’. When I did cry, it was quietly, discretely, kind of a controlled little letting off of steam. But now, my defenses were down, the pain had cut through all hope and the abandoned ward gave me some license. I started weeping powerfully and praying for death.I found I couldn’t stop. A howling wail arose from somewhere and it took me awhile to register that the sound was coming from within me. It seemed that my whole body was weeping, that the spasms were my body’s way of weeping.   

I don’t know how long it lasted, but suddenly heard a quiet voice near me. I opened my eyes and saw a very old-looking, gray-haired doctor in a spotless white jacket, leaning over my bed.

“Why are you crying?”, he said.

I remember thinking “oh boy, here’s Mr. Macho, reproving me for crying”. It reminded me of a time in a park when I was a little boy and skinned my knee. I was crying, inconsolable, when an old man came over to me and said “big boys don’t cry” to me, contempt written all over his face. I’d never forgotten it, and perhaps that’s why it’d taken so long to finally let totally go and cry like a baby. I felt my gorge rise in righteous indignation and defensiveness.

“Because I can’t stand the pain, because it doesn’t stop, only gets worse!”, I spat back petulantly.

“No one else is crying here”, he said quietly, in a soft, measured voice. “Do you know why that 
is?”

Again, I thought he was going to disparage me like that old man in the park for somehow lacking courage.

“No!” I shouted “Why?”

“Because their wires are all broken. They will never walk again. Some of them will never use their arms again. Some will never breathe without help again. Take that woman over there:” (He pointed off into the darkened unit at someone I couldn’t see) “She’s 22, fell of a barstool drunk, broke her neck. She’ll never move anything below her neck again and will probably be on a ventilator for the rest of her life. If she’s lucky, she’ll get to the point that she can blow into a tube to move her wheelchair around. She keeps saying it’s not true, keeps praying to God for a miracle, but there will be no miracle, no escape for her. You’re the only person crying from pain in this ward.”

“You’re the only one who feels anything at all. And you’re the only person who will ever have a chance of walking, of using his limbs like a normal person again. Your pain shows that your wires, even if they’re crushed, still carry some signals. Those signals are chaos right now – that’s what the pain is – chaos – under-sensitivity, over-sensitivity – everything out of proportion, some sensations numbed to the point of disappearance, others amplified to the point of distortion. But you can push yourself through those wires and reestablish contact and recalibrate the sensitivity. Go into your pain. Use it. Your pain is your road back to the land of the living”, he said. And with that he left.   

To this day he has some of the qualities of a hallucination, and I’m not sure he wasn’t; what the hell was an elderly doctor doing in the NICU at 3AM anyway? But I somehow do not think he could be a construct of my mind, because his description of my situation, though absolutely correct, was totally antithetical to any opinions I myself had about my predicament; I don’t think I could have dreamed up his line of reasoning because it was utterly counterintuitive to my own at the time.
  
So he was either real, or perhaps he was a visitation from an angel, or God. I’ll never know. I only know that he gave me courage, and he did it in the only way that could have worked: he challenged me while acknowledging my pain, validated my suffering and yet imbued the experience with a positive healing connotation. In a complete reversal of my own mind’s sense of natural order, he managed to bathe the darkest coldest most implacable pain I’d ever suffered with an almost divine power to heal. He also washed away a large part of my self-pity, my petulance, and my rage at my predicament with his empathy, understanding and inspiration. 

Coming to NYC for private sessions, one day only:

October 9th

Reserve your session now.


845-687-4501 -or-
Samuel@HVHealing.com

If you'd like to support my work as a healer and author, please go to
This Site 
and become a patron. Even $1 a month will be gratefully 
appreciated. And please spread the word. Thank you. 

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Be Well!
Samuel Claiborne
Medical Intuitive and Co-Creative Healer 
Creator of the AuraLuminance Technique 
and Shamanic Psychology
Associate in Ortho-Bionomy

917-453-3786
Samuel@hvhealing.com

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