False Kisses and the Sugar Miasma

My experiences smelling high sugar levels and diabetes; the Kissing Miasma explained by Granddad; How the Pancreas works as our lie detector; Helplessness; Kriemhild’s Accusation; Movie Posters

Dear Ed,

Ever since I read a historical account of a beautiful couple in love, whose lives were torn apart by the loss of five babies and then the woman’s being diagnosed with diabetes, given codeine in higher and higher doses till  her body couldn’t handle it anymore and she went into a coma and died, followed some years later by her husband who killed himself; ever since then, memories of my encounters with diabetes around me and things my Granddad said have come back to me every now and then.

You see Ed, diabetes or blood sugar imbalances have only been called that recently. It’s a disease you won’t find mentioned in ancient epics or mythologies (unfortunately everything written before the start of business of modern print publications are classified as mythology now). the concept of the body not balancing its sugar levels would be found hilarious in older times.

When I was in college, Ed, there was a girl in my class that other girls whispered about behind her back. “She has diabetes.” Curious about how a girl of 17 could have what I then considered to be an illness of only middle aged and older people, one day I asked her about it. “You look just like all of us, you even look better than most of us…. I heard you have diabetes?”

She nodded at me and said, “Every now and then if I get very upset, I faint. I have to go to the hospital and get insulin injections every few days so that that doesn’t happen.”

For teenagers, Ed, that’s a death sentence. But as I looked at her, I just couldn’t see it…. the great disease that could kill her any moment… so bad that she had to be on constant treatment for it. The only thing I could find about her different was a different smell.

I have this… gift or curse depending on the situation. I can smell sugar, salt etc… I’m the legendary cancer smelling dog. It’s what my Granddad called jokingly, the “inherited curse”. His wife and three daughters, (the eldest of which was my great Grandmom,  Armone), all had extremely sensitive smell and poor Granddad was subjected to investigative smelling every time he walked in the door. They’d know where he’d been, who he’d spoken to, how those people were and what those people had had for lunch and where they had been, all in a few seconds of entering the house. His only “friend” in the house was the dog who smelled him without asking questions and making conclusions.

Nevertheless, Granddad was happy to find I had inherited the sensitivity and encouraged me to develop it. I of course found it nothing but a problem, except for those rare times it came in handy – like when a waiter brought two cups of tea one with sugar and one without and had forgotten which was which. I could smell the sugar in one easily enough and this impressed some people.

That incident though when I smelled out the sugar in the tea, kind of woke me up subconsciously and I began to smell sugar as something I noticed particularly from then on.

There was this street dog who lived near our house. One day he smelled of sugar – which surprised me because how would a street dog get sugar! Two days later this grown dog died in his sleep (that’s what I was told). I go running and find them dragging his stiff body out of the gutter and noticed his paws were swollen. I decided that he’d been poisoned somehow. He was one of those rare dogs that always behaves like a gentleman, never wagged his tail too much, but never failed to pleasantly acknowledge my presence either.

After that I began to notice the incidence of poisoning happening after someone’s sugar levels rose. Something that happened with sugar being retained in the blood over a certain time, was self-toxicity or blood poisoning. The body was choosing to retain and circulate poisons.

I noticed it a lot in street dogs and cats for the most part, before I went to Australia to university and there a whole new thing revealed itself.

There was this girl in church. About thirteen years old and very skinny. But very cute. She was like a typical early teen, just really cute. I liked her a lot because she like me, didn’t think before speaking, so we could talk about anything and weren’t reading into each other’s sentences and would start to laugh if one of us said something we obviously didn’t mean… you know like when you say something, but it doesn’t come out right…. but the other person knows that before you explain and you both find it funny and  laugh about it.

Then one day I was standing near and she was speaking to someone else and I got this whiff of a smell like sugar solution from her. I asked her if she was well and she said something like she was tired a lot in those days and that her doctor had said she had diabetes. As she said it, I noticed this weariness in her eyes, like she’d changed her mind about the world. She looked at me for a second and then her eyes wandered tiredly past me onto nothing at all behind me. As she did, her hand held mine, and I got this feeling, like she was saying – “I don’t have to pretend with you too, do I? I’m so tired of pretending.”

I left there soon after but that was then just the start of a real epidemic. What I call the sugar miasma.

Suddenly at any given time there was always someone around me with that imbalanced sugar smell… no it’s not a sweet smell, rather it is a distress hormone combined with the typical smell of sugar.

In my traveling days I encountered whole families smelling like that. As time went by, in the days I used to take dogs to the vets, the dogs all smelled of it. The craziest thing was cats smelling of it.. Because they know they smell and unlike dogs, they don’t accept that smell. They keep licking their paws and rolling over and going to humans and asking them to stop it. It really irritates them.

Finally, Ed, one day I asked Granddad about it. He was telling me about a cat he once knew and it reminded me of the cat I just told you about. I asked him how crazy was diabetes in a cat!  He said to me, “Ahh… the kissing miasma.” I was mystified.

(Note- A “miasma” is an energy pattern or pattern of symptoms that go together, caused by a state of consciousness.)

Granddad says to me, “It’s a classic miasma from old times. It’s called diabetes now because someone found out that high or low blood sugar goes along with it. Doesn’t have to though.”

Me – What was that about kissing??

Granddad – They used to call it the kissing disease when I was a child.

Me – What? Diabetes?

Granddad (with an air of superiority) – Diabetes is one of the kissing diseases.

Me – So you get these by kissing?

Granddad – Yes. When you kiss and are kissed but the kiss is only of the lips and not of the heart.

Me – That can’t be right! I’ve had low blood sugar levels for years and it started back when I didn’t even have the thought of kissing anyone.

Granddad – Cara, my love, kissing doesn’t mean just romantic kissing. All kinds of affection can be shown in kisses.

Me – I get it. You’re saying this disease happens because of someone pretending to love someone.

Granddad – Rather, it is the deception of oneself that someone loves you, or cares about you because you’re so used to false kisses. You’d rather have them, than no kisses. You’re just too weather worn to raise your sword and say, “You are an imposter.”

I went silent a while thinking of my own life. It occurs to me, now, that while we always have deceptive people in our lives, the trigger of the kissing miasma is when something happens that shows us we’re being deceived, but we push it away, and actively begin to participate in the deception by romanticizing the situation. As very little children we don’t romanticize things, but as we grow up and want to be a hero or heroine we start trying to make our lives look like a story we like or are familiar with, rather than face reality.

I do not remember the exact flow of conversation with Granddad that time but a sad thing, Ed, was when I wondered why dogs and cats would imagine love where there wasn’t  love, and he told me that unlike most humans, pets are not free to leave home and go out there to find someone who loves them. I type this with  tears in my heart and my eyes for every living being expected to live without love, held hostage in loveless situations for whatever value they’re supposed to have.

My spirit believes every longing heart held hostage from love, will be avenged mercilessly by God. I believe in revenge and punishment of all crimes against the heart. There are no excuses for these.

Granddad, on another occasion spoke to me about the kissing miasma. It was when I myself appeared to be pre-diabetic. I didn’t tell him it was me I was talking about – I used to make these ridiculous attempts to hide everything about me that wasn’t awesome. I thought I was getting away with it then, but now I’m older myself I realize how easily he must’ve seen through me.

Me – What do you know about the Pancreas? You know the organ under the ribs? The one which controls sugar in the blood?

Granddad – I once cut up a dead body…

Me – Nooooo nooo, no dead body talk please!!

Granddad – I didn’t do it for my own pleasure, Cara, despite what you might think of me. A fox had mauled this man and pulled out his internal organs and when that happens according to our traditions (Granddad grew up in an outer Hebridean island off the coast of Scotland), we don’t bury the body in one piece, rather we cut it into many pieces and then take the pieces out to sea. This scrambles the smell of the body so if the animal comes back looking for the body it won’t find it or its smell and go looking for the person’s relatives.

Me – The animals there were that vindictive?

Granddad – All the Scotch are vindictive. It’s our national art form. You’re contaminated too.

Me (hoping and praying Jesus would rescue me from my genes) – What’s this got to do with the Pancreas?

Granddad – It is the body’s main telecaster. The loudspeaker.

Me – You’re kidding!!!

Granddad – It radiates out the smells of the body that identify the body.

Me – Like the sweat?? Or just the energy field radiation?

Granddad – It releases things into the sweat to radiate out. And it itself radiates out the condition of the body. We had to take it out first from the body to separate as much of the identifying smell from the body as possible lest the fox came back. The foxes there, if they were really offended by someone would come back with their family and all of them would know the exact smell of the first offender.

Me – OK, I’m beginning to get it. It’s the smell telecaster and sweat is somehow linked to sugar imbalance and diabetes and the kissing miasma.

Granddad – My love, it’s the body’s lie detector. An unfailing one to the day you die. When someone is deceiving you, and you start sending emotional energy into a drain hole, the Pancreas – we will call him Georgy – changes the smell of your body immediately to tell you that you’re being deceived. That you’re being drained. If you ignore him, Georgy will go fishing.”

Me – Fishing?

Granddad – It’s when Georgy says, “I don’t care what you do today. I’m going fishing.” Georgy turns away from your life and puts his line out over the water and sits still waiting for fish to bite.

Me – I don’t get it.

Granddad – In my time, Cara, when a man went fishing a little too often, it meant his marriage was in trouble. He wouldn’t know anymore what was going on at home. Can you imagine that situation?

Me – Everybody unhappy, I guess.

Granddad – Indifference, my love, is a most painful thing in a home.

Me – He doesn’t care anymore? Oh my God, but how can he not? Aren’t there children?

Granddad – Try to believe it, young one, but children are no guarantee of anything. When a heart withdraws, it no longer recognizes anyone or anything.

Me – And you’re saying Georgy has withdrawn from the rest of the body because he was ignored?

Granddad – Yes. He can’t leave altogether till you or he dies. But he’s just out fishing now.

Me (almost crying) – What can be done now?

Granddad – Never fear my love, he’s only out fishing. He still lives here.

Me – You just spoke like he was lost forever!

Granddad – No my love, Georgy is still there, only now he’s got to be listened to again. And made tasty dishes.

Me (laughing out of relief) – Sweet things I’m guessing. Apple pie.

Granddad – You guessed right. But Georgy isn’t a fool. If you give him apple pie without true love, he will send a message to his friends who keep poisons stored in the body for such times, and they will release these into the blood.

(Me adding in now – That’s what chronic blood poisoning is. Ignored lie detector Pancreas pissed off at being played.)

Me – So Georgy is now poisoning his own home?

Granddad – Georgy will not accept lies in his home. He will not accept false kisses. Georgy will go to his grave holding the flag of true love.

Me – I LOVE him.

Granddad – That is well my love, as he looks like a pocked alligator and no one but you can love him.

Me – What are you talking about?

Granddad – The Pancreas looks just like a bittermelon.

Lol Ed, Granddad had a way of crash landing my thought processes.

Here is a photo of how Georgy ie. the Pancreas looks – a bitter gourd, traditional medicine for all Pancreatic problems. He does look  like an alligator.

Bittermelon – Momordica Charantia
Location of the Pancreas in the body Medical Journal of Blausen Medical

Well, Ed, I think Granddad described things better than I ever could.

Since he brought my attention to Georgy I went on a rediscovery of paying attention to my own body smells. He taught me about it all over again on the topic of yeast. All yeast imbalances are sugar or the kissing miasma. I published a small but life changing book about it. The Spirit of Yeast.

However, it was not an overnight thing for me. The HABIT of suppressing one’s instinct out of longing for friendship, love, companionship, the HABIT of romanticizing a painful life just because we’re sick of tragedy and failure, these boomerang in one sugar miasma upon another till the organs cannot handle the fluctuating electric signals caused by fluctuating sugar levels anymore. Some people become allergic to their own sweat!

Over the years I’ve thought a lot about Georgy gone fishing, and the 13 year old girl with the tired eyes wandering away from me to the wall, and I’ve realized that in nearly every case of the sugar miasma I’ve come across, or pancreatic dysfunction, the person has a sense of helplessness.

They feel like they have no option but to make do with false things, imagining them to be real. And even after they go years away from the deceit, they still hold on to delusions about those relationships, their pancreas or Georgy refusing even then to support it.

The core helplessness seems to be, “No one can love me the way I am. So I must imagine people love me. I’ll never find someone who really actually loves me as me.”

But Georgy refuses to buy that crap. Georgy says, “I’m going to go down to the grave and take you with me, till you stop investing your energy in lies and call a spade a spade. Its OK to be alone, but NO FALSE KISSES. YOU HEAR ME? NO FALSE KISSES. IT’S TRUE LOVE OR NOTHING.” 


This week, Ed, I saw this medieval painting of a woman accusing someone of assassinating her husband. I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

It’s called “Kriemhild’s Accusation” 1879. It’s by Emil Lauffer. 

Kriemhild accuses Gunther and Hager – the righteous looking dudes with all the signs and symbols of temporal power, looking like they’ve come to say, “Sorry for your loss,” to her,  of killing her husband.
No doubt there.

It seems to me that the right of accusation has been slowly taken away from us. Everyone seems hesitant to go on their instinct and inner knowing and look at someone in the face and in the moment even bring to awareness that this person hurt them or intends harm for them.

How can we get justice if we don’t allow our spirit expression?

It’s a false spirituality that teaches us not to face reality. It never works out for anyone. People think such things don’t affect our bodies and our lives. But they do ALL the time. 

I make herbal medicine for pancreatitis a lot, but it’s all aimed ultimately at resolving the consciousness conditions that are causing the problem. 

And now, Ed, lest you think I’m not in touch with modern art, I leave you with quality artwork done on Photoshop by me one Sunday afternoon recently while all good people were napping. 

Note – They are not to scale. And yeah – they’re only for educational purposes. 

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