From “Tales of Hyperborea” By Sydney C Light


“This way,” Zhen darted ahead of Ling, opening a padlock with a key attached to a stretchy, plastic coil necklace. She pulled back her hood, revealing a cartoonish mop of pink and black hair surrounding a sullen, childlike face. Zhen’s mouth was frozen downward as if she had never known how to smile. “It’s just down here,” she said glancing back as Ling followed her along an industrial cement walkway lit with droning fluorescent bulbs. It smelled of disinfectant poured over sewage. Zhen unlocked a battered blue door and they entered a dark one-room apartment that she shared with her husband, two children, and father. “I sent my kids and husband to ma ma’s,” she said, referring to her husband’s mother, “so no distraction.”

“Over here,” Zhen guided her to a low cot in a corner. As Ling’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she made out what appeared to be a living, human skeleton in the half-light. The man’s chest moved up and down in shallow, difficult breaths. Ling observed for several moments without speaking.

“This is my father,” Zhen said. “No one else will help us. People have spoken about what you can do. The Chu family in Old Town told us about —”

“Is there something I can sit on?” Ling cut her off, not wanting any talk about the resurrection of the Chu’s little boy. The woman’s anguished face beseeched Ling, not for explanation, but for hope. Ling softened, “I’ll need to sit close.” A small, three-legged stool was fetched. Ling took off her jacket, laying it to the side and pulled the stool close to the cot.

“Where is the wound?” Ling asked, rolling back her sleeves. Zhen tapped her own chest with her fingertips.

With the same sure, expedient hands that made pearl necklaces ten hours a day, Ling neatly folded the top of the blanket down to reveal a festering gash across the top of the man’s torso. The stench of rotting flesh met her nostrils, but she did not recoil. He stared up at her, sunken eyes full of fear.

Moonlight shone through the open window, resting in a line along his neck like a silvery noose, but nothing could choke the remorse that filled the room. He could no longer work for his family. He had become a liability.

“How did this happen?” Ling asked.

“Haiwan Bridge,” the man rasped, “cable snapped.” The city was building the longest bridge in the world over water. It was Qingdoa’s most ambitious building project ever. Thousands had found employment. Ling often heard government officials proclaiming over loudspeakers that this project was an example of the greatness of Chinese workers, and the ingenuity of the country’s engineers.

“Has the company doctor seen you?” Ling asked.

“They gave him pain pills and sent him home,” Zhen said.

“They said don’t come back unless okay,” the man wheezed, laboring to get the words out. He wasn’t okay. They all knew that. In addition to the gash and three broken ribs, he had fallen 100 feet after the cable hit him, crushing his hip. His lungs were filled with mucus, and he could not eat. He needed someone with him 24 hours a day, but everyone in the household had to work.

“He was just a day laborer,” Zhen said. “He had no contract. The pills are all gone, they won’t give us more.”

Ling took his hand and pulled it close. His skin was the texture of a dried animal pelt, the veins like rivers in a drought. His thin fingers curled around her hand. The nails were yellowed and long. The man’s hand reminded Ling of her mother’s lotus feet, hanging onto the body, broken and useless. Tears welled up in his rheumy eyes. “Mhgòi—kill me,” he sobbed, but even his dry tears could not flow.

“I can’t do that,” Ling said.

“I am going to die anyway,” he said with the last bit of purpose left inside of him. “My family,” he glanced at his daughter, “are too afraid to do it.”

He turned onto his side with great effort and stared directly into Ling’s eyes. “I beg you, Sweet Mother, Quan Yin, Goddess of Mercy, daughter of Xi Wangmu—set me free.” His eyes brightened, like pebbles in a stream catching bits of light through leaves. He is feverish, and thinks I am the Goddess, she thought.

The flashes of light began again, and a simultaneous buzzing drown out all other sound. Ling’s head throbbed. Not now! I have to figure out what to do. The Shifu had called this a ‘gift’ but it seemed more like a curse. She had no control over any of it; the abilities came and went like whims. She wasn’t even sure how she had pulled the Chu’s son back from death. It had all come to her in the moment. I am like a bird that doesn’t remember how to fly. Ling clamped her eyes shut. The heavy burden of another’s life was in her hands, and she had no idea what to do.

When she opened her eyes, she had entered the in-between place again. Untethered by time and space, The Watchers came here to speak to one another. Zhen and her father were frozen in their positions, a still life tableau of wretchedness. The dismal apartment in Qingdoa receded, until it was nothing more than a blue dot. All around Ling was empty twilight, except for a vast, gossamer membrane that spread across all of space, dividing one nothingness from another. Made up of millions of interlocking dodecahedrons, each translucent segment of the screen was no bigger than her hand. Each was in turn was etched in a pattern of overlaid circles that resembled a flower. Caught between worlds again, Ling did not panic this time. She could only wait and watch.

Slowly, a scene materialized on the other side of the divide. An older woman appeared who looked to be from another time. The woman’s pale skin glowed in the flickering light of the cooking fire. She wore a long, linen robe, cinched in the middle with a woven belt, and stood stirring a large, steaming metal pot with both hands on a ladle. The small room had earthen walls, and Ling could see part of a thatched ceiling above. She watched transfixed as the pale woman turned away from her task, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked around the room expectantly as if hearing something then turned and looked directly at Ling. Her large, slate-colored eyes were unveering. “I can’t quite hear you,” she said, “but I know you’re there.”

“Who are you?” Ling asked, half out loud.

“You want to know what’s happening?” The woman said. “That’s understandable.”

“Yes,” whispered Ling.

“It’s a spiral—a loop,” said the pale woman, making a circular gesture with one hand in the air, her voice only intermittently audible.

“What is?” Ling said.

“— time — structure — events the same, circumstance — different —what is circular is eternal. Do you understand?” The woman’s words came through in bursts, like a radio with bad reception. Ling struggled to make out her meaning. The language was unfamiliar but somehow understandable.

“I can’t quite hear what —”

“Not with your ears,” the woman said, leaning forward. “Listen with this.” She tapped between her eyebrows. “Do you remember your vows?”

“No,” Ling said. “What vows?”

“Sworn duty to return? Give aid and comfort? The man wants release, help him.” The woman’s face rippled as if it was on the surface of water.

“He wants me to end his life,” Ling said. I don’t know how—or even if I should.”

“There is no ‘should’ with suffering. You do what you must and you do it quickly.”


“Use the shining hands,” the woman said as her face began to disappear beneath a watery substance. “You know how, Ling! Try to remember. It’s all in your —” The woman and her earthen room were suddenly gone.

“My what?”

The old man coughed violently and Ling was hurled back into the apartment in Qingdao, where no time had passed. Sworn duty, vows. What did she mean? Ling squeezed the man’s hand. “What is your name?” She said, searching his face.

“Yao Bing.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes.” His cracked lips curved into a smile.

“In the name of the Goddess Quan Yin,” the words came haltingly as if someone else were speaking through her, “and in the name of the Great Western Mother Xi Wangmu. Please help Yao Bing— please goddess, I ask you to take Yao Bing home.”

Ling’s heart pounded. The details of the room became hazy around her, but her vision suddenly sharpened. She could now see beneath the surface of Yao Bing’s skin, all the way into his internal tissue and organs. His blood pulsed like sludge through a narrow pipe, and his lungs were half flooded. A hazy bluish spiral was coiled all around his swollen heart, resembling a python curling about its prey. She knew Yao Bing could linger like this for days or even a week, but it would be a slow death and the pain would become unbearable.

Focus, focus, tune out everything. Ling’s own hands had gone transparent. She could see gelatinous buttons of cartilage in her fingers, and bolts of light moving through her neural network. In moments, her hands were no longer simply transparent, they had become pure light. The shining hands! As if directing a paint brush, Ling gently stroked her light fingers across Yao Bing’s face. He stared at her expectantly, blinking once. When she was sure he would not feel any pain, she plunged the gossamer hands inside his stomach. He twitched once, but lay still.

Use your mind to steer your life, the Shifu had once told her.You must learn to direct your thoughts. At first, the spectral fingers wobbled, breaking up like glimmering metallic shards as she dragged them through his body into his chest. If even a shred of doubt entered her mind, the hands disintegrated and could not do their work. I can do this, she told herself. I have done this before.

Ling managed to steady her fingers and cup the man’s heart with her phosphorescent hands. It felt as if a huge moth beat its wings against the inside of her palms. “Let go, Yao Bing,” she whispered, “your work in this body is done. You are free.” Yao Bing groaned. Ling’s courage wavered. She bowed her head, please let me do this right. But she wasn’t even sure to whom she prayed.

“Yao Bing,” she said, “your earthly heart contains your highest essence, the part of you that is immortal. You are honored, loved, never forgotten. You will return again. Let go, be joyful!” Suddenly his heart palpitated even more violently, as if struggling to escape her hands. It took every ounce of her will to hold on. All at once, the heart was still.

The bluish, glowing snake coiled around his heart expanded for a moment and slipped off the motionless organ, hovering just above. Ling watched in astonishment as the coil pulsed, just as his physical heart had done. It still has life, she marveled, but had become some sort of rarified form of existence, beyond birth and death.

Ling was engulfed by a strange, fluxing joy. The blue swirl was imprinted with an intricate pattern, much like the membrane between worlds she had seen, but infinitely smaller, in exquisite detail. Woven into the living blue light was everything Yao Bing had ever seen, experienced, said or thought. Nothing was arbitrary, bad or good; all had been necessary and perfect. His death was due to a terrible random accident, yet was perfect. For all of time, Yao Bing would not be forgotten, because his blue coil would add itself to the greater story. Nothing is ever lost. Dragged here, filled with dread, by a woman from the factory she barely knew, the apartment, the circumstance, all of it seemed like a nightmare. Now, it was the most perfect thing she had ever witnessed.

After a moments hovering in Yao’s body, the blue spiral bolted from his chest and darted all around the room at dizzying speed. It whizzed past her head, careening into the wall like a giddy sparrow. At last, it extended into a tiny comet and blasted through the slats of an open vent on the ceiling. A residual pulsing incandescence lingered in the room, bathing even the chairs and ragged curtains in a dim, bluish halo.

Ling closed Yao’s eyes, and placed his hands atop one another on his heart. His body looked like a discarded cicada husk. It was just a shell really. She wondered if she would recognize him if she ever saw him again in another form.

Yao Bing’s daughter rushed over sobbing and embraced her father’s body. Ling quietly picked up her jacket and slipped out the door.



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Emperor Hongwu

In 589 AD the scholar-official (humorist?) Yan Zhitui (531–591) wrote:

Paper on which there are quotations or commentaries from the Five Classics or the names of sages, I dare not use for toilet purposes.


Just because we’ve all done things a certain way for a long time, doesn’t mean that’s the best choice today. Toilet paper hearkens back to a more rustic past when we would reach for the nearest pine cone or leaf. Millions of people are happily going paper-free with a healthier and environmentally safer alternative.

Deadly Dioxin

First, let’s take a closer look at what toilet paper is and what it does to your body and our ecosystem. The paper industry uses chlorine and chlorine dioxide to bleach everything from coffee filters to milk cartons, but toilet paper production uses more of these harmful chemicals than almost any other paper product. The manufacturing byproducts; dioxins, furans and polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs), are among the most carcinogenic substances on earth. The manufacture of household paper products has flooded these toxic chemicals into our air and water. What many consumers don’t know is that these toxins are also absorbed through our skin. Even low levels of exposure can cause health problems including cancer, Endometriosis, hormone imbalances, immune system impairments, reduced fertility and birth defects.

Dioxins accumulate in our body overtime and cannot be excreted. The more you have in your liver, kidneys and fatty tissue, the more likely you are to become ill.

Consumers in the USA now spend more than $6 billion a year on toilet paper — more than any other nation in the world. That is trillions of tons of toxic, soggy paper going through our sewer systems, as well as the harmful manufacturing byproducts going into our ecosystems.

Add to this the insidious capacity of toilet paper to clog home sewer lines. Toilet paper, feminine products and “wet wipes” are responsible for almost all plumbing issues in single family homes and rental buildings!


Extremely Inexpensive and Easy To Install

Savior faire Euro cultures have used BIDETS for a long time. Made the butt of humor (sorry) in recent films like “Why Him”, BIDETS are having a sudden, aha moment here in the USA. No longer a separate unit that looks like a child’s potty next to the grown-up one, decent bidets are now inexpensive and easily to attach right to your toilet. The new bidets run the gamut from a simple (but effective) hose line from the back of the toilet with a spray nozzle, to more elaborate units with hot and cold water and many spray options. Or, you can invest in a Japanese, $10,000 élite TOTO Neorest 750H that self-cleans and has the most advanced remote control options for the cleaning wand. (IMO, the simple, hand held spray units are easiest and most sanitary because they spray down: just a thought).

The current trend away from paper is really a return to basics: PLAIN WATER! (Imagine never having a clogged sewer again, and contributing your care to the planet by massively lowering your carbon footprint!)

Moderate Price Bidet

Once you have used one of these devices, you will never want to go back to toilet paper.

Scratchy, toxic, wasteful paper will seem downright primitive. Not only will you be taking better care of yourself, your household plumbing will also benefit dramatically. Paper products account for almost all clogged drainage pipes. If all that wasn’t enough, the environmental cost of toxic toilet paper is huge. Why contribute to the destruction of our waterways?

Americans flush trillions of pounds of toxic paper and waste into sewers yearly!


Black and white scratchboard illustration of the inventing of paper by a Chinese man.

Toilet paper was first manufactured for the élite in China starting around the 4th century. Many people however, just used whatever was at hand, which, in this case, often included hand-painted scrolls.

In 589 AD the scholar-official (humorist?) Yan Zhitui (531–591) wrote:

“Paper on which there are quotations or commentaries from the Five Classics or the names of sages, I dare not use for toilet purposes.”

(How many works of art tragically went down the drain in this fashion!?)

China was also the first to mass-produce toilet paper in the 14th century. Rolls similar to what we use today were made mainly for the ruling classes. The Bureau of Supplies recorded that in one year, during the Hongwu Emperor’s reign, (1328 – 1398), his family required 15,000 sheets of specially made, perfumed paper for use in the palace privies. Each piece measured 2 by 3 feet.

Apparently the use of books was not uncommon in the West as well. Lord Chesterfield wrote to his son in 1747 about a man who employed…

A common edition of Horace, of which he tore off gradually a couple of pages, carried them with him to that necessary place, read them first, and then sent them down as a sacrifice to Cloacina; thus was so much time fairly gained.

Chugi Sticks

In India and parts of the Middle East, water and the left hand are traditional, (hence the custom of the left hand being “unclean”). In Japan, flat sticks, called chügi, were scraped from left to right over the soiled area. In ancient Rome, a sea sponge on a stick (called a ‘gompf stick’) was available to those who used the public toilets. Manners of the day considered it polite to quickly swish the sponge off in a bucket of salt water before the next person sat down. Wealthy Romans used wool and scented water. Ancient Greeks employed stones called ‘pessoi’ and pieces of clay.

Sand, grass and corn husks served the purpose for most of human history.

Joseph Gayetty, an inventor from Pennsylvania, was the first businessman to commercially produce toilet paper, bringing his aloe-infused, hemp paper to the market in the USA in 1857. Curiously prescient, he called his product “The Greatest Necessity Of The Age”. His advertising campaign warned against using printed material (like newspaper) because the ink was toxic!

An enterprising young man named Seth Wheeler from Upstate New York obtained the first US patents for toilet paper in 1883. The smooth, over-processed paper of today, requiring many manufacturing chemicals, took many decades to produce.

Which leads us to the paper and plastic clogged streams and oceans of today. Toilet paper has also begotten the phenomenon known as “fatbergs“, congealed mounds of toilet paper, wet-wipes, and cooking fat, sitting like massive artery clogs in our city sewers. In 2013, a “fatberg” weighing 17 tons was found under London Road at Thames water in London.

Let’s all do our part, and be cleaner and healthier as a result. Bidets are easy to install and can upgrade our lives and living spaces wonderfully.



THE LION & TIGER DIARIES: Saturday, Aug. 6th, 2016

Sand Fire

Sand Fire

Finally made it back to Shambala today (Sat, Aug. 6th, 2016), with a fair amount of trepidation. Recently, a massive fire burned for several days, scorching the land all around the Soledad Canyon preserve. Miraculously, all the animals and a handful of brave people who stayed throughout the blaze, were unhurt. The fire had burned right up to the edge of the compound. We expected that animals (and humans) would be suffering from smoke inhalation, and possibly heat stroke. At the least, we were sure that the more than 30 big cats would be anxious, fearful or agitated.

As we turned onto Soledad Canyon Road, a pungent, burnt moss smell filled our noses. Within a half mile, the rolling hills touched by light green changed to scorched and barren. Blackened hillsides, trees turned to standing charcoal skeletons, charred and abandoned campsites— the landscape resembled a post-apocalyptic nightmare, all covered with a heavy, bluish haze. Did I mention the heat? At eleven am, it was already over 100 degrees Fahrenheit.IMG_5334

Chris Gallucci, the director at Shambala, met the group of  “adoptive parents” at the gate. Chris is generally cheerfully gruff, with a ready, cinematic cowboy smile. But today he was downright grim. He had stayed on the property, along with helper Darby and the amazing Tippi Hedren, fighting the blaze alongside firefighters. They weren’t going to leave the animals, no matter what. They had defied evacuation orders, and protected Shambala with their lives. Usually Chris loves all questions about the cats, but today he just said “I’m not gonna talk about the fire right now.” We got it, and followed him inside the compound gates.

Chris Galucci

Chris Gallucci

One Saturday a month, a dedicated group of people who have chosen to “adopt” one or more of the cats living at Shambala, come and visit their babies. With the help of Darby and a couple of volunteers, you get to give each cat a treat (a large hunk of raw meat still on the bone) and hang out with the animals. The cats look forward to this ritual as much as the humans, if perhaps for different reasons.

Shambala is unique, and completely unlike visiting a zoo. The animals are treated more like honored guests as opposed to caged objects for gawkers. Former actress, Tippi Hendren, star of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds”, (still surpassingly beautiful in her eighties), has created a sanctuary out of love. The place is an oasis in the desert. But there is more.

Sheer magnificence, obvious intelligence and nobility are a few reasons big cats are great to be around. But the feeling one gets from proximity to the cats is hard to categorize. Mysterious, subtle, ecstatic– I can only liken the experience to a state of high consciousness. Big cats are naturally in meditation. They are the Kshatriya of the animal world. Noble warriors of high spiritual attainment.

Darby Feeds Zoe

Darby Feeds Zoe

Big cats radiate energy; high, pure, powerful energy. Being around lions and tigers feels a lot like sitting near an enlightened master. The molecular structure of the air palpably changes. Reality heightens; you are in the company of a perfected being. Even in captivity their regal nature is unmistakable.

Big cats are a microcosmic example of the Divine, a piece of biological engineering that combines greatest beauty with maximum effectiveness. One cannot imagine a creator adding anything to them to make them any better. They are absurdly beautiful as well as the most efficient predators on the planet.

Yet, there is a poignant quality as well. Lions, tigers, leopards, in fact ALL wild cat populations, are in rapid decline across the globe. The attrition is astonishingly fast. Some reports say that up to 90% of wild lions and tigers have disappeared in the last twenty years alone. Hunters killing lions is the moral equivalent of allowing people to go after Buddhist monks for sport. Only a monster of low consciousness would kill such a creature.Trophy Hunting Is Not Conservation

Hunted nearly to extinction in the wild, big cats everywhere are in immediate danger. “Civilized” countries still permit trophy hunting, one of the most despicable and psychotic of all “sports”. The immense tragedy of this sets in when you are near the animals. That someone would find killing a lion or tiger “fun” is one of the many appalling realities of this world.

The intrinsic irony here is that we have reached a historical moment when the pens are to protect the cats from humans, and not the reverse. Great cats were made to run free, and no one can escape the knowledge that penning them is most likely not their first choice. Nevertheless, at Shambala they have shelter, are well fed and have veterinary care. They are in safe, large, enclosures; not caged.

Tippi & Lion

Tippi Hedren & Lion

Tippi has rescued big cats from far and wide. Many come to Shambala after someone realized that a lion or a tiger wasn’t a great idea for a house pet. Michael Jackson’s lion, Sabu, now lives at the preserve, barely able to walk after the “Neverland Zoo” had his claws removed. There is a mountain lion living there that someone found under their porch, and with good sense, brought to Shambala. Tippi tells a story about a New York City man who shared his two bedroom apartment with a full-grown lion! Cougars, panthers, tigers orphaned by hunters… Tippi has taken them all.

Once inside the preserve, we find the cats changed by the fire, but not in the way we expected. They are active, prowling, moving about in the intense midday heat. Not anxious or traumatized, the cats seem, well… HAPPY. A couple of them react to Darby as a house cat might, rubbing their heads on the fence near him, greeting him affectionately. Yes, they are getting food, but we’ve been here before at feeding time, and they were not like this. At first, we assume that perhaps they are still riled up from the danger, maybe adrenaline is still in their systems. But Darby tells us that they were mostly calm during the blaze, except for when the Black Hawk helicopters were flying 400 feet overhead to make a water drop.

Lily Lion

Lily Lion

The animals approach the fence playfully, making deep, guttural purrs. Alert and receptive, the legendary aloofness of big cats is all but absent. A couple of the lions, usually a little distant, make ready eye contact with us. They react to the visitors as welcome friends, rather than with the weariness of an objectified being. One of the lions does a loping dance back and forth along the fence, looking out with curiosity, and yes, smiling at everyone.

After a moment or two of wonder, it becomes obvious that the big cats have bonded with the humans in a deeper way. Even with the exceptional care they receive, the animals clearly know that these people chose to protect them with their lives. There is no mistaking what we are seeing, the animals are showing appreciation.

Darby & Zoe bond

Darby & Zoe bond

The humans and big cats at Shambala Preserve went through the fire together, and came out with a renewed understanding and love for each other. The close call with fire appears to have caused a tiny mutation to both human and big cat. Whatever ingrained, false ideas any of us hold that keep us believing that animals are less conscious, cannot understand, or feel less than humans do, eroded further. A chunk of ignorance separating us from other sentient beings on this blue planet also got incinerated during the seven days of raging fire. Forged in heat and danger, solidifying into trust, a new recognition had arisen between species. Wary friends became loved allies, and instead of loss and sadness, we found something miraculous uncovered by the flames.

Love to All.

S. C. Light

Wandering around my local health food store one day, I came across a small bottle labeled “Dragon’s Blood”. It looked like something you’d find in Harry Potter’s Diagon Alley. “What is this for?” I asked the clerk. “It’s good for skin, and it sells out all the time,” she replied. “What’s it made of?” I review-rodial-dragons-blood-hyaluronic-night-cream-5persisted. “Some kind of tree blood,” she shrugged, “like vegan blood, that’s all I know.” Intrigued, I plunked down $15 and took it home. It turns out that Sange De Drago, is very much like a plant-based blood, filled with anti-oxidants and healing phytochemicals.

Harvested from Dracaena cinnabari trees, Dragon’s Blood is viscous, deep red, and has an earthy aroma. Native to the Socotra Archipelago in the Indian Ocean, Sange De Drago trees grow across South America and are found as far North as Mexico.

Dragon’s Blood Trees produce an uncanny facsimile of mammalian blood when cut. A clever coincidence of nature, the sap is also extremely compatible with mammal bio-systems. For many thousands of years, experienced indigenous healers in South America have known about the powerful medicinal properties of this sap. Sange De Drago, requires no alcohol, preservatives, or processing to keep it fresh. Dragon’s Blood sap is a rich, complex source of  alkaloids and procyanidins (condensedtannins). When applied to skin,  the sap dries to a thin layer that seals a wound area. It also kills parasites, viruses, and bacteria. Dragon’s Blood is often consumed internally for ulcers, infected gums, and to staunch bleeding after childbirth. There is evidence that it even kills cancer cells. (Please see: Dragon’s Blood Suppresses Cancer gene).

Dragon's Blood Trees

Dragon’s Blood Trees

apply Dragon'sBlood
Sange De Drago sap is reddish and slightly foamy when applied, it dries to a dark pink with a subtle sheen. The thin layer becomes a second skin. Although somewhat bitter-tasting, you can feed this to animals and humans alike, and apply it to rashes and minor abrasions and cuts. If an animal licks this product, it will cause no harm, and may in fact be good. A few drops in pet’s water can help with parasites. Humans and animals alike may take small does of Dragon’s Blood internally, for calming the central nervous system and minor stomach problems.

I also found that Dragon’s Blood does wonders for my skin, although upscale cosmetic companies have already discovered this fact, and are now using Dragon’s Blood as an ingredient in pricey bottles of face cream. Dragon’s Blood can be blended with almost anything you are already using. A bit drying by itself, mixing it with a cream base, or something thicker like Egyptian Magic (a whole other post) quickly produces a very healing skin tonic. The biggest drawback is that it stains.

Depending on how concentrated the Dragon’s Blood used in your home preparation, it will temporarily color your face, no matter what your skin tone. While it washes off skin and hair easily, be aware that it stains fabric and can get under your finger nails, making them seem dirty. A little soap, peroxide, and a nail brush will fix this quickly. I find that either alone, or blended with cream, Dragon’s Blood works best if you also mix a dab of Aloe/DMSO cream. PLEASE NOTE: You should NEVER use DMSO with a chemical product of any kind. DMSO pulls anything it is mixed with directly into your blood stream. Dragon’s Blood is safe, however, and as it is 100% plant-based, as well as a detoxifier, it will do your blood good. So, not to worry when using the two together.

Dragon's Blood Trees drip blood re sap when cut.

Dragon’s Blood Trees drip blood re sap when cut.

Dragon’s Blood purifies the dermis, gets rid of blemishes, and diminishes age spot and lines. I also use it on my toothbrush for gum health. (It doesn’t seem to stain teeth and it is excellent for overall dental & gum care.) Sometimes I put a few drops in water or juice just before sleeping as it promotes deep sleep and pleasant dreams.

All in all, Sangre De Drago is a natural healing sap and belongs in everyone’s medicine cabinet. As denizens of the Western world, we must continue to find and use healthy, less toxic ways to cure minor problems. The less you rely on manufactured drugs and chemicals, the better for your body and the planet.

Be Safe, Healthy, and Open-Minded. Yours truly, Hyperborean Health, the ancient way to modern vitality.

PLEASE NOTE: These articles and suggestions are not meant to replace your doctor’s advice. Natural remedies can work with the care of a licensed physician. Please speak with your doctor before engaging in a treatment for any condition.