Volume 2, Issue 8, page 4

remembered, when he was running, and came to the edge
of their lawn. Previous to that, he often had been
found miles away, running, naked.

In 1946 almost nobody asked, except a woman who
had malaria -- or at least a high fever -- and was out of
her head. I went over her. Within half an hour she
was normal, and I was burning up. I realized then and
there that I must make sure I didn't keep what I thus
took. Not only my hands, but all my visible body was
red. This was in New York.

I married again, moved to Pennsylvania. Seeing
no reason not to, I talked about my mysterious experience with red hands. By this time, when I saw someone
who was ill, I "knew" whether or not Ives to "treat"
that one. I knew simply because my bands got red,
sometimes d~~e__epp1y red. A. woman asked me to see another
woman who bad been paralyzed for more than 30'years,
by polio. I looked at the woman and "knew" I: could
have her on her feet, without braces or crutches, in
three years. The woman hadn't walked without, these
aids since che was seven. Doctors and osteopaths had
said nothing could be done for her. Her legs were
pipe-stems, skin and bones with no meat or muscles between skin and bones worth mentioning. She .had
no
kneecaps. You could put a tophat -- not that I tried
it!-where the lower part of her buttocks should have
been. Between three and four years later she had kneecaps, meat and muscles between her skin and bones, and
buttocks that looked about average. And now she can
stand with her hands on my shoulders. NV hands _spppeared to have done it. When I visit her weekly, she,
her mother, and I watch my hands to see whether the
"treatment" shall be so-so, general all-over. or very
concentrated. The shades of red on my hands tell us.

I've never again "heard voices", as such. though
I'm somehow "told" where to put my hands just before I
put them there. I think the patient's body knoVs, and
"tells" the hands.

A woman had, for 20 years, been unable to-answer
the telephone, sing in church, or talk at length; when
she tried she went into convulsions of coughing. I
told her I could fix her up in three weeks. I haven't
been good at timing. It took a year. But after the
first treatment, she went and sang in church, setting
herself back before she'd even been set forward. She
dismissed me when she could answer the telephone.

My best work has been with women and children,
though two men have been somehow freed of psoriasis by
my red hands. I'm convinced that m kind of "gift" is
channeled through the same viaduct as the sex urge. It
is wholly creative. But this must be made clear before
anybody dabbles! The healer by hands must be completely impersonal, and it isn't always easy. I never enter
the home of a patient if there is the slightest conflict in me. If I do, and touch the patient, the conflict is transferred to the patient. So is any sex
drive. however slight. If this happens the healer is,
most likely, through. His hands stay white, and useless thereafter.

I never accept amy payment. In the first place.
I can't, legally. In the second place, if I did the
"gift" would be a "gift" no longer. It would be something else, and the price set upon it would limit its
value to exactly that. I regard ay red hands as beyond
price. Nobody even buys my gasoline and I go whereever I am celed -- and I get a legitimate physician or
osteopath in on the deal at once, if the patient will.

Coughs are easy. A few "applications", requested
by the coughers, usually suffice, provided the coughs
are not due to common colds.

A .women held out her hands to me. They were ugly
with some sort of skin disease. They were cracked and
bleeding, as if terribly chapped. I suggested, explaining that I could not legally prescribe, that she
fet some sulphur at the nearest drug store. Next time
saw her I noticed that her hands were well. I asked
if the sulphur did it.
"No. By the time I got to the store, my hands
were Q.K.," she told me.
r~ hi. worked ffo~or~~yydears with a cerebral palsy victim
She also had rarthritis. I it ccoou ~ ld "do nothinng forvhe rr
4
twisted body, and told her so. She said she knew I
couldn't; also, since she was past 50, she didn't want
to walk -- it would create problems she wouldn't be able
to face that late in life. But her arthritis ceased
to pain her for a :minimum of 72 hours, a maximum of
five days, if I saw her once a week; 11 days if I saw
her every two weeks! Just palms, no deep massage,
ever.

A woman came to me with sciatica. I don't know
what it is. I don't know auatoub*. The woman told me
where it hurt. I applied the palms, in some places
with more than usual pressure. She left claiming to
be without pain. She hadn't slept for three weeks
prior to that, she told me.

A general practitioner called me in to get my
"impressions" of a muscular dystrophy patient. It was
a woman of 34. I had never seen muscular dystrophy,
but I didn't believe this was it. The doctor -- who
cialized in muscular dystrophy -- grinned when I told
him that it wasn't that. Later, the patient herself
called it "Distonia Muscular Deformance", told me the
spelling -- which I haven't even looked up, knowing I
know nothing about it.

But after 16 "applications" of the red hands, my
patient -- pardon me, the doctor's patient! -- has walked
short distances without he prof any kind, moving between spasms which are increasingly further apart.
Muscular defosmance is rough. B ythmically,the spacing
painfully close together. she gets a complete bodily
charley horse which stiffens her like a washboard. My
hands hold back the spasms somehow for as much as half
an hour. I'm convinced that if I stayed with her for
24 hours she would hewn, but there are reasons,
considering that I'm not a doctor, why my times with
this patient must be aT'rt.

A woman had suffered for three years with foliated dermatitis. When she reached the place where all
her body was a deep scaling sunburn, hideously painful, when she couldn't sleep and prayed for death,
physicians and osteopaths gave her up. She called in
a hypnotist, who couldn't put her to sleep because she
couldn't forget her agony long enough. Iben so, he
managed to get her hair growing again, her toenails
and fingernails, all of which had been missing for
months. But he could go no further. He called for my
hands, and dropped out.

I don't fool around with disease on my own, for
all that I have done well with it. I called in the
doctor who had brought as into his hmuscular dystro" case. He believes in looking behind disease. He
oeesn't t rule out anything, believing that anthroposophy may be a key o cure for many ailments on which
physicians, psychiatrists. osteopaths, chiropractors,
and others despair. He insisted that I continue using
my hands, and for a time, I traveled 20 miles a day to
go over the middle-aged woman. It's now down to twice
a week-usually I visit patients once a week -- and the
woman's body breathes and perspires again, she sleeps
well, and a nice normal white body is pushing its way
through the dermatitis. There is still work to do on
her hands and feet and scalp.

I've also taken on a woman weighing 286 pounds.
She lacked the ability to push back from the table