So here, I sing the power of food— Not food as filler, but as frequency. As a voice. As a guide.
I sing the language of nature and how it speaks through the plate, through the fruit, through the grain, through the leaf and the oil— whispering its code into the temple of my body.
If anyone knows me, they know: I guard the gates of this mouth like a priestess. I listen before I bite. Because my body— she has been broken, and I have rebuilt her with love.
Not once. Not twice. But many times. I became her healer because I finally heard her voice.
My journey began not in the gut, but in the blood. Platelets carried messages. And without a spleen, those messages echoed louder. Blood became my oracle. And when it spoke, I answered.
Doctors gave me scripts and sentences— “Take an antibiotic every day for life,” they said. But my body said: No. And I obeyed her.
Meat made me sick. Fish, too, in time. So I stopped eating beings I didn’t understand. And sought instead the foods that made my cells sing.
I once worshipped the bagel and cream cheese— Oh, how I indulged. Until my gallbladder began to weep. Pregnancy brought the lessons louder: itching skin, rising bile, the bitter truth of dairy’s hidden toll.
My skin turned blue. My spirit dimmed. I thought I wouldn’t make it.
Because I listened to them— the white coats, the “the food pyramid”, the outer voices who never once asked me what my body had to say.
But now, I return. To the voice within. To nature’s code. To the food that comes from earth, not factory.
I return to reverence. To simplicity. To the song of nourishment.
Because food is not a meal—
It is a message.
And I am here to listen.
For the love of the body,
I sing.
