The body does not distinguish between a real event and an imagined one. Tell yourself a vivid negative story about tomorrow, and the heart pounds, the thoughts race out of control, the stomach tightens, as if the thing were actually happening. The average person thinks nine negative thoughts for every positive one. The conclusion is uncomfortable and precise: most adults spend their days being physically distressed by events that are not occurring, nine times over, on behalf of catastrophes that will never arrive. Peace Begins With Me (2005) is a father’s working account of what happened when he applied that mechanism, and nine others like it, to a life he had spent in a state of war. Joshua Kuntz was born healthy. At five months, following a childhood vaccine, he began to convulse — the first seizure lasting more than twenty-five minutes. By his fourth birthday he was seizing twelve to fifteen times a day, each episode expending the energy of a marathon. By his fifth year, the doctors at Children’s Hospital in Vancouver had closed his case.
Ted Kuntz, M.Ed, is a psychotherapist in private practice in Vancouver, Canada, with more than twenty years of experience in individual, relationship, and family therapy. He has taught personal wellness at a community college and delivered the workshop version of this material to corporate, government, and not-for-profit audiences. The wisdom in the book did not come from his graduate training. He states it plainly in Chapter Two — the knowledge and skills he acquired in his professional training were inadequate to provide relief. What appears on the page was built out of two decades of reading, experimentation, and consultation, and a single commitment made at a window where a four-year-old boy was looking at a father who refused to accept him.
The book appeared in 2005. The medical sequence Kuntz documents — convulsion onset following injection, a hospital visit where “treat your son as a normal child, and everything will be fine” was the discharge instruction, further injections, more seizures, pharmaceutical escalation, eventual withdrawal of treatment with the case formally closed before the child’s fifth birthday — is a sequence a great many parents in the same decade would recognise. The pediatric medicine that administered the vaccine offered no acknowledgment, no treatment pathway, and no language for what had happened. Kuntz’s refusal is on the page: toxins from a recently administered childhood vaccine were the cause of his son’s seizures. He states it in Chapter Two and does not retract it. The book was written from inside the silence this produces for parents who know what caused their child’s condition and live in a culture that insists it could not have been what it was.
Within the terrain canon, this book sits beside the other primary-source records of pharmaceutical injury refused acknowledgment by the institutions that produced it — not as theory, but as documentary, a father’s testimony joined to a working method for what one does after acceptance replaces resistance. The full summary unpacks three findings that reward careful reading. Hans Selye’s 1970s distinction between stress (the external force, largely outside our control) and distress (the internal response, entirely inside it), and the helplessness that follows from conflating the two. The passage in one of the Dead Sea Scrolls identifying the two actions required for a miracle — seeing it in the mind’s eye and feeling what it would feel like to have it occur — a formula buried repeatedly across the centuries as either too simplistic or too unscientific, and quietly reactivated by the oncologists Carl Simonton and Bernie Segal in their work with cancer patients who outlived their diagnoses. And the mechanism by which attention itself creates experience, illustrated by a grade seven teacher who used his first pick of the year to choose a boy with a seizure disorder, a few dozen words of speech, and a two-year-old’s intellectual capacity — because he had noticed what the children around that boy became. After nearly two decades of uncontrolled seizing, Kuntz describes a different experience of his son: one of joy, beauty, and gratitude. The seizure frequency remained unchanged.
I had the pleasure of meeting Ted recently. His work, and that of Vaccine Choice Canada — which he leads as president — has been covered on this site three times before: a piece on the 2021 edition of Dare to Question in August 2023, a 32-question summary of the 2025 Pregnancy and Vaccination guide in June 2025, and a review of the extended edition of Dare to Question: A Young Adult’s Guide to Vaccination in September. I support that work and I support him. Peace Begins With Me is the earlier book — the quieter book — that sits upstream of all of it. It records what a father made of the catastrophe before he became an advocate, and it is what makes the later advocacy legible. Joshua Kuntz passed away in February 2017 from his vaccine-related injuries. His father wrote this book twelve years earlier, with Josh still alive and still seizing, and documented how he had already stopped being at war.
Peace Begins With Me: An Inspirational Journey to End Suffering and Restore Joy: Kuntz M.Ed., Ted
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30 Q&As
Question 1: What does the Native parable of the two wolves say about the inner battle every person faces, and what determines which wolf wins?
Answer: Inside every heart two wolves are locked in combat. One is angry and vindictive and wishes to hurt others. The other is peaceful, joyful, and loving. When the grandson in the story asks his grandfather which wolf will win, the elder answers simply — the one he feeds. The parable is not a piece of folklore to be admired and set aside. It is a working description of how a life is made. Each thought, each choice, each story told to oneself, each story allowed in from outside, is food thrown to one wolf or the other.
The battle is never settled once and for all. It is settled moment by moment, meal by meal, by the ideas and actions a person takes into themselves. A life of anger and resentment is not an accident of circumstance. It is the predictable outcome of a steady diet of one kind of thinking. A life of peace and joy is the predictable outcome of a different diet. The wolf a person ends up living with is the one they have been feeding all along.
Question 2: What does the game of musical chairs reveal about the values being taught to children, and what alternative does Ted propose?
Answer: Place chairs back to back, one less than the number of children, start the music, and watch what happens. The strongest, fastest, and most aggressive child wins. The gentle and considerate are the first to lose. Two premises sit underneath the game — there is not enough to go around, and nice people finish last. Charles Darwin might be pleased. The children come away with one happy winner and many unhappy losers, and the values of scarcity and aggression have been quietly planted.
Change one rule and the whole character of the game shifts. Keep removing a chair each round, but ask the children to find a way they can all sit on the diminishing number. Now creativity and cooperation become the ingredients of success. No one is excluded for not being good enough or strong enough. The same children, with the same chairs, now practise a different set of skills. The question worth asking is whether the game being played reflects the kind of community we wish to create — and whether the skills of aggression and competition are really the ones we want our teachers, politicians, and business leaders to have mastered.
Question 3: What happened to Joshua in the first five years of his life, and what toll did it take on his father?
Answer: Joshua was born healthy. At five months old he began convulsing, and the first seizure lasted more than 25 minutes. Toxins from a recently administered childhood vaccine were the cause. The seizures returned, again and again, and no combination of medications stopped them. By his fourth birthday he was seizing twelve to fifteen times a day, each seizure expending the energy of a marathon. His intellectual capacity was reduced to that of a two-year-old. By his fifth year, the doctors at the Children’s Hospital closed his case — they had nothing left to offer.
Watching a child seize over and over, knowing any one seizure could kill him, and being unable to protect him, broke his father. Thoughts of suicide arrived frequently and brought more guilt with them. A family therapist whose own life would not work felt like a fraud. His wife resigned her job to provide full-time care. His daughter Lani was five years older and was forgotten in the chaos — there simply was not enough time or energy for a healthy nine-year-old. The first five years of Joshua’s life were spent in a state of war against reality.
Question 4: What did the psychic tell Ted about Joshua, and why did this consultation prove to be a turning point?
Answer: Out of despair came a visit to a psychic. The one question that mattered was whether Joshua would live. The psychic answered that the son would outlive the father, as he should. A second question followed — if the son is to live, what will he be when he grows up? The psychic answered that he would be what he already was, and that was a teacher. A teacher. With an intellectual capacity reduced to that of a two-year-old.
The notion was dismissed at first, and then curiosity arrived. If Josh is a teacher, then what might he teach me? Simply opening the mind to the possibility that Josh could teach something made it possible to receive his lessons. The psychic’s words had no power over the events of Joshua’s medical condition — he continued to seize with the same frequency. What changed was the meaning assigned to his presence. Where there had been only anger, frustration, and sadness, there was now the beginning of joy, beauty, and gratitude. That was the turning point.
Question 5: What did Ted see in the empty window, and what commitment grew out of that moment?
Answer: Most days the window beside the garage was empty when he arrived home from work. An empty window meant Josh was in seizure or having a hard day. Over time the stomach churned at the turn into the driveway. On one particular day the window was not empty — Josh’s smiling face was framed there. And as the warmth of that welcome settled, a question arrived as clearly as if it had been spoken out loud: when your son looks out the window at you, what does he see?
What he saw was a father who was angry and afraid, anxious and agitated, a father who refused to accept his own child the way he is. In that moment of clarity, one truth was unavoidable — Joshua deserved better. A commitment was made that day, to do whatever it took to become more peaceful, joyful, and happy. More importantly, to love the son he had rather than the son he did not have. The healthy, normal son who existed only in imagination was released. The most important journey of his life began that day.
Question 6: Why does imagining the worst feed the negative wolf, and what formula captures the mechanism behind fear?
Answer: The body does not distinguish between a real event and an imagined one. Tell yourself a negative story about a future event and the heart pounds, the thoughts race, the stomach tightens. Whether the imagined thing eventually happens is irrelevant — the distress arrives on cue, every time. Fear is never about something happening in this moment. Fear is always about a possible future event. The mechanism is amazingly simple: FEAR = Future + Negative Story.
Only two fears are wired in at birth — heights and loud noises. Everything else is learned. The culture is an excellent teacher of negative imagining. Research shows the average person thinks nine times as many negative thoughts as positive ones. Newspapers, television, and radio supply a steady stream of negative stories, and their effect on the body is identical to inventing those stories oneself. Mark Twain captured it perfectly: “I’ve had a very difficult life. Fortunately, most of it didn’t happen.” The negative wolf is well fed by a mind that spends its days imagining disasters that never arrive.
Question 7: What did Ray Woollam’s seminar reveal about the concept of “mistake,” and how do First Nations languages and the film industry treat the same idea differently?
Answer: Ray asked a room full of people to name the biggest mistake of their life. Then he asked each person whether, at the moment the decision was made, they believed it to be a good one. Every answer was yes. No one chooses a mistake. Every decision is the best one available given the information, skill, and options present in that moment. Rebecca’s story — losing her virginity to a complete idiot — turned out, on examination, to have been a pleasant evening with someone she enjoyed, who was discovered to be an idiot six months later.
Ray then asked a First Nations seminar the same question, but added an assignment — identify the word for “mistake” in your traditional language. Of sixteen tribes represented, not one had a word for it. The idea does not exist in most aboriginal cultures. The closest approximation translated as “sometimes when I place an arrow in my bow, the arrow doesn’t go where I intend.” Absent was any shame, blame, guilt, or embarrassment. The film and recording industries make the same distinction — they call them “missed takes” and simply do another take. Thomas Edison made approximately 1,400 of them before he perfected the light bulb. “Mistake” is simply an agreement, a concept, an intellectual construct — and not a universally shared one. It feeds the negative wolf whenever it is accepted.
Question 8: What does Ted mean by “victimitis,” and how does the language of “I have no choice” shape the inner life of the person who uses it?
Answer: Ray Woollam called it an epidemic. Most people act as though they are victims — as though life happens to them and they have no choice. The language gives it away: I don’t want to, but I have to. I have no choice but to go to work, pay my taxes, raise the fares, lay off four hundred employees. Politicians and CEOs model this way of speaking every night on the news, and the rest of the culture catches it like a cold. When those statements are made, the feelings that follow are anger, resentment, and powerlessness.
Each statement is also untrue. The honest version is longer: I reviewed the options before me, and because of what I value and the outcome I want, I choose to go to work, pay my taxes, lay off the employees, or whatever it is. Behaviour is always functional — a person acts a certain way because they prefer the consequences of acting that way to the consequences of not acting that way. Choice is always present. And even when something happens that was not of our choosing, we still choose the meaning we assign to it. To think and speak like a victim is to deny the one power that is always available, and the negative wolf grows fat on the denial.
Question 9: What happens when the mind and body are in two different places at the same time, and how does Eckhart Tolle’s work illuminate this condition?
Answer: The body is wired like a home alarm system. When the mind wanders off to the future or the past while the body stays in the chair, a signal goes off — a slight tension in the stomach, a disturbance, an uneasiness. We call it anxiety. Anxiety is a message created by the body to inform the mind that it has become disconnected. The two are no longer whole. Road rage is the same phenomenon with a driver — the body in this lane of traffic, the mind farther along where it thinks it ought to be. Reconnect the two and the rage disappears.
Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now names this condition and offers a way out. Unease, anxiety, tension, stress, worry — all forms of fear — are caused by too much future and not enough presence. Guilt, regret, resentment, grievance, sadness, bitterness, and all forms of non-forgiveness are caused by too much past and not enough presence. Most people live almost exclusively through memory or anticipation, both of which are illusions. The now is all there is. The now is all there ever is. A life spent somewhere else is a life missed.
Question 10: Why is resisting reality futile, and what does resistance actually change?
Answer: Every “should” and “shouldn’t” statement is an argument with something that has already happened. It shouldn’t be raining. The accident shouldn’t have happened. My son shouldn’t have been damaged by the vaccine. Each statement denies what is. The reality is that it is raining, the accident did happen, the damage was done. No amount of should-ing or would-having will change a condition that already exists. Resistance, as Eckhart Tolle puts it, is one of the most insane things a human being does — a direct quarrel with the past.
What resistance does change is the person doing the resisting. It turns them into someone angry, frustrated, and resentful. It impedes forward movement, because attention is locked onto a past event. It is like trying to drive forward while looking in the rear-view mirror. The paradox is that acceptance — not resistance — is what makes change possible. Only after fully accepting what is can the next question be asked honestly: given this exists, what do I choose to do now? Resistance feeds the negative wolf precisely because it pretends to be doing something while it does nothing.
Question 11: How does the pattern of “I’ll be happy when…” sabotage happiness, and what does the donkey-and-carrot image reveal about the way most people live?
Answer: I’ll be happy when the weekend comes. When I retire. When I win the lottery. When my son stops seizing. Each statement delivers the same message in two parts — I am not happy now, and I will be happy sometime in the future. Happiness is placed somewhere outside the present moment, and the mind is instructed to keep reaching for it. Even on the rare occasions when one of the items is actually achieved, the happiness is short-lived. A new item takes its place on the list, and the pattern resumes.
The cartoon shows a donkey straining to reach a carrot that has been tied just beyond his nose. His owner has cleverly placed it there to keep him walking. Most of us live our lives like that donkey — moving steadily toward a happiness that stays just beyond our reach. Advertising is designed to keep it there. Every commercial promises happiness in the future, when the product has been purchased, when the service has been obtained. And “in the future” is exactly where happiness stays. The same pattern applies to peace, joy, contentment, love, and generosity. Project them into the future and they remain there.
Question 12: What is the difference between stress and distress, and why does conflating the two create powerlessness?
Answer: Hans Selye drew the distinction in the 1970s with his work Stress without Distress. A civil engineer would describe stress as an external force, pressure, or weight that a bridge must be designed to withstand — the source is always outside. Applied to a human life, stress is the external force, pressure, or weight exerted upon us. The event. The circumstance. Distress is something else entirely — an internal force, the response we create inside ourselves, the meaning we assign to the stress.
Stress is largely outside our control. Distress is entirely inside it. Treating the two as the same word combines something we have power over with something we don’t, and the result is confusion and helplessness. Keep them separate and the picture clears. Life will continue to deliver its share of events — some welcome, some not. The meaning assigned to those events is the part that is ours. Selye’s phrase for the possibility is exact: stress without distress. The events still come. The suffering is optional.
Question 13: What does the newspaper exercise with Ted’s community college students reveal about the stories we consume, and what did Michael Warren observe about who tells the stories our children hear?
Answer: Each new semester the assignment was simple. Bring a newspaper and scissors. Read it end to end, cut out the articles, and sort them into two piles — negative and fear-based in one, positive and affirming in the other. The result never varied. The negative pile was huge, often most of the paper. The positive pile was a handful of articles at most. The same ratio holds for television and radio. We are soaked, every day, in a stream of stories whose effect on the body is identical to inventing disasters in our own imagination. They make us sick. They feed the negative wolf.
Michael Warren, in an article for parents, asked a question that cuts deeper. Aboriginal cultures used storytelling as the primary means by which elders passed values, beliefs, and traditions from one generation to the next. Who tells the stories your children hear today? For most families, the answer is television — cartoons and comedy shows that have replaced parents and grandparents as the teachers of what is important, what is valuable, what is good and bad. Not only have we handed our children over to storytellers we do not know, we have handed ourselves over as well. The media now defines for us what to think, what to fear, and what to want. Given the power of story to shape the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual body, that is a transfer worth noticing.
Question 14: What is the toolbox metaphor, and why does Ted insist on asking “does it work?” rather than “is it right?”
Answer: Every person is born with an empty toolbox. Over a lifetime, skills, knowledge, and wisdom are added to it. Some people are fortunate — wise teachers and rich life experiences fill the toolbox early. Others go through life with a toolbox that stays largely empty. The inability to achieve peace, joy, and happiness is, more often than not, a lack of tools rather than a lack of worthiness. The point of a book like this is simple — to add tools to the toolbox so there is something to reach for when life makes its demands.
Most people have been taught to judge new ideas by asking whether they are right or wrong. That question stops the inquiry before it begins. The more useful question is whether the idea works — whether, when applied in daily life, it points the person in the direction they want to go. After more than twenty years of family therapy, the sequence is reliable. First ask whether what the person is doing now is working. The answer is usually no. The right answer, then, must be some other action. Generate several alternatives. Experiment until one works. The right answer is the one that works. Rightness is dependent on effectiveness, not the other way around.
Question 15: Why is taking responsibility for the meaning assigned to events the most important tool of all, and what do a golf score and a Canadian joke about Hell have in common?
Answer: A round of golf finishes with a score of 80. Is that cause for celebration or frustration? It depends. For a golfer who normally scores in the 90s, an 80 is a reason to buy drinks for everyone. For a golfer who normally shoots in the low 70s, the same 80 is a disappointment that might end the day in anger. Same score. Opposite experiences. The score is the event — neutral, outside. The experience is created inside, by the meaning assigned. This is the mechanism underneath every emotion we have.
The Canadians arrive in Hell and refuse to be miserable. The Devil turns up the heat; they lounge in shorts, delighted to be thawing out. He turns Hell freezing cold; they throw a party, convinced the Toronto Maple Leafs must have finally won the Stanley Cup because Hell has frozen over. The events are the same for every resident of Hell. The meaning the Canadians assign makes the difference between torment and party. Shakespeare said it in one line — there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. Taking responsibility for the meaning assigned to events is the first and most powerful tool because it is the one that creates the experience of every other event in life.
Question 16: How does the imagination function as the mechanism of creation, and what does the Dead Sea Scrolls passage on miracles reveal about the two actions required?
Answer: All things are created twice — first in someone’s mind, then in physical form. The painter sees the completed painting on a blank canvas. The sculptor sees the finished carving in an untouched block of wood. The Olympic athlete sees the dive, the run, the routine, over and over in the mind before the body ever moves. Dr. Carl Simonton taught cancer patients to imagine their cells being eaten by a giant PAC-MAN and documented significantly better rates of recovery. Dr. Bernie Segal found the same pattern among patients who outlived terminal diagnoses — their secret was positive imagining. The 1952 Yale study found that the three percent of graduates who had written out a life plan were, twenty years later, profoundly more successful than the ninety-seven percent who had not.
One of the Dead Sea Scrolls asks how miracles happen. The answer given is that two actions are required. The first is to see in the mind’s eye what you want to create. The second is to feel what it would feel like to have the event occur. When seeing and feeling are combined, miracles happen. The $1,000 Toyota Corolla story is a small example — the vehicle imagined in detail on a Friday evening was the vehicle offered by a neighbour the next morning, within thirty minutes of waking. Intention and attention, Deepak Chopra said it, are the two qualities that bring about conscious change. Attention energises. Intention transforms. Most people use their imagination in reverse, picturing what they do not want — and then wonder why they keep getting it.
Question 17: What does living in the present actually feel like, and how does “getting back to your senses” bring a wandering mind home?
Answer: When mind and body occupy the same place at the same time, something quiet arrives. The inner noise stops. There is stillness within. In the present moment, fear does not exist. Neither does anger, resentment, grief, guilt, or worry — those belong to the past and the future, which are both illusions. The present is always manageable. Whatever shows up in this moment can be handled in this moment. What is not manageable is the parade of negative stories about futures that have not arrived and pasts that cannot be changed.
The way back is through the senses. On a silent retreat the facilitator asked participants to feel the bark of a tree, smell the fragrance of a flower, listen to running water, taste the salt of the ocean. The reason was simple — to feel bark, you must be inside your body. To smell a flower or taste salt, the mind must join the body. The senses cannot be activated from somewhere else. Feel the ink moving from the pen onto the paper. Listen to the wind. Monitor the breath moving in and out of the lungs. Each one disengages the mind from its mental activities and brings it into present-moment awareness. The opportunities for stillness are all around, at any moment, for anyone willing to notice.
Question 18: What question did Ted begin asking himself the night his daughter arrived home at 4 am, and why does acting on the emotion with the “highest score” so often fail?
Answer: Lani was fourteen. Her curfew was 10 pm. She arrived home at 4 am. In the six hours between, many emotions moved through the body — anger, fear, disappointment, confusion, sadness, hurt, but also love, concern, and hope. Many emotions, all at once, at different intensities. The habitual response had always been to express whichever emotion was loudest — the one with the highest score. If anger was highest, express anger. If disappointment was highest, express disappointment. That night, while waiting, a different question arrived: what action of mine will do the most good?
The answer, after some reflection, was neither anger nor disappointment. It was to express love and gratitude that Lani had arrived home safely. When she walked in, she was met with a hug, a declaration of love, and the news that the consequence would be discussed in the morning. Her surprise was obvious — she had expected the usual anger and judgment. That night was the beginning of a shift. The question — what action of mine will do the most good? — began to replace the automatic reaction. Actions became more intentional, more caring, more effective. In any given situation, generate at least three alternatives before choosing. The most innovative and effective solutions usually appear only after pushing past the first obvious ones.
Question 19: What are the four questions in Byron Katie’s Work, and how does the practice of noticing whose business you are in simplify a complicated life?
Answer: Byron Katie hands out index cards and invites each person to write down a complaint. My husband should love me more. My boss should appreciate me. My children should do more. Then four questions are asked. Is it true? Are you absolutely certain it’s true? How do you react when you think this thought? Who would you be without this thought? Take “my wife doesn’t love me.” The honest answer to the second question is almost always no — it cannot be absolutely known. The third question returns an answer of anger, hurt, resentment. The fourth answer is more peaceful, joyful, loving. The turn-around — my wife does love me, or I don’t love me — often reveals a deeper truth than the original statement.
The second tool is a question about boundaries. Katie says there are three kinds of business in the world — mine, yours, and God’s. Whose business are you in? The only business worth being in is one’s own. Most of what people resist is not their business. My son’s medical condition is Joshua’s business and God’s business. My business is how I respond to it. Taking responsibility for someone else’s happiness, or someone else’s weather, or someone else’s choices, produces only exhaustion and resentment on one side and irresponsibility on the other. Stay in your own business, and the whole picture gets simpler and more manageable at once.
Question 20: What is the relationship between fear and trust, and what did the merger seminar with Helen reveal about a person’s actual track record?
Answer: Fear and trust move in opposite directions on the same scale. When fear is high, trust is low. Raise the trust, and the fear falls on its own. It does not matter what or whom is trusted — the act of trusting reduces fear and increases peace. Novice Buddhists are given an empty bowl and sent out to beg for their food, not because the monastery cannot feed them but because the practice is designed to develop trust. Day by day the bowl is filled through the kindness of strangers, and over time the young Buddhist learns to trust the universe, the abundance of life, and the compassion of others.
Helen arrived at a merger seminar convinced that losing her job meant losing her home and living on the streets within six months. A few questions changed the picture. How old are you? Forty-seven. How many days in forty-seven years have you lived on the street? None. How many days have you gone to bed without food? None. A 100% success rate across more than four decades in finding shelter and keeping yourself fed. What makes you think your ability to take care of yourself will end when your job ends? Helen laughed and agreed she was a pretty tough old gal. Trust is built the way a muscle is built — regular exercise, focused attention. Ask in any difficult moment: what can I trust in this moment? Then nourish whatever the answer is.
Question 21: What is the purpose of pain, and what did Ted’s recovery from a fractured spine without pain medication teach him about listening to the body’s messages?
Answer: Pain has a purpose. It is the body’s way of informing its owner that something being done, or something happening, is not healthy or life-sustaining. The common response is to medicate it. Prescription pills. Alcohol. Tobacco. Marijuana. But also exercise, television, gambling, sleeping, shopping, working, and eating. Whatever silences the messenger. The problem is that silencing the messenger does not remove the cause. The body resends the message, louder. If that too is medicated, the message gets louder still. On it goes, until the illness reaches an advanced stage that cannot be ignored — and the person is forced to address the underlying cause, or die.
A fall from a ladder while hanging Christmas lights produced three fractures in the spine. The prescription for pain medication was not filled. Instead, pain was listened to. A few steps of walking brought pain, and pain sent the body back to bed. A few hours later another walk, slightly longer. Then back to bed. Over weeks the periods of walking lengthened, and the healing kept pace with the activity. The doctor remarked at the speed of the recovery. Medicating the pain would have allowed longer periods on the feet and almost certainly caused further injury. The same principle works for emotional pain. “If my pain could speak to me, it would tell me…” is a homework assignment that returns valuable information every time. Pain usually says slow down, let go, find another way, or let go of a belief that is not true.
Question 22: How does scheduling worry time reduce the actual amount of worrying, and why does the mind respond to this instruction when “don’t worry” fails?
Answer: Everyone has been told not to worry. Almost no one can follow that advice. “Don’t worry” is not a useful instruction to the mind — it is too vague, too negative, too much like telling a child not to think about a pink elephant. Scheduling worry time is advice that can actually be followed. Decide how long to worry each day — ten to fifteen minutes is usually plenty. Decide when and where the worrying will happen. The instruction becomes specific: today I will worry between 7:00 and 7:15 pm, sitting in the red chair in the living room. Then, during the day, whenever a worry arrives, gently remind the mind of its appointment.
In the first few days the worry will try to arrive dozens of times outside its scheduled slot. For a practiced worrier, hundreds. Each time, the mind is simply redirected to its appointed time and place. Within about a week, the mind responds to the imposed structure and becomes quieter. This works because the mind is receptive to direction — but only to clear direction, honoured by action. Showing up in the worry chair at 7:00 pm each evening keeps the agreement. The mind learns that the worries will be heard, just not now. The strategy sounds strange and works reliably. It is a reminder that the right answer in life is the one that works.
Question 23: Why is happiness a decision rather than a reward, and what did the Buddhist master mean by the shift from seeking happiness to creating happiness?
Answer: Happiness is an inside job, not an outside job. Abraham Lincoln said most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. He did not say they are as happy as their partners, children, neighbours, or employers make them. The meaning assigned to life’s events creates the experience of those events, and meaning is always chosen by the one who does the assigning. For many years Joshua’s seizures controlled the family’s happiness — happy when he was free of them, unhappy when they returned. The seizures were outside anyone’s control. The happiness pegged to them was therefore outside anyone’s control. The whole arrangement was a mistake in thinking.
A young Buddhist devotee asks his master how he will know when he has arrived. The master answers — you will have arrived when you shift from seeking happiness to creating happiness. Seeking looks outward for something to deliver the experience. Creating turns inward and makes the experience. Nelson Mandela created happiness inside a jail cell for twenty-seven years. If the goal is happiness, the commitment to it has to match the commitment given to any other goal. The question to ask, whenever anger or sadness arises, is simple: do I want to continue experiencing this, or would I rather do something about it? The choice is always there.
Question 24: Why does breathing from the diaphragm matter so much, and what is the difference between living as a sponge and living as a duck?
Answer: Breathing is the most important activity a human being performs. Stop breathing, and everything else stops. The breathing apparatus works like an old-fashioned bellows. Open the diaphragm, a vacuum forms in the lungs, oxygen is drawn in. Close the diaphragm, carbon dioxide is pushed out. A newborn baby breathes this way instinctively — its belly rises and falls with each breath. Most adults do not. The belly stays flat. All movement happens in the chest, which supplies far less oxygen than the body is designed to receive. Chronic fear is part of the reason — a mind telling itself negative stories keeps the body tense, and tense muscles do not permit full diaphragmatic breathing. Cultural pressure to keep the stomach flat is another part.
A person who breathes using the lungs only lives like a sponge. They absorb the struggles and challenges of daily life. Over time they become saturated and heavy and find it hard to move forward. Many people who experience depression are, in part, breathing badly. A person who breathes from the diaphragm lives like a duck. The struggles roll off the back. They stay light and buoyant and float through life. An easy test: lie on the back, loosen the clothing, place the hands on the lower belly. If the hands rise and fall with each breath, the diaphragm is doing its work. If the hands stay still, the lungs are doing it alone. There is also a wisdom in the body that becomes available through proper breathing — a wisdom the intellect alone cannot reach.
Question 25: What did Jerome’s story about the day he broke his back reveal about the relationship between events and meaning?
Answer: Jerome went water skiing with friends, under the influence of mind-altering substances. His intoxicated friend drove the boat too close to shore. Jerome hit the rocks. His back broke, his spinal cord severed, his body permanently paralysed below the chest. Years later, speaking to a gymnasium full of high school students, one of them remarked that it must have been the worst day of Jerome’s life. Jerome’s answer surprised the room — it was actually the best day of his life. He explained that until that day he spent most of his time stoned or drunk, caring about nothing but where the next joint or case of beer was coming from. The hospital gave him two years to think. He decided to return to college and become a drug and alcohol counsellor for youth. The day he broke his back, he said, was the day he woke up — the day his life began to have purpose and meaning.
Any one of us can imagine someone in Jerome’s situation spending the rest of life in resentment, possibly in suicide. Jerome chose a different meaning for the same event. The accident did not change — it is permanent. The paralysis did not change. What changed was the meaning assigned to a single day in a young man’s life. From that changed meaning came a changed experience, a changed direction, a changed career, a changed usefulness to a generation of young people who are alive today because of a conversation with a man in a wheelchair. Events do not determine experience. Meaning does.
Question 26: What did Jeff see in Joshua that led him to choose a boy with severe disabilities as his first pick for his grade seven class, and what was Joshua’s gift to the classroom?
Answer: Two teachers, Mike and Jeff, sat under a maple tree one hot August day to assign seventy students between their classes. They tossed a coin for first pick. Jeff called heads. He won. With his first pick he chose Joshua Kuntz — a boy with a seizure disorder, an intellectual capacity reduced to that of a two-year-old, perhaps a few dozen words of speech, and the risk of convulsing at any moment. Mike was baffled. Why would anyone use a first pick on a child with that much need? Jeff smiled. He had been watching Joshua in the hallways for years. What he had noticed was not Joshua at all. He had noticed how the other children responded to Joshua.
They were eager to greet him. They rushed through their assignments for the chance to read to him. Boys and girls alike wanted to hold his hand as he was pushed down the hallway. They modified their games to include him. They gently comforted him after a seizure. The children were kinder and more gentle in Joshua’s presence. Jeff believed having Joshua in his class would make it a kinder and gentler place for everyone — and it did. Anyone who visited that grade seven classroom that year noticed something different about the room. The spirit of caring and compassion was unmistakable. Joshua’s gift, by way of his disability, was that he created opportunities for others to express their humanity. Jeff was looking at Joshua’s full parts rather than his deficits — and in doing so, he taught his students, and Joshua’s own father, to do the same.
Question 27: What are the three kinds of business according to Byron Katie, and what happens when we try to take responsibility for someone else’s business?
Answer: Byron Katie identifies three kinds of business operating in the world at any moment — my business, your business, and God’s business. Each one has an owner, and the owner is the only one who can run it well. When a person gets into business that is not theirs, confusion and exhaustion follow. Most of what people resist in life is not, on close examination, their business at all. My son’s medical condition is Joshua’s business and God’s business. My only business is how I respond to it. Keeping that straight makes life considerably simpler, because most of what was carried as a burden turns out not to belong to the one carrying it.
The common failure of boundaries shows up in the romantic phrase “you make me so happy.” It sounds sweet. The other side of the coin — “you make me so unhappy” — is less sweet, and more revealing. Others are not responsible for anyone’s emotional state. If we did have the power to determine another person’s emotions, we would simply make everyone happy all the time. When one person takes responsibility for another person’s happiness, both lose. The one taking responsibility fails, because the task is beyond their actual power. The one whose happiness is being taken on stops taking responsibility for it themselves, because there is no point in two people owning the same thing. Life works best when each person tends their own business — their own peace, their own joy, their own happiness — and lets others tend theirs.
Question 28: What did the breathing seminar reveal when the participants ran around the room with their eyes closed, and what does this suggest about the wisdom available below the intellect?
Answer: The breathing instructor had the participants stand, close their eyes, breathe from the diaphragm, and then run around the room as fast as possible in any direction, eyes still closed. A dozen people running at full speed, eyes shut, in a single room. The obvious expectation was a pile of bodies on the floor within seconds. Not one person got knocked over. There were no collisions at all. Every person successfully navigated the space. The instructor then had everyone repeat the exercise with eyes open. Within a few steps, collisions were constant.
The instructor’s explanation was blunt. The problem is that the intellect thinks it is so smart. By closing the eyes and silencing the intellect, access becomes available to a wisdom in the body far superior to the thinking mind. Diaphragmatic breathing is one of the ways to reach it. Albert Einstein’s biography confirms the pattern — Einstein’s famous ideas did not come to him at his desk. They came while he walked in the woods each day. Einstein seems to have known how to access the wisdom within. Most of us have been trained to trust only the thinking mind, and to ignore or override the deeper intelligence that operates below it. The breathing seminar is a small demonstration that something intelligent in a human being knows what the eyes and the intellect cannot know.
Question 29: How does change actually happen — illustrated by the manhole metaphor — and why does sharing what one learns matter so much to retaining it?
Answer: You walk down a street. A manhole cover is missing. You fall in. You climb out and continue on your way. The next day, same street, same missing cover, same fall. On the third day you notice the cover is missing — and still manage to fall in. On the fourth day you notice, and successfully step around the hole. On the fifth day you walk down a different street. That is how change actually happens. Not all at once. Not in a single insight. Step by step, through holes fallen into, climbed out of, finally recognised, finally avoided, and eventually left behind in favour of a different path altogether. Anyone expecting change to arrive in a single clean moment will abandon the quest the first time they fall back into a familiar hole.
Retention is the other half of the practical picture. Information given verbally is retained at about ten percent. In writing, about fifteen. Verbally and written together, about twenty. Reading a book, even a good book, means that roughly eighty-five percent of the content will be forgotten within two months. One method of instruction yields a dramatically higher rate — sharing. When a student undertakes to share newly acquired information with at least one other person, retention climbs to approximately ninety percent. The implication is direct. Anyone serious about putting these ideas to work should identify one person to share them with, and do it within the week. The sharing is not generosity. It is the method by which the ideas are kept.
Question 30: What does it mean to say that peace begins within, and why is this the precondition for peace in the family, the community, and the world?
Answer: For centuries, possibly millennia, people have cried out for peace. We continue to be surrounded by conflict and war. The common belief is that governments are responsible for creating peace on earth. Nothing could be further from the truth. The philosophers, saints, and sages have all greeted us with the same phrase — “peace be with you” — and the meaning is practical, not ceremonial. Peace must begin in one’s own heart and mind. Experience of peace in the global world requires its experience first in the personal world. Peace begins at home. Peace begins with me.
The order is not negotiable. A person at war with themselves cannot bring peace to a family. A family at war with itself cannot bring peace to a community. A community in conflict cannot build a peaceful nation. A world of nations at war with themselves cannot bring peace to a planet. Gandhi captured it in one sentence — be the change you want the world to be. The tools in this book exist for that purpose. Take responsibility for the meaning assigned to events. Use the imagination creatively. Live in the present. Choose what does the most good. Accept reality. Trust. Pay attention to pain. Schedule worry time. Be happy now. Breathe from the diaphragm. Each one is a small act of peacemaking, performed first within. The world’s peace is built out of a great many of them, performed by a great many people, one choice at a time. The invitation is to become one of those people.
Analogy
Think of the inner life as a wood-burning stove. Two piles of wood sit beside it. One pile is cut from the tree of fear, resentment, and complaint — brittle, smoky, hard to burn well, but always within easy reach. The other pile is cut from the tree of acceptance, gratitude, presence, and trust — denser, cleaner-burning, warming the whole house for longer, but requiring that you walk out to the woodshed to fetch it. Every thought is a piece of wood thrown into the stove. The fire that results — the mood, the health, the quality of the day — is not a mystery delivered from outside. It is the direct product of which pile you have been feeding into it.
Most of us have been trained to grab from the easy pile without noticing. The news plays, and in goes a log of fear. A memory surfaces, and in goes a log of resentment. A worry arrives, and in goes a log of catastrophic imagining. The house fills with smoke, and we wonder why it is hard to breathe. The woodshed is still there. The denser wood is still available. The journey of this book is the walk out to the woodshed — learning which logs come from which pile, and training the hand to reach, each time, for the wood that burns clean.
The One-Minute Elevator Explanation
A Native grandfather tells his grandson that two wolves are fighting in his heart. One is angry and vindictive. The other is peaceful and joyful. The grandson asks which wolf will win. The grandfather answers: the one I feed. That is the whole premise of this book. Peace is not something handed down from a government or delivered by a change in circumstances. Peace is the direct result of which wolf you have been feeding — which thoughts you entertain, which stories you tell yourself, which meaning you assign to the events of your life.
A father watches his son be damaged by a childhood vaccine and spends five years in a state of war against the reality of a disabled child. One day he realises his son has been looking at a man who refuses to accept him. He makes a commitment, and over the years he learns six ways he had been feeding his own anger and ten tools he can use instead. The tools are simple. Take responsibility for the meaning you assign to events. Use your imagination for what you want rather than what you fear. Live in the present. Choose what does the most good. Accept what is. Trust. Listen to your pain. Schedule your worrying. Be happy now. Breathe from your diaphragm. Peace in the world begins with peace in each person. Peace begins with me.
[Elevator dings]
If you want to pull on a thread, look into Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now for the presence piece, Byron Katie’s Loving What Is for the acceptance piece, and Hans Selye’s work on stress without distress for the mechanism underneath all of it.
12-Point Summary
1. The Two Wolves run the whole picture. Inside every heart two wolves fight for the life of the person. One is angry and vindictive. The other is peaceful and joyful. The wolf that wins is the one that gets fed. Every thought, every chosen story, every moment of attention, is food thrown to one wolf or the other. This is not a sentimental parable — it is a working description of how a life is made. A person who understands this has already begun to take back the power over their inner state.
2. The fight is won meal by meal, not once and for all. Nothing about this work is a single insight that settles everything. Change happens like the manhole metaphor — fall in, climb out, fall in again, eventually notice the hole, then step around it, and finally walk a different street. Expecting a one-time transformation guarantees disappointment. Expecting a gradual, step-by-step rebuilding of habits is the realistic picture, and the one that lets a person keep going when they slip back.
3. Fear is Future plus Negative Story. The body does not distinguish between a real event and an imagined one. Fear is never about now. Fear is always about an imagined future paired with a negative story. The average person thinks nine negative thoughts for every positive one and is soaked daily in media designed to deliver more of them. The negative wolf is well fed by a culture of negative storytelling that most people never recognise as the cause of their chronic anxiety.
4. There are no mistakes, only missed takes. Every decision a person makes is the best one available given the information, skills, and options present in that moment. First Nations cultures have no word for “mistake.” The film industry calls them “missed takes” and simply does another one. Thomas Edison made 1,400 of them perfecting the light bulb. The word “mistake” is an agreement a culture has made — and one that can be unmade. Dropping it removes a steady source of shame, blame, and guilt from the inner life.
5. Stress is outside. Distress is inside. Hans Selye’s distinction is the hinge of the whole book. Stress is the external force, pressure, or weight exerted upon us. Distress is the internal response we create by the meaning we assign. Treating the two as one word combines something we have power over with something we don’t, and the result is helplessness. Keeping them separate restores agency. Life will continue to deliver events. The suffering is optional.
6. Meaning is everything. A golf score of 80 is a triumph for one golfer and a disappointment for another. Jerome calls the day he broke his back the best day of his life. The Canadians in the joke turn Hell into a party. The event is neutral. The meaning assigned creates the experience. Taking responsibility for the meaning we assign is the single most powerful tool available to a human being — because it is the tool that makes all the other events in life bearable, or not.
7. Imagination is a mechanism of creation, not entertainment. All things are created twice — first in the mind, then in physical form. Painters, sculptors, Olympic athletes, successful business owners, cancer patients who outlive their diagnoses — they all see the outcome before they begin. The Dead Sea Scrolls say miracles require two actions: see it in the mind’s eye, and feel what it would feel like to have it occur. Most people run the mechanism in reverse, picturing what they do not want, and then wonder why they keep getting it.
8. The present moment is the only place life actually happens. Elderly people tend to live in memory. Young people tend to live in anticipation. Both are illusions. Mind and body are designed to work together, and when they separate, the body signals the disconnection as anxiety. Getting back to the senses — feeling bark, smelling a flower, listening to breath — brings them back together. In the present moment, fear does not exist, nor do anger, resentment, grief, guilt, or worry. Those belong to times that are not here.
9. Attention is a creative force. Where attention goes, the experience follows. Focus on Joshua’s disabled parts, feel anger and sadness. Focus on his full parts, feel joy and love. A racecar driver who looks at the barrier hits it every time; the one who looks at the opening in the field moves toward it. Teach a treatment-centre staff to catch children doing good, and the behaviour transforms. Attention is not passive noticing — it is active creation of the experience of life.
10. Pain is a messenger, not an enemy. A body in pain is a body trying to communicate. Medicating pain — with pills, alcohol, tobacco, television, shopping, work, food, anything that distracts from feeling — silences the messenger and prolongs the condition. The message gets louder each time it is ignored, until at an advanced stage the illness forces the cause to be addressed, or ends the life. Emotional pain follows the same rule. It usually says let go of a belief that isn’t true, slow down, or find another way.
11. Happiness is created, not received. Happiness is not delivered by circumstances, partners, employers, or lottery wins. It is a decision made inside the mind of the person having the experience. Nelson Mandela created it inside a jail cell. The Buddhist master tells his student he will have arrived when he shifts from seeking happiness to creating it. The question available in any moment of anger or sadness is simple — do I want to continue experiencing this, or would I rather change my thoughts? The choice is always there.
12. Peace in the world starts with peace in one person. For centuries people have cried out for peace while expecting governments to deliver it. Nothing could be further from the truth. Peace must begin in one’s own heart and mind. A person at war with themselves cannot bring peace to a family. A family at war cannot build a peaceful community. The ten tools exist for exactly this reason — each one, practised by one person in one moment, is an act of peacemaking performed first within. The world’s peace is built out of a great many of them. Peace begins with me.
The Golden Nugget
The deepest idea in the book is one that very few people recognise, even those who have been exposed to its parts elsewhere. It is this — the “immune system” of the inner life is the meaning you assign to events, and the body itself does not distinguish between a real event and an imagined one.
That second half is the hidden piece. People broadly understand that attitude matters. Far fewer understand that telling yourself a vivid negative story about tomorrow produces the same physiological distress — racing heart, tense stomach, rising cortisol — as actually living through that event. The body cannot tell the difference. The imagined disaster hits the nervous system as if it were real. Which means that a person who spends their day imagining negative futures is, in a very literal physical sense, suffering those futures in their body today — nine times over, for the average mind. The news that reports distant tragedies, the parent who rehearses worst-case scenarios about their child, the worker who plays out an imagined conversation with their boss on the drive home — all of them are injuring their bodies with events that are not happening. And by the same mechanism in reverse, a mind that practises imagining positive futures delivers joy, excitement, and anticipation to the body on cue. The imagination is not a private theatre. It is a direct line to the body’s chemistry. Most people have been living this truth without ever being told it exists. Learning it, and taking responsibility for what the imagination is doing all day, is the single quietest and most powerful change available to a human being.
How to Explain It to a 6-Year-Old
Imagine you have two pet wolves living inside your heart. One wolf is grumpy and mean. The other wolf is kind and happy. They are fighting each other all the time. The grumpy wolf wants to win. The kind wolf wants to win. Which one wins?
The one you give food to.
Every time you think a scary thought or an angry thought, you are handing a snack to the grumpy wolf. He gets bigger and stronger. Every time you notice something nice, or smile at someone, or take a big slow breath, or say thank you for the cookie your friend shared with you, you are handing a snack to the kind wolf. She gets bigger and stronger.
Sometimes hard things happen. Someone says something mean. You fall off your bike. Your little brother breaks your favourite toy. You cannot stop those things from happening. But you can choose what story you tell yourself about them. You can tell a story that makes the grumpy wolf hungry for more, or a story that makes the kind wolf stronger. Nobody can pick the story for you. That part is yours.
If you want to feel happy, feed the kind wolf. If you want to feel peaceful, feed the kind wolf. Do it today, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and little by little, the kind wolf inside you will be the one who wins.
In Print
The Unbekoming library is available in paperback, printed to order through Lulu and shipped worldwide. The shelf begins with the paradigm question underneath everything else — No Virus, the isolation problem, the collapse of virology’s foundational claims, and a disease-by-disease reappraisal — and moves through the suppressed compounds mainstream medicine set aside: The DMSO Book, Chlorine Dioxide: The Forbidden Remedy, The Iodine Book, and The Hydrogen Peroxide Book. Two more recover what’s still on the kitchen shelf: Baking Soda and The Castor Oil Book. Two more recover the minerals modern soil, water, and processing quietly stripped from the diet: The Magnesium Handbook and The Boron Book. Sitting alongside these is No Contagion, co-authored with Jamie Andrews — the case against germ theory itself, catalogued through 258 failed contagion experiments.
The critique books cover what medicine, dentistry, psychiatry, and veterinary practice have become. The Unvaccinated treats the completely unvaccinated as a comparison group across twenty chapters and five appendices. Medicalized Motherhood follows a woman through 123 documented interventions from teenage pill to postpartum discharge. Drilling for Profit treats cavities, gum disease, and crooked teeth as the dietary problem they are. What Your Vet Can’t Tell You applies the same critique to pets. Escape from Psychiatry documents the fabrication of the DSM and the specific damage of every major psychiatric drug class. The Vitamin K Injection covers what happens in the first hours of a newborn’s life.
The full shelf is at lulu.com/spotlight/unbekoming. A physical book reaches the person a Substack post never will — the skeptical relative, the friend who won’t click a link but might open a book, the visitor whose eye lands on a coffee table. Buy one to keep, and one to give away.
New Biology Clinic
For those of you looking for practitioners who actually understand terrain medicine and the principles we explore here, I want to share something valuable. Dr. Tom Cowan—whose books and podcasts have shaped much of my own thinking about health—has created the New Biology Clinic, a virtual practice staffed by wellness specialists who operate from the same foundational understanding. This isn’t about symptom suppression or the conventional model. It’s about personalized guidance rooted in how living systems actually work. The clinic offers individual and family memberships that include not just private consults, but group sessions covering movement, nutrition, breathwork, biofield tuning, and more. Everything is virtual, making it accessible wherever you are. If you’ve been searching for practitioners who won’t look at you blankly when you mention structured water or the importance of the extracellular matrix, this is worth exploring. Use discount code “Unbekoming” to get $100 off the member activation fee. You can learn more and sign up at newbiologyclinic.com
I read Ted’s book a few years ago, loved it, and was thrilled to read Unbekoming’s detailed recap of it today!
Many parts of Ted’s book stuck with me. The gem that stuck the most was how we can completely miss the present due to focusing on/regretting the past or anticipating/fretting about the future. When doing that, life passes by without being lived to its fullest.
From a Christian viewpoint, a Bible verse, a quote I heard years ago, a lesson I learned via a story, and a refining fact all come to mind when thinking about the implications of Ted’s book:
1. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28
2. “Joy is not the absence of suffering, it is the presence of the Lord.”
In our culture, we focus on “happiness”, which is temporary, based on circumstances, which are ever changing, and is typically very short-lived. Joy, on the other hand, is not temporary, not based on circumstances, but on the Lord, who is both faithful and trustworthy, and is for eternity.
3. What looks like a blessing can turn into a curse. What looks like a curse can turn into a blessing. Our perspective is extremely limited, and what looks like a blessing or a curse today can look like the other tomorrow, then back again at a later date, many times over. The lesson is to accept what is each and every day, do the best with and make the most of your current situation, and trust that the Lord can use it for your good and His glory as you seek and trust in Him.
4. As gold is refined in fire, so we are refined in trials.
Thank you very much for sharing such a profound and necessary reflection. I find it especially valuable to remember that peace does not depend solely on external circumstances, but also on our capacity to cultivate serenity, acceptance, gratitude, and compassion.🙏🏼❤️
Acceptance does not mean resignation; rather, it means ceasing to fuel fear and resentment, so that we may dedicate our energy to what we can actually transform.
On this journey, resilience plays a fundamental role: learning to face adversity, overcoming difficult moments, and moving forward without losing hope—even transforming pain into an opportunity for growth.
We need a more humane vision of life, one rooted in love, empathy, and respect for all living beings.
World peace begins within each of us. Peace Begins With Me❤️
Thank you for reminding us of something so essential.🙏🏼