Why is it that people who consider healthy bowels a requisite to overall health are regarded with scorn, mockery, and derision? Even among medical professionals and persons employed in the health food business, why are colonic hydro-therapists and others with special interest in the lower digestive system classified as extremists? Moreover, why are they also depicted as being odd, and even a bit off in the head? Conventional wisdom holds that, considered superficially, anyone who gets that serious about bowels and bowel movements MUST have something wrong with them.

As a youth, I can recall hearing on occasion certain people talk about the subject of caca. Perhaps it was just my perception of the subject matter, but I can remember feeling a sense of amazement at the people who openly and sometimes passionately discussed their bowels and bowel movements. But while I was shocked at their audacity, something about what they said made an impression on me. I do not recall any particular person telling me, nor do I remember ever reading these specific concepts, but I became a convert -- totally convinced to the idea that a clean bowel was a healthy bowel. And, moreover, that the health of the bowel was the cornerstone of a person's overall physical wellbeing.

Heart disease and cancer and polio and organ transplants and autism and a plethora of other health issues dominate the news. These illnesses almost seem glamorous. People love to talk about these problems, and no one ever seems to question their seriousness or their relevancy, provided that these topics are not discussed over the dinner table. But bring up the subject of digestion and the bowels, and people begin to snicker. It's a cultural fact. Psycho-sociologically speaking, this inability of most people to be serious about shit is evidence of how universal and primordial the issue is! Death, taxes and EXCREMENT! We can ALL be sure of these.

So, while I grew up aware of the topic and sympathetic to it, I took no action. Over a period of years, though, I developed a deeper concern about my lower digestive tract. And, of course, this focus on the small and large intestines became stronger during times of illness, colds, flu, diarrhea, and my affliction of flatulence.

Flatulence may be another common bond we all have; but there's flatulence and then there's FLATULENCE. Statistics indicate that most people fart several times a day. Expulsion of gas from the anus is VERY normal. However, it may not always be healthy; and, in extreme cases, it might indicate that something is seriously wrong with your health. I became much more interested in understanding my own bowels when I found myself afflicted with a terrible and persistent bout of flatulence.

This was a strange experience for me. And except for a general awareness that I was not eating correctly, I'm not sure what brought on the problem. At that point in my life, I did not carefully regulate food intake. I had heard about bad food combinations, but I never took any of it too seriously. But, you see, I started passing gas so often -- and in such a variety of ways -- that I couldn't ignore the problem. Something was wrong.

Most people fart and forget it. During my affliction, I passed gas so often I began to create categories in my mind to organize the various different kinds of farts. Mentally, I considered timing the intervals between the event and the duration of the event itself. I classified events by measuring the sound they made. By how they smelled. By how much control I had over them.

You CAN manage intestinal gas, if you learn how. And many people, without even thinking about it, develop a "fart" profile, a system of classifications that let you deal with intestinal gas in numerous different ways and styles. If you give this any thought at all, you'll understand, and accept the truth of what I say.

But my experience was unusual. I never heard of such an affliction as I had. Boyhood friends would joke about farting and talk about fart contests and such, but no one ever told me that passing gas could become a chronic and uncontrollable problem. If there had been a Fart Olympics I would have been the undisputed world champion in every imaginable category. The farts where frequent. They were long. They were loud. They were soft. They were hot, warm, wet, blurby, silent, painful, peaceful, or disheartening. I admit that I even became accustomed to the cloud of stench that often surrounded me. And I could classify and differentiate the nuances of odor emanating from my body. Did you know that not all farts smell bad? Either that or it's easy to become accustomed to otherwise-unpleasant smells. Sometimes they felt and smelled luxurious, and I passively wallowed in them. It takes a whole lot of farting to reach that level of consciousness.

I had just moved. I was renting the second bedroom of a two bedroom apartment from a young woman in Huntington Beach. It was about this time that I was overcome by my gassy problem. During the several weeks I lived there, I was a bit dazed by it. It's not a topic that is easily discussed, especially not with a roommate and landlord that I hardly knew. I felt terrible about it, and I wondered if she noticed the foul smells I was emitting. It was embarrassing, and I felt as sorry for her as I did for myself.

As it happened to be, she was a bit of a health nut. I remember her talking about the evils of sugar. She made it quite clear, in a muted fanaticism, that sugar was the ultimate curse and responsible for most of our health problems. But on her kitchen counter, in a glass jar, she kept bags of Laci Le Beau Dieter's tea [1]. By way of mooching, I discovered this powerful laxative tea. For about three mornings in a row, I borrowed one of these tea bags for a hot cup of tea. I didn't especially like the flavor, but it didn't seem repulsive. Just unusual.

I did not notice any significant change in my bowel movements for a couple of days. I didn't even know I was drinking a laxative. Then, just as I was giving the final lecture at the conclusion of the semester, I stood there in front of my students in the grip of a violent urge to crap. In retrospect, it seems like a symbolic event. The timing was mystically appropriate. I was hoping to get better acquainted with some students that evening after class. But this intestinal crisis disrupted my plans. I was about to flush out of my mind and my body something filthy, useless, and sick -- rotted, fetid muck, and a whole lot of it.

As I expected, at the end of the lecture I was approached by three attractive students. I most sincerely wanted to talk with them. But it was not possible at that moment because of the agony from which I suffered. This was one of those sad and ridiculous moments in life when it is almost impossible to maintain one's dignity. I coldly dismissed these girls and waited until I was completely alone in class. And then, in a methodical, robot-like fashion, measuring every movement I made, turning ever so slowly, rigid, gripped in something akin to paralysis, I stiff-legged-ly, with my ass clenched tight, with all the strength I could muster, waddled down the hallway to the men's room. I nervously undid my pants, and, in a cold sweat, sat down squarely on that institutional-style toilet. Within moments I exploded, expelling an enormous amount of fecal matter. It was not painful, and I don't remember it lasting for a long time, either. But I distinctly recall a very unusual feeling at my very core. I felt as if a current of cold water or air was streaming through the center of me. It's a feeling I can't forget. It felt unnatural, and I wasn't sure what it meant.

When I felt safe to get up from the toilet and look into the bowl, I was truly astounded at the amount of excrement I had expelled. It looked as if half the toilet bowel was filled with chocolate pudding.

That occurred in 1991 -- fifteen years ago. I was relieved that I had preserved my dignity, but sad about the abrupt conclusion to the semester. I was mystified by the sensation of coolness running through my body. And I felt as if I had just experienced something meaningful and important. This truly was a significant event.

But there was no one to share it with. I was never "de-briefed." There are people who openly talk about their bowel movements, but at the time that didn't include me. It took a while, but eventually I realized that there had to be a connection between that tea I drank and this momentous occurrence.

I felt that this crap was like a punctuation mark in my life. That night, I felt like I had dumped a load of ignorance. I felt cool and light. It was the end of one era and the beginning of another. Purged. Cleansed. Rid of a smelly, humiliating curse.

My problem with flatulence seemed to clear up after that. Before long, I returned to a normal state. Years later, I would re-discover Laci Le Beau and deliberately undertake the project to clean myself out. I became knowledgeable about herbal formulas, enemas, colonics, speculums, and cascara sagrada, and I learned to cook and eat in more healthful ways. But, that is another story... of memorable bowel movements.