Agape Healing Arts

02/04/2026

I often think of the abdomen as a tidal basin.

Not the open ocean, not the crashing edge of the shore, but that wide, receptive place where rivers meet the sea. Everything that moves through the body eventually passes here. Nourishment. Stress. Emotion. Memory. It is where currents slow enough to be felt, and where what has been carried finally has a place to settle.

When life moves too fast, this basin silts over, and the water grows thick and unmoving. Our organs lose their natural glide, and fascia densifies. Breath begins to skim the surface instead of dropping downward into the belly. You can feel the heaviness and resistance.

Each organ brings its own weather system. The liver holds heat and pressure, like an unbreakable storm. The stomach churns with doubt and uncertainty, its waves turning in on themselves. The intestines have a tide of looping stories, unfinished conversations rolling in and out. And the diaphragm hovers above all of it like a tide gate, deciding what is allowed to pass.

This all becomes poetry written into tissue.

When we place our hands here, we are not digging or forcing or fixing; we are dropping a pebble into still water and waiting to see what ripples. The contact is slow, the pause intentional, the hand listening rather than leading, inviting movement instead of demanding it. And the body responds the way water always does, not all at once, but in widening circles that travel outward, softening what they touch, carrying ease from the center to the edges.

Within abdominal work, we must wade slowly into these waters. This is not solid ground but a living basin, warm and responsive, where organs float, and emotions gather like shifting weather. The nervous system listens closely here, reading every change in pace and pressure. When we arrive with patience, our touch becomes a kind of climate. Rushed hands churn the silt and cloud the current, while a steady presence settles like rain after heat, restoring movement and clarity.

Sometimes, nothing dramatic happens in this work. No big release. No story. Just a subtle shift, like water beginning to move again where it had gone quiet. That is enough. When movement returns here, the body follows.

Remember, the body does not need to be convinced to heal. When we meet the abdomen with patience and care, the storms soften, the tides return, and the basin remembers its own flow.

02/03/2026

The Wood element.

The Liver Beneath the Layers - The Art of Visceral Fascial Release

The body is a landscape of connection.

Every organ, every breath, every heartbeat is woven together by fascia. When one structure tightens, the whole system listens.

Visceral fascial release is more than abdominal work; it is communication with the organs themselves.

The fascia surrounding each organ breathes, slides, and expands with every motion.

When that tissue becomes restricted, the ripple can be felt everywhere: in blood flow, lymphatic drainage, and the body’s ability to detox and digest.

Let’s take the liver, a powerhouse of purification.

It filters nearly all blood from the digestive system through the portal vein, balancing blood sugar levels, producing enzymes, and binding toxins for elimination.

However, the liver is wrapped in fascia, intricately connected to the diaphragm above and the stomach, gallbladder, and kidneys surrounding it.

When this fascial layer is restricted, the mechanical pull can stretch, compress, and slow circulation through the liver.

That stagnation doesn’t stay local. It creates back pressure on the entire visceral network, straining the heart, kidneys, and gut. The liver, under tension, must work harder to detoxify and metabolize.

You may see the results as “mystery symptoms”:
New food intolerances, histamine reactions, heartburn, rashes, fatigue, or that heavy, foggy feeling after meals.

As the fascia releases, space returns. Blood and lymph begin to flow freely. The organs regain their rhythm with the diaphragm’s breath.

Clients often describe it not as pain leaving, but as energy returning.

For the Body Artisan, this is the quiet miracle, learning to listen beneath the muscle, beneath the story, to the subtle pulse of an organ remembering how to move again.

When the fascia breathes, the body heals.
And when the liver flows, the whole system rises.

- The Body Artisan

02/03/2026

The Second Brain 🧠

The Enteric Nervous System

After a beautiful week of helping my fellow therapists dive deeper into the enteric nervous system, I realized how many of us may not fully understand this incredible inner steward. It is quiet, vigilant, and continually tracking our inner terrain. How often does this system get overlooked?

Most people know it as “the gut.” The stomach. Digestion. Something that should quietly do its job in the background as long as we eat well enough and manage stress properly. But the enteric nervous system is not passive, and it is not secondary. It is intelligent. It is responsive. And it is deeply involved in how we experience safety, emotion, and regulation.

This inner caretaker lives entirely within the digestive tract, stretching from the esophagus to the colon, woven through layers of smooth muscle and connective tissue. It contains hundreds of millions of neurons, more than the spinal cord itself. Communicating constantly with the brain, the heart, and the immune system, yet it can function on its own. It makes decisions. It adapts. It remembers.

The enteric nervous system manages digestion, yes, but it also monitors threat, modulates stress responses, and plays a decisive role in emotional processing. It is exquisitely sensitive to rhythm, environment, and touch. That is why emotions so often show up in the belly before they reach our lips.

Anxiety often tightens the belly before fear ever finds words, and grief dulls appetite before the heart understands what has been lost. And under chronic stress, the gut becomes a holding place.

When the nervous system perceives a threat, resources are diverted from digestion. Blood flow shifts, stress hormones rise, and peristalsis slows or becomes erratic. The microbiome adapts to a body preparing for survival instead of nourishment. Over time, this state becomes familiar, and familiarity begins to feel like a baseline.

Because the enteric nervous system does not respond to logic or reassurance, you cannot talk it into safety; it learns through sensation, through rhythm, through the difference between being rushed and being met. It is exquisitely attuned to touch, pace, and presence, just as any living creature would be.

This is why the belly is such a powerful place to begin.

Research consistently shows that gentle, intentional abdominal contact increases parasympathetic activity, improves vagal tone, and supports heart rate variability. Stress chemistry begins to soften, digestion improves, and inflammation quiets. The nervous system receives a clear message that it no longer has to stay on guard.

What many of us don't realize is that most of the body’s serotonin is produced in the gut. Mood, sleep, and emotional resilience are intimately tied to this system. When the enteric nervous system is overwhelmed, even the most self-aware person can feel emotionally unsteady. When it feels safe, things begin to reorganize quietly, often without conscious effort. This is why I return here again and again within my work.

Not to uncover stories, or to chase emotional release, but to honor the system that has been carrying a heavy load from the very beginning. The system that adapts silently, holds stress without complaint, and keeps the body moving forward when life demands more than feels possible.

The abdomen is not just another place to work, but a neurological crossroads, a sensory hub, and often the first place the body tells the truth. When we understand this, our touch, our pacing, and our outcomes change.

Tomorrow, I want to take you further into this landscape and show you how abdominal work becomes a conversation rather than a technique, and why beginning here can change everything that follows.

02/02/2026

The subject this month is love. You can only love another as much as you love yourself. ❤️

February is the month of Sacred Relationships. Relationships endure when partners reflect upon each other as Sacred Mirrors, encouraging each other’s strengths and reaching higher within themselves.⠀

Join us for an evening honoring affectionate partnership on Valentines Day:
https://www.cosm.org/calendar/an-evening-of-love-dinner-entheon-tour-with-alex-grey-allyson-grey-1

Explore together the subject of love and higher purpose. Crafted for couples, this exclusive event invites you to an intimate dinner and genuine conversations on the delicate & profound complexities of our most beloved partnerships.

02/01/2026

01/30/2026

🌕 Full Moon Meditation & Ceremonial Sound Bath 🌕

This Full Moon brings illumination, release, and an invitation to soften what has been held too tightly. It’s a powerful time to pause, clear emotional residue, and return to balance through stillness and sound.

Join us for guided meditation and a ceremonial sound bath to support nervous system regulation, heart opening, and gentle renewal under the light of the moon.

🗓 Monday, February 2
🕕 6:00–7:00 PM
📍 Agape Healing Arts, Tequesta
💫 $65

✨ Space is limited. Link in bio to register.





🌙

01/29/2026

A groundbreaking discovery from Taiwan is bridging traditional medicine and modern science. Researchers at China Medical University have shown that acupuncture doesn’t just relieve pain—it can trigger stem cells to repair damaged organs naturally. Electroacupuncture at specific points, like ST36 (Zusanli) and GV20 (Baihui), stimulates the bone marrow to release mesenchymal stem cells into the bloodstream. These stem cells then travel to injured tissues, differentiate into organ-specific cells, and release healing factors.
Within 24 hours, stem cell levels in circulation increased by 300%, providing a measurable biological explanation for acupuncture’s therapeutic effects—beyond placebo. Stroke patients treated with electroacupuncture within 48 hours recovered 40% better than those with standard care. Liver cirrhosis patients showed reduced fibrosis markers, while heart attack survivors experienced improved cardiac function.
This discovery is rewriting how Western medicine views acupuncture. For thousands of years, it was considered purely traditional, yet science now shows a sophisticated, measurable mechanism for healing. Ancient practices are finally being validated through modern imaging and cellular tracking, revealing that needle stimulation can activate the body’s own repair systems.
The message is clear: acupuncture is more than sensation—it’s a biological trigger for regeneration, showing how centuries-old practices can integrate with cutting-edge science.