FRED DAVIS, NONDUAL PHILOSOPHER, NEEDS A LEG UP!

Hello, everybody. My name is Fred Davis. The little dog in my lap is my dear friend Jack, who's working overtime to keep my spirits happy and upbeat while I heal from the two surgeries I've had this year to repair my previously disintegrating spine, which was slowly turning into white dust.

I have lived in Columbia, South Carolina, with my fantastically amazing wife, Betsy, for over twenty years. We're both 70 now and live in a little brick house in a quiet neighborhood along with Jack and his drop-dead beautiful brother Willy, whom this website saved from cancer in 2021. (Willy's still very much alive; I'll post a picture of him in one of the updates for this fund.)

So, I'm just an average old man who, thanks to the magic of the internet, a bit of dumb luck, and the help of many kind people, now has a global following as a spiritual teacher. I've worked with people on every continent except Antarctica. So far.

Nondual means "not two" or "only One." I've had some amazing life experiences; it's fair to call them spiritual experiences, which have brought forth a lot of radically uncommon insights. This metamorphic philosophy rises from those ever-growing, ever-clearing insights. I've been sharing what I've come to know with folks all over the world full-time for over a decade.

Those following my website or watching me on YouTube know I've been ill for the last 2 1/2 years with progressive spinal stenosis. If you've only read my books or have never heard of me, this is all news to you. Whether you're a friend or a friend-to-be, Betsy and I need your help, and we need it now. I'd appreciate your hearing me out and then following your heart to consider donating to my fundraiser and sharing this with your friends and family. Here are a few more details:

This year, I had two surgeries to repair my crumbling spine; I'll tell you more about them and me as this campaign progresses. The first operation was on my cervical spine. I was uncomfortably close to potential paralysis if I got too much of a bump in a small car accident or slipped on some wet grass. So, in January, my surgeon performed an anterior cervical discectomy and fusion, or ACDF, as it's known within the medical community. It was a complete success without complications.

The recommended period between surgeries is at least nine months, but mine wouldn't wait. I had more spinal surgery on July 5th, a little more than five months after my cervical surgery. Given that my degenerative disc disease began to progress so rapidly, the narrowing of my spinal column from collapsing discs onto nerves turned my pain from uncomfortable and inconvenient to what Betsy began to call "the screaming pain." They labeled the second operation as "lumbar," but it covered nearly all the rest of my spine, from my tailbone to one of my thoracic vertebrae (S-1 up to T-10, I came to learn.) Without this surgery, I was again facing paralysis or cauda equina syndrome, which is loss of control of the bowels and bladder. I was in constant, chronic pain and scared to death of cauda equina.

To make this report clear, thank goodness, the agonizing nerve pain I suffered before surgery is gone. Nonetheless, I can tell you it still hurts. A lot. Every day. It'll get better as time goes on, but I don't know how much better, and I don't know when. So far, I'm doing quite well with what everyone agrees is one of the most difficult surgeries to recover from. Last week I asked my physical therapist if he thought I would ever walk with just a cane again. "It's a good goal to shoot for," he said. My spirits dropped, but not for long, and who really knows?

I do my best to rest and exercise as much as possible during my work week to aid in my recovery. I started working again, in the middle of August, part-time and too early, because my mortgage holder doesn't care how I'm feeling today. I made an agreement with that company years ago, which I have no wish to break, and I pray I don't have to. You can help us with that. You really can.

We have very good medical insurance; the doctors and the pharmacies will all get paid in full. However, between lost income and the medical "extras" that make life more fun - like two wheelchairs and a pair of walkers, a lift to get the wheelchair and me down to ground level for doctors' appointments, a rig over my side of the bed to assist me in pulling myself upright enough so that Betsy can help me get out of bed, orthopedic pillows, multiple portable bathroom "extras," plus a hundred other Amazon orders, this medical adventure has probably cost us $60,000 out of pocket.

A lot of that is gone forever. Such are the knocks of life. But I'd love to get back enough of that to keep us warm and fed before this eight-month to one-year recovery throws us into the streets.

My future and my family's future are all question marks. That goes for everyone: you, me, and everybody else. There are no sure things in life: security is a state of mind. That's a solid truth, but it's cold comfort in the middle of a long night of tossing and turning while the bills pile up. I live now with a plethora of restrictions; you can imagine. But whining never helped anyone. What can help me and my family is YOU. Right here, right now. Please do. Good luck in your life, too.

Gratefully,

Fred Davis