View from the Hill

Well, we’ve come to the end of week four on our juice fast, and this past seven days have been quite a struggle. So much so, in fact, that we broke down and ate something today.

What a mistake.

The something we ate was toast, an innocuous enough food, you’d think, but the consequences were grisly.

Now, one is always cautioned to come slowly off a fast, it’s true, so we were just asking for trouble. But we’re human, and I guess we just sort of snapped. Toast probably wasn’t the wisest choice of foods to introduce to our now virgin systems, but in our own defense I can only say that we were half crazed by deprivation and chose the first thing that came to mind. Rest assured that we paid mightily for our transgression.

The first phase of atonement–or should that be retribution?–came in the form of a raging headache. It was immediate and debilitating. The rush of toxins from the unnatural food (read the ingredients on bread and margarine sometime–recognize any of the words?) went straight to the head. The second phase was the stomach ache. It, too was immediate and relentless. The third, and possibly the most dreadful, was the overall feeling of lethargy, accompanied by a thick, settling brain fog. This last almost made me weep. I had been feeling so good, only to be laid low by a couple of slices of toast. No. I was laid low by my own stupidity and lack of self control.

And was it worth it? Did I at least enjoy the sensation of eating? The taste of the much dreamed about foodstuff? No I did not.

You see, now that our systems have been purged of toxins, our taste buds have also been purified. This means that we now taste things as they really are and not through the built up tolerance to taste that years of eating processed foods do to you. In other words, things that are not natural now taste not natural. They taste like crap. The bread was overwhelming in its chemical flavoring, and the margarine had both the texture and flavor of the plastic that it so resembles molecularly (it’s true, look it up).

So no, it was not worth it at all. My self-loathing knows no bounds. I caved when I should have meditated and conquered, and I am the poorer for it, both physically and mentally.

Instead of beating ourselves up too badly over our lapse, however (the Buddha teaches the middle way, after all), we have determined to resume our fast forthwith, as if naught had happened to interrupt it.

In fact, if we’re honest, we have to admit that our momentary weakness has taught us a valuable lesson. We now know that we will never eat processed foods again. Being able to taste the chemicals really makes this decision easy. There will be no more cravings for poisonous foods. The resulting illness teaches us–like children who put our hands on hot things to find out the hard way–what is not good for our bodies. We will certainly be less inclined in the future to do these foolish things. Surely we are growing up.

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From How and When to Be Your Own Doctor: The Stages of Fasting

Breaking the fast is equally or more important a stage than the fast itself. It is the most dangerous time in the entire fast. If you stop fasting prematurely, that is, before the body has completed detoxification and healing, expect the body to reject food when you try to make it eat, even if you introduce foods very gradually. The faster, the spiritual being running the body, may have become bored and want some action, but the faster”s body hasn’t finished. The body wants to continue healing.

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Update, March 18 AM:

Me: “Remember, I want to be cremated.”
William: “You’re not going to die.”
Me: “And my ashes put into an hourglass.”

I woke this morning and my first words were “I’m alive!”

If you’d have gone through what I did last night, you’d be just as awe struck. Whether it was the body rejecting the food because of the fast, because of the toxins or because of a food allergy (I have long suspected an adverse reaction to yeast), reject it the body did…with fervor. I spent the entire blessed night hanging over a bucket, clutching my stomach and praying for death, while the toast tried to decide whether to come up or take the alternative route to freedom. Either would have been quite acceptable to me. As it was, absolutely nothing happened, and I hung suspended between hell and purgatory for hours on end.

Do I need to tell you what I feel like today?

One thing’s for sure. I have been cured of my food addiction. It is an ever so effective cure, though I recommend it to no one save my worst enemies.

Pass the juice.

We’re past the three week point of the fast now, and I find I’m actually becoming used to the feeling of having an empty stomach, something I never imagined would happen, given my absolute adoration of food and eating.

I must say, though, that the psychological impact of abstaining is beginning to take its toll. It may be rough on the body, but after a time it becomes seriously devastating to the psyche. We have to remind ourselves often now that we will, indeed, eat again. Yet it’s getting tougher by the day to combat the negative, panicked mindset that is pushing us toward caving.

William has pretty much decided that the fast ends at thirty days for him. I can’t blame him, as he seems to be dropping weight more quickly than I, and will probably look quite skeletal after forty days. Perhaps it will end at thirty days for me as well, but I’m still trying to buoy myself up for the full stretch. My health demands it. My birthday is this weekend, too, which may weaken my resolve a little. Not that I can break the fast then anyway—it takes over a week to come off—but not celebrating a birthday will certainly be a mental challenge. It’s an ingrained thing.

As far as symptoms go, there’s been a few interesting developments. Over the past week we’ve been experiencing some pretty intense cigarette cravings. It’s been ten weeks since we gave up the smokes, so obviously the cravings are a result of the residual toxins being mobilized. This fasting ought to ensure that we’ve quit for good, since all the tar, nicotine and hundred other poisons will have been purged out of the system.

In addition, my color has improved immensely. I am looking less like a pasty, yellowed walking corpse, and more like a healthy living organism. The whites of my eyes are whiter, and, for an added bonus, my laugh lines and many small others are disappearing. The black stain under my eyes—that you will see under many people’s eyes and that is a result of toxins and dehydration—is also now non-existent. To date I have shed in the vicinity of twenty pounds, and all in all, I’m looking much, much better. And feeling it too.

With the exception of my head, of course.

There’s only two weeks and three days to go. Here’s hoping I can master the mindset long enough to make it through.