Driving into town yesterday provided a reference point about how my consciousness has naturally and gradually opened from a more focussed perspective. In retrospect, the whole trip itself provided another, deeper reference point, because since then – in breaking the solitude and continuity of being here at the cottage, as well as in buying the food which will break the 21 days of pure water – I keep finding myself thinking about the approaching end of the fast. With only three more days to go, perhaps this would have been inevitable anyway, but certainly yesterday’s brief return to civilisation has intensified the feeling. In thinking forward to Day 21, part of me is looking forward to eating, but it’s not a very strong voice. I’m not planning any feasts in my fantasy of fantasies. (The only thing I’m really looking forward to is giving up this almost cripplingly low blood pressure.) Another part of me is preparing to bid farewell to these truly amazing three weeks. Continue reading 21 day water fast: day 18
Like yesterday, another slow start this morning with low blood pressure, and I had to be careful not to stand up too quickly after lying or sitting. I feel slow too, like Earth’s gravity has increased somewhat: almost as if I’m wearing an Apollo spacesuit. Mentally I’m totally fine, but for the past couple of days it hasn’t felt good to exert myself physically. Back on Day Three, for instance, I decided to do some leg lifts and a plank – something which has been part of my daily routine for years. After a few minutes of the plank, though, I felt a lot of resistance building up inside myself. I know I could have held out for the usual 7 minutes, but it just wasn’t worth it. To a lesser degree the same applied to the leg lifts. Why? Continue reading 21 day water fast: day 5
“… I was twenty. It was a summer spent in Aspen, Colorado, in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. Although my official reason for being there was to study at the international music festival, I did my utmost to escape the practice rooms. In my mind they were prison cells, just as they had always been for as long as I could remember. Eight hours a day locked away, running through scales and études, mindlessly repeating various passages of music wasn’t living – it was the meaningless existence of an assembly-line robot, at least in my mind. And so, instead, in the middle of the Rockies, my refuge quickly became the mountains… Continue reading Becoming everything through nothing
Drawing each breath in, let us practise acceptance. Again and again, a thousand times a day. My lungs cannot discriminate between good air, bad air — no, it is the mind which labels things ‘clean’ or ‘polluted’. To the lungs and to the heart, it is all air, for better or for worse. Breathe in and let it mingle with your body deep inside.
Acceptance: without it, my soul suffocates.
Giving each breath back to the world, let us practise letting go. Again and again, a thousand times a day. My lungs are infinitely generous — for it is only the mind which fears loss. To the lungs and to the heart, it is all just air, not ‘yours’ and ‘mine’. Breathe out and let it mingle deep inside another’s body, just as the breath of a million other lives mingles now in your own lungs.
Letting go: without it, I can no longer accept.
Each inhale gives birth to new life. Each exhale dies its own little death — and brings us a little closer to our own final breath. Let us practise this again and again, a thousand times a day.
With our first baby breath of life, with all our heart and lungs we drew the breath in.
Let us accept life for what it is, and when it is time for life to end, let us let it go with just another breath…