this morning i woke up on the moon, losing gravity, growing closer to my bones, which have emaciated into hair follicles, on my already petite frame...
weak, i spun, focusing on maintaining balance in the ultra-restorative sequence of asanas...barely able to sit straight during meditation.
fading, i tried to recall what the purpose of this liquid portion was, why i was doing it.
fasting leaves the body starved, forced to default on itself, to consume what is extra and release. the body begins to consume itself...destruction.
the idea of the fast is to destroy to rebuild. to let go of everything you thought you were, everything that you thought you needed, to let go of all attachments.
the last things i'm thinking about in this debilitated stage is sex, is hollering, is checking someone out. the last things i'm thinking about is doing a million things, is hanging out and chopping it up, is talking ish no reason, cause it's fun.
the last things i'm thinking about is getting pissed, is wanting to engage in an argument, even when it comes my way, is getting too emotional about anything.
the last thing i'm thinking about is raising my voice, is speeding, moving too much
the liquid fast, the complete abstinence from any food is humbling beyond words.
sometimes, during rawfoodism, during veganism, i would think of all the foods i'm missing out and crave. today, i feel the plentifulness of the vegan diet, of just how many options there are - cashews, walnuts, almonds, peanuts, coconut, greens, veggies, fruits, rice and dhal, and stir fry, and much much more...
walking and talking light. moving like fall leaves from an oak. pain appears here and there. the body is detoxing, releasing, letting go of itself.
this morning, i awoke from a dream, from a sign: i was coming home, what i've known as home most of this lifetime, my parents neighborhood. walked down the stairs from the train station. midnight. only people out were these dudes, early-mid 20's. they were standing around, waiting. for what. there were green and yellow cabs going by, the night bright from the 24 hour bodega and supermarket, and everything never sleeping.
come over here, one of them said. he was honey and cinnamon, my complexion, with a barrel chest, and a few inches on me. we were inches from one another. he nodded - what do you have? he asked, without words, in the way language transpires in dreams.
i looked at him, looked at them, the dozen of young and purpose-less. noticed at that moment that i was wearing my shawl, that i probably looked weird to them, not like them, not down. placed my hands together in namaste, pressed the namaste against my forehead.
all praise is due, i said, my namaste still on my head, our eyes delved into each other.
yeah, he nodded. he's cool, he said to the others. peace man.
woke up. what's the sign?
was telling a friend about it. thought out loud. getting weaker in physical self, in being able to default on physical means of engagement. am left with only spirit, only soul. all of us have this, however deep it is buried. Soul recognize Soul. Real recognize Real.
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