Day 30: Mandipura...Paryushana water fast of enlightenment day 3....(where would us aspiring Yogi's be if it weren't for Twinkies)...

"During the day you will approach the frog several times and will utter words of worship. And you will ask it to work the miracles you wish. ..Meanwhile you will cut  a cross on which to sacrifice it."                                     
                                                                                                      ---Ritual of Aleister Crowley
   


 Status: There is ten days left of Succulent Sobriety's bratty lil' illegitimate spawn. I'm a lil' over sixty hours into the water fast. Hunger is beginning to paw at the interior of my stomach lining. It rumbles like a rock tumblr. It occasionally purrs. Basically the point of a water fast is hardcore detox where the body cleanses itself of damn near everything, and since over the past decade the shit I've put into my body would be the equivalent of making coffee with a used maxi-pad--my body has a lot of shit it is trying to exile via hourly trips to the urinal.Sometime during the next 24 hours my stomach will begin to eat and digest itself, gnawing intestinal slabs of  excess meat, the stomach churning in nuasetaing chomps, devouring particles of my being.

My brain feels like a dirty  wad of  Scotch tape. I don’t feel as lucid as I normally do at the keyboard. An unsettling grogginess hangs over me like a halo made out of old dry-cleaning hangers. 

I feel light-headed. Since I'm not taking any vitamins my skin is turning chalky--the color of an overdose suicide aspirin or William S. Burroughs' forehead (take your pick). 

 The third day is purported to be the most arduous. In Santa Rosa, California there is a week long water detox clinic where patients check themselves in for a week and can't leave the buildings. They also can't brush their teeth, where cologne or shower b/c (as I am experiencing vividly today) not having food makes you dizzy as fuck.  It gives you vertigo and you might topple down in the shower. Writer Ben Marcus recently did a six-day fast at the clinic,  "... water fasters stand out, because they cling to the wall when they walk. They take the stairs slowly."

I’m lethargic.  A pendulous torpor. A tangible languor. For about fifteen minutes yesterday I had migraine that just plain seared. The only other migraine I have experienced was due to caffeine-withdrawal and that was a few roasted beans short of a venti coffee compared to the bleating throb I felt yesterday.   

 Also, part of my brain (the upper back right hemisphere) has somehow become more astute. During the staff meeting today I noticed the question-mark wisp drifting above every cup of coffee, could hear the ice cubes intermingling with the fizz of his recently poured pepsi. The co-worker next to me was eating a Twinkie (which is a testament to how old our vending machines are since they don't manufacture Twinkies anymore) and I swear, I could hear amplified crunches every time he took a bite.

Maybe my brain is going crazy.

Or maybe the Twinkie are just plain old.

 

                                                                                        

                     

 The mandipura chakra governs our will, volition and creativity.  It is located in the center arena of the stomach, often said to be located behind the navel,  “the solar plexus chakra is associated with the color yellow. When balanced we feel, optimistic, confident and have clarity of thought.”

It also is the chakra pertaining to gold.

It’s hard to have clarity of thought when you have voluntarily neglected food. After a half-hour of meditation I became dizzy. Every time I crossed my legs like lotus triangles I ended up having visions of the beer and pizza I would consume in ten days time, clocking off of work at 7am on the morning of the 22nd  driving down to Casey’s on Farmington rd and ordering a buttery crust egg-sausage pizza with twin six packs and a pack of smoke, driving with my dear friend (who has also voluntarily offered to go Vegan for forty days) blasting off into a desolate country road, the early morning late winter sky awash in a horizontal swaths of pink-eye chardonnay and periwinkle  blue.

But perhaps the reason I'm doing this is because I want to fall down. I want to fail again and again until I succeed. I want to, akin to Crowley's heralding epigram, kiss the reptilian (kundalini) frog inside of me while preparing a guillotine for its demise.

 

Sometimes in order to become the creation you long to be you need to butcher the person you have unyieldingly become.

 

Ten more days, my friends.

 

Ten more days.