Fasting - progressing or regressing?

There are many reasons to fast. Several organisations have claimed extraordinary health benefits for fasting. I enjoyed this talk on the surprising changes it can bring.

In fact if you tell people you're fasting for health benefits most people will be impressed with your determination and strength of mind. Slightly in awe of someone choosing not to eat or drink when they have the freedom to do both. In an age where obesity is endemic in the developed world, with all its associated diseases, those who choose the opposite direction stand out.  They are akin to the super fit among us whose regular frenetic workouts keep them energised and in shape. They are to be to be admired for not going with the flow. Actually finding the wherewithal to go in the opposite direction to the norm. After all, for a huge swathe of humans, being without food or clean water is not a choice. They wrestle daily to obtain these basic necessities and die periodically in substantial numbers when they lose this battle. 

We live in a world that has those who literally eat themselves to an early death and others starving from malnutrition who die because of a lack of food. In case we think these two extremes are linked to each other it is important to point out the obvious difference. Those who eat their way into obesity and diabetes do have a choice. Those who are dying of hunger rarely do. You might argue that the food industry has cleverly generated over zealous consumers of their manufactured products to earn them millions. That by the use of sugar, flavour enhancers, excess salt and other means the food industry has caused the obesity we see around us. There may be some truth to this and those who target children with their unhealthy fare are becoming rightly the target of the public's ire. However, in general the public is distracted and in the void where information should be, entertainment and advertisements have elbowed their way in. It is becoming harder to discern the truth. Instead of right and wrong we seem to have only shades.

In a world of excess those who choose to do with less are admired. In a world of scarcity to choose to do with less is suicidal. We admire those who control their appetite by fasting because it is uncommon. Of course those who fast because they have a psychological disorder receive no such admiration. The inner prompting that keeps an anorexic from eating is recognised as a sickness not admired  as self control. The Romans overindulged and then routinely vomited so they could repeat the delight of eating again similarly do not deserve applause. Food is so fundamental to well-being we all inherently fear its wastage to greater or smaller degrees. My mother-in-law who lived through war and the shortage of food that entailed wept in her son’s restaurant kitchen, in Texas, to see huge uneaten steaks being scooped into the bins. To those with experience of hunger, food is infinitely precious.

Fasting for religious purposes is viewed differently by most. When I, as a Baha’i, fast people are sometimes uncomfortable. They can see it as fanatical, incomprehensible and almost akin to scourging. It is undoubtably antisocial.  How many times do I find myself not joining friends at such times. They become self-conscious eating and drinking in my presence despite protestations to the contrary. Not been able to give you a cup of tea or coffee as you enter their home makes them feel like a helpless host. So what is it that fasting does for me.

1. It helps me discover all my addictions. For example, coffee drinking has to stop at least a month before the fast. Otherwise the fast becomes  a time of endurance and not enjoyment.
2. It's frees up time to commune with God. Without tea, coffee, biscuits and meals there is suddenly so much time available. The mind is clearer and sharper. There are less distractions.
3. The physical doing without food or water from sunrise to sunset is not the hardest part. For me dealing with the cold is a major issue. I am sitting at present  wearing jumpers, coat, gloves and a scarf in the shopping mall. Two tourists have wondered by in tank tops and shorts. I'm not sure what goes wrong with my body when deprived of food and drink but for whatever reason hypothermia is the result.
4. Dealing with the physical effects of fasting is not the hardest part at all. The challenge is actually growing spiritually as a result of fasting. It is possible to do without food or water day after day with rigid discipline but advance not one jot spiritually. In fact that's not true. Because I'm convinced our spiritual state is dynamic not static it's quite possible to fast and move further away from God.  You can become grumpy and bad tempered. You can suddenly be judgemental of others! Any self satisfaction during this period can be dangerous. It can generate pride that causes your spirit to actually shrivel.
5. We are told that some who fast will not be accepted by God and many that don't fast, will. In other words, it seems it's not the decision to put something in your mouth or not that determines the spirituality of this period. It is the degree to which we succeed during these days of rejuvenating our spirit. It can allow us insights on what we can achieve and what we need to change within. It triggers the possibility of transformation and provides a quiet space for that possibility.

Every year it feels like the sands of this special time are running through my fingers before I can truly grasp them. Creating the space once a year reminds me that we are all crops in progress. There are things needed weeded out, seeds requiring planting, plants to be pruned and all need the water of life to strengthen them. Everything you do this season will influence the year ahead. May yours, like the coming spring, be fruitful and abundant with promise.

The Death roll verses the Pitchpole

I like yachts.  Love messing around in them like my dad loved airports. It is that spirit of movement and sense of adventure they embody. The smell of salt water, the tinkle of the halyards against masts set the pulse racing. Not that I am sailor I got my first job in my 20’s and spend my salary on a sailing dingy - a Topper. That year I lived and worked in Cowes, which is quite a sailing Mecca. I seem to capsize in front of the posh sailing club every time I had to turn direction. Do you remember learning to ride a bike? For me it was riding in straight lines that came first. Every time I had to take a bend, off I came with knees, elbows and hands bearing the brunt of my mistakes. Eventually, I learned to corners on bikes. Unfortunately, in sailing I never mastered certain manoeuvres.  The two main reasons for my capsizing have wonderful names.  One is called the Death roll and the other is called the Pitchpole. 

“Death roll

This is an interesting setup to the broach.  Sailing downwind can cause an oscillation of the boat rocking back and forth.  An inexperienced helmsman will tend to try to correct this by steering away from the "roll" but this will cause it to get worse.  Once the roll gets to strong the boat broaches.

Pitchpole

This is a different sort of hydrodynamic problem.  The boat is going at a certain speed and the sails are under enough pressure to maintain the speed.  When the hull suddenly slows down the sail "keeps going" and the boat pitches over the bow in a spectacular summersault.  This is usually because you're racing down the back of a wave and when your bow hits the next wave it slows down abruptly.”

When in either position and moving fast  I invariably managed to capsize the boat. I didn't let it stop me sailing. One colleague from work who foolishly came sailing with me abandoned ship after the third capsize.  I watched him flee for shore as if his life depended on it. 

I didn't belong to any sailing club and I never minded the Hurrah Henrys looking on with their irritating nasal laughter, canvas shoes and wine glasses. It was the wind, waves and adventure that had me mesmerised. There is a feeling being really in the moment that confirms you're really alive not spectating or waiting for life to begin. My Topper taught me that.  I learned to right the boat again with remorseless painful practice. It's not the end of the world to find yourself in the water with the sail on your head. Sometimes, you have to work out which way is up and down. You can be that disorientated. Breathe as much air as you can before working on getting the boat upright. Before you can get moving again you will need to find your bearings and get above water.

At times life will do that.  It will take the feet from under you. Don't waste time worrying about who is watching you. Focus on deep breaths and conserving your energy for the task in hand. Wind direction changes, waves can come in all sizes and at times your skills don't quite meet the challenge. There is no shame in that. You're not responsible for what comes your way. Only for how you choose to respond to it. We need to remember that! Don't waste time on being humiliated by life. Instead, fill your days with times worth remembering.

"It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live."

Marcus Aurelius (Roman Emperor from 161 to 180 AD)

Managing Animals with kindness

Teaching animal management for two years in a college in Northern Ireland was a good experience. The teenagers were full of heart and soul. They looked out for each other and radiated goodwill. I was shocked at how wholesome the group was despite Mohican haircuts, piercings and tattoos. In the animal room in the college we had hamsters, guinea pigs, birds, rabbits and on occasion dogs, cats, kittens and puppies, miniature goats and snakes. The students had to learn animal handling skills and needed to practice. When I started I viewed these kids as dangerous to the vulnerable animals. With each passing month I reversed my position and realised the kids had much more to fear from the animals.  

These kids harboured no nastiness but I knew even carelessness can damage. However, I saw nothing but consideration and kindness shown towards the animals. Even then I was careful. People in my experience can be kind in public but in private moments lash out. Just because they were gentle when I watched did not mean that when left alone in charge of an animal they might show another side.  Being a teacher made you suspicious of humanity! You discover those with no discipline, those who are physically careless, the occasional student totally void of conscience and it makes you guarded and cynical. For example, I taught pure science in a college in a different town twice a week.  The science students there had a few cruel students in their midst. You saw the way they hurt others in the corridor by word and deed. As a teacher you intervened as necessary, but was well aware that such viciousness would find its expression in other areas outside your control. Students who desire to hurt others can find spaces to practice their favourite sport. Educators have to be equally inventive to spoil their game. 

Walking from one group with such dynamics back into my animal management class was like emerging into sunlight. You got to focus on niceties instead of the basics of civil behaviour. On one session on euthanasia they were shown videos of dogs being euthanised. Such was the effect on these tender hearts I learned to have a game or outing to compensate for the anguish it in engendered. Many of them did their weekly placements in vets around the town. They spoke of young healthy dogs been put down because owners had lost interest, moved house or divorced. Their outrage was tangible. Another student spoke about how an animal nurse had sniggered while euthanising an elderly ill dog. The class was outraged at this insensitivity and all pledged to do things better. No laughter or smiles in such circumstances. The ending of life deserved respect. Months after the death of a dog, a heartless snigger can be both brutal and unkind for its owner. One boy said a man brought in his dog to be euthanised and acted as if it was no big deal. All swagger and brass indifference. As the dog died the vet gently stroked the dog on the table. The owner started sobbing and crying in an emotional outburst which surprised the student.  It was another lesson learned. People often hide what they're really feeling. Don't make assumptions.

 All had tales to tell of pets they lost. The bereavement was often still raw years later and would fill the classroom with its intensity. The tenderness of their hearts was a mighty lesson for me. I confess I had become jaded in teaching. You begin to expect less of students and even less of yourself. You wait to be disappointed with their actions.  This class revived my hope in humanity. They were therapy to be with and to this day I am so grateful for what they taught me -  “Every child is potentially the light of the world.”

Part 3 Readers - The Killing

This is the third of a science fiction series ( to read the first two click on hyperlinks below)
Reader part 1
Reader part 2

Four days later Sherry was dead. He received a call from her line manager. Keats was informed that she had stepped out in front of an express train at Central Station. The driver had seen nothing and the impact had been minor. It had been railway tech workmen who picked up the tiny shudder at the hub station. They recognized the tiny tremor peak that they had grown accustomed to in suicides on train lines. Their electronic sensors had flagged up an incident and Cherry had been identified quickly by DNA analysis. The line manager broke the news with great sensitivity but the blow felt beyond enduring. On the phone Keats had been unable to speak, to reply. Even, when asked, “are you alright do you need assistance?” He just put his forehead on the phone intercom and closed his eyes. Because of his lack of a coherent reply a response team had been dispatched. They arrived 15 minutes later, over-rode the front door lock and raced in, medical kits at hand. Kind hands lowered him onto his bed while a sleeping patch was applied on his inner wrist. He fell into blissful oblivion and remained so for four hours. 

When he woke he was still in his own bed a bereavement medical worker by his side. He asked the uniformed woman who she was. She was in her 40s with dark straight hair, around a pleasant calm face. Not pretty but plain and pleasant with brown sympathetic eyes. She replied,

“My name is Dora, I'm your bereavement medical worker. Here is my ID, you've had a shock. Do you remember anything?”

While she asked, experienced fingers took his pulses all five recorded on the tablet quickly and efficiently.  Keats shuttered his response, disbelief in every word. 

“My wife and she's dead I think.”

Dora nodded,

“Yes that's right.”

She paused and waited. Keats felt huge sobs coming as if from his feet. Big shaking waves that shook his body, Dora held his hand stroked his shoulder, murmuring “I'm here, I'm here.” Gradually, his sobs stopped and he turned to Dora, and asked, “What happened?”
Dora looked at him clear eyed and measured.
“Cherry is dead but do you need to understand I am responsible to both of you.
Keats was confused,
“What?”
Dora explained,
“When a death like this happens, a bereavement medical worker (a BMW) is assigned to both the deceased and the next of kin. I have prepared Cherry, accompanied her to forensics and made sure her wishes are respected to the letter. I am duty-bound to you both, but my priority is of course Cherry, as she is no longer able to speak for herself.” 
Keats struggled to grasp what Dora was saying,

“I don't understand.”

Dora calmly replied,
“Just because a person is dead, it doesn't mean one rides roughshod over their rights. Cherry had left clear instructions and I have carried them out to the letter.”

“What instructions?” Keats almost howled his despair. Dora elaborated,

“She wanted instant cremation after a full forensics. She had prepared well, there is her will and a letter.”

“But why did she do it?”

Dora frowned.

“Out of respect for Cherry, I am duty-bound to point out forensics indicate she did not jump in front of the train. Bruising showed she was pushed and CCTV footage on the train clearly indicates this. In no way was she intentionally ending her life.”

Keats felt bile rise in his throat.
“But the call they mentioned suicide, her line manager said...”

Dora stroked his shoulder gently.
“He had no right to call you like that. No one should hear that sort of news over a monitor. Any fool knows that. But, I'm afraid nowadays communication outstrips wisdom. They certainly shouldn't make a judgment call without full forensics. For exactly the reasons that are evident here.
Keats said nothing, so Dora continued.

“I had to respect Cherry’s wishes, she was my key subject, so you were given a sleeping patch until such times as I had carried out her wishes.”

“What wishes?” Keats questioned.

Dora gave him a small sip of ice-cold water and it soothed his dry throat. He coughed and spoke louder,
“What wishes?”

Dora took out an envelope and explained. "When someone anyone dies or is dying, A BMW is assigned. Their key subject is the patient or client and they make sure their needs are met. In terms of pain control, final wishes, personal care plan. In the case of a diseased patient we are escort them to forensics or to the funeral home and ensure respect is shown to the body. We take notes and in the case of Sherry arrange cremation.”

“But I needed to see her, I wanted to...” Keats could not continue.

Dora spoke,
“In this case her instructions outweigh your wishes. But she did wish you would be given this on her death.” 
Dora handed over the white envelope.
“Just know this, she did not take her own life. This was not her choice. Someone took her from you. You need to know this. I'll leave you to read the note in private, if you need me I'll be outside the glass doors, just signal and I'll come.”
He clumsily pulled the envelope open, tearing it. His fingers felt like spagetti. His brain was in shut down. He tried to focus. The handwriting was hers and when he read Dear Keats, he cried out and put his hand over his mouth. Dora behind the glass doors stirred but he held up his hand to stop her. He read on,

‘I'm dead I don't know how it happened after all, I'm younger than you. But there you go, life is unexpected. You must be devastated, unless you killed me, in which case, perhaps relieved. Only joking, being a reader married to a non-reader is tricky but being a non- reader married to a reader is an act of daily trust. You more than met all my life's expectations. You're a good man and it has been a privilege to share these years. Your love has given me incredible happiness. Being cremated is not what you would've wanted for me. I appreciate goodbyes are important to you. But some studies have shown readers die differently. The part of the brain that processes readings in others is the last stop to stop functioning. It's requires so little blood flow there is speculation that it may continue functioning for sometime after the body is dead. I have to confess that thought freaked me out so much, a speedy cremation seemed a safer bet. I didn't want my last reading playing like a record in my head. I know it will all be all over, the fact that you are reading this means my wishes have been respected. I can ask for no more. Would have loved more time with you but you have given me more than I ever expected. Your goodness a daily lesson in how to be a better human. Thanks for that too!
much love Cherry."

He held the letter to his cheek and tried to breathe in her scent from the paper. His heart felt like it would explode. The pain in the centre of his chest pulsed and his ears began ringing. He rubbed his chest with his knuckles and the pain seemed to flow along his arms. Dora was beside him in an instant and placed the patch on his wrist. He tried to stop her, but she pushed his hand away and spoke gently.

“You need to trust me now. This is best. I'm here, I'm here.”

Blissful nothingness hugged him into a deep sleep. Doris sat beside him in the darkened room. He would sleep for an hour. These patches had to be used with restraint. Patients could quickly grow addicted to the swift release from painful reality. It was her job to begin weaning him. She never gave more than three patches and really felt EBW’s who did were shortchanging their clients. The sooner patients came to terms with what had happened the better. Delaying that, often suited inexperienced EBW’s who needed time to think what was best to do next. Putting a client into a long sleep allowed them to consult others and plan ahead and cover their own backs. Dora knew recovery in patients who slept through the first two days was twice as slow as those who didn't. Not on my watch, she thought settling down to her knitting, keeping a watchful eye on his vitals. She'd only been knitting for 20 minutes when someone knocked on the glass door. Dora approached the door slowly. His eyes were green flecked with gold and he signalled to her to open the door. Dora picked up the intercom and pointed to the receiver on the outside. Dickens spoke in a rush,

“He's a good friend, can I come in? He's had an awful loss, he needs me!

Dora answered,
“No, he needs me at present. I will not authorise any visitors until he is stabilised.” 

Her brown eyes were cold and clear. Dickens held up his hand, pleadingly.

“Look its not fair, if he was your friend you'd want to be there for him.”

Dora pressed a button low down on her medical jacket, and then spoke
“Who are you, exactly?”

He answered eagerly, “Dickens, we go back half a century. Come on have a heart.” He smiled winningly through the glass door.
Dora nodded slowly and held up her hand in acquiescence.

“This space has been disinfected, please wash your hands and use a cleanser spray and before entering.”

Dickens quickly did as she instructed, washing his hands with mocking exaggerated care and using the wall disfectant spray on both sides of each hand. He slipped the scalpel up his sleeve, one more kill and he was in the clear. Just one more death and freedom in this brand-new world beckoned. He could feel his hands trembling with the thrill of the kill. He would have to take out the plump woman too, but suddenly, having got rid of Cherry so easily, he felt anything was possible. Dora waved him towards the glass door and stood a little to one side making room for him to pass when the doors would open. 

Dickens smiled encouragingly at the plain face, so close to his own. Suddenly, the doors to the lift behind him opened and four security guards grabbed him. Efficiently they cable cuffed his arms and searched him. They found the scalpel within seconds. Dora opened the glass doors and stepped out allowing them to close behind her. She approached Dickens and told the guards,

“I pressed the alert, he has just killed and was about to kill again.”

The guards immediately placed red stick highlighter across Dickens’ forehead. It was fluorescent and would identify him as a murderer to everyone when he was in transit. There had been an initial outcry when such permanent indicators were used. Prisoners were horrified to find the mark indelible. Sociological studies found the mark more of a punishment than many of the other prison regimes. Not even facial tattoos removed the fluorescent red. Removing a deep layer of skin or branding did, but were so drastic most people could guess what had been removed and this defeated the intent. This colour branding had been started 30 years ago and it had been so successful the measure had become standard. As they hauled Dickens to the lift, he shouted at Dora, in recognition, 

“You’re a reader, she's a reader!”

He continued to shout as they bundled him out. Dora opened the glass door and returned to her chair. Checking vitals and fussing with his sheet she felt his pulse and then settled. Frontline EDW were not all readers but in a diversity drive at the same time as the second maxim announcement had meant 50% of them where.

It had seemed as if one life had been saved by her quick reading of Dickens but further

research on the case indicated that he had killed dozens of people. The Dickens case as it became known became as instrumental as the Linenbury case in changing attitudes.

A new maxim came into being, “Unity in Diversity, makes us stronger and safer”. 


(to be continued)