On Feasting & Fasting - A Healing Journey (Part One)

Returning is a Process

I hope that this blog finds everyone safe and well, and finding the nourishing resources they need during what can be a joyful and challenging holiday season.

It’s been nearly four months since my last blog post. In that time, I’ve returned home to Ireland after another deeply nourishing year in Plum Village. Here, I find myself fortunate to enjoy many precious conditions, such as a comfortable home, access to healthy food, proximity to family and friends, and I have a source of right livelihood that brings me joy. 

At the same time, due to the conditions of the moment, I currently find myself living alone–the opposite of a deep desire for a more connected, community-based way of living. It’s understandable that recalibrating to this way of living would be challenging. The joy and ease of being a cell in the mature Sangha body of Plum Village can contrast sharply with the “outside world,” which at times can feel spiritually lonely and overwhelming. Each day brings so many wonderful things to attend to–nourishing myself physically and spiritually, tending to my relationships, managing the everyday tasks of being a householder and contributing to the many meaningful projects I’m fortunate to be part of. 

I recognise the privilege inherent in saying that I am so busy doing the things I want to do that I don’t have time for the other things I want to do. And yet, even busyness with wonderful things feels like an imbalance between being and doing. Trying to keep all these beautiful plates spinning often brings up feelings of stress and overwhelm—fearful that I won’t be able to keep everything going, and anxious about what might happen when some inevitably fall out of orbit.

Being in touch with these feelings, I can clearly see how my idea of “Mark,” as a separate self, with a sole responsibility to take care of so much, creates suffering. When these feelings arise, and I can be truly present for them, I have the opportunity to recognise my true nature, the reality of interbeing. In these precious moments, I can choose to take refuge in such practices as Touching the Earth, allowing myself, however momentarily, to release the burdens that I have been carrying and let go into a larger sense of identity. 

When I can do this, I feel confident that Mother Earth is delighted to welcome back her prodigal child, no longer separated, and delighted to share what has always been a collective load.

In the midst of this busyness, one of the plates that stopped spinning for a time was the writing of this blog. While it’s taking time, I’m slowly beginning to settle and I’m happy to see that I have the conditions to start writing again. This path of practice is my life and having the opportunity to share it with others is deeply nourishing for me.

Fasting -  A Personal Reflection

In my last blog, I promised to share about the seven-day silent, water-only fast I undertook just prior to leaving Plum Village. Besides the timing of a blog that speaks about fasting, when feasting is the norm, there’s also a part of me that feels reluctant to speak about water fasting for other reasons–partly because in our society, it is often seen as something too extreme. 

Throughout the world, many communities have endured, and continue to endure, periods of food scarcity that are deeply painful. Ireland itself has experienced several famines throughout its history, including the Great Famine of 1845-1852, during which roughly one million people died and more than one million more had to leave the country. For many, the idea of voluntarily depriving oneself of food for an extended period is unthinkable.

Another reason for my hesitation is that, although I have read widely on the subject, have undertaken several fasts over the last few years, and experienced benefits–both physically and spiritually–I recognise that fasting is not without risk, that I still don’t know enough, and that it’s important to understand our motivation for undertaking one. If the decision to fast is not rooted in a fundamental care for body and mind, how can we expect the outcome to be truly beneficial? 

This blog is not a recommendation, or even an encouragement to fast, and certainly not at Christmas, but rather it's a reflection on my personal experience with two pairs of opposites, feasting and fasting.

From what I have seen and heard about others’ experiences, many seem to cruise through their fasts, making inspiring claims of never having felt better–more alert, more focused, and so on. However, this has not been my experience. For me, water fasting typically involves varying degrees of unpleasantness, from start to finish. As students of Thich Nhat Hanh, we understand that not all suffering is bad and that, without the nourishment of the mud there can be no lotus flower. At the same time, Thay reminds us not to create unnecessary suffering, recognising that we already have more than enough. 

When it comes to fasting however, Thich Nhat Hanh himself recognised the benefits. In his book, Stepping into Freedom - An Introduction to Buddhist Monastic Training, Thay encourages the practise of fasting at least once a year to detoxify the body and digestive system. For me, as you will see, undertaking an annual fast would currently be too much. 

I see fasting as something akin to running a marathon– a challenging journey for both the mind and body. With compassion, I see that it’s an experience requiring some preparation and training. 

Undertaking a seven-day fast might begin several months in advance, involving ensuring that I eat plenty of the nourishing foods my body needs, while avoiding the unhealthy things my mind may crave but my body doesn’t benefit from. It might take at least another month after completing the fast to fully recuperate. 

George Bernard Shaw famously said, “Any fool can fast, but it takes a wise person to know how to break a fast”. Breaking a fast is an opportunity to begin anew–with my body and mind–cultivating greater motivation and a deeper resolve to establish a more mindful and compassionate way of consuming.

I have seen and heard of others that are happy to continue their regular routines–working, socialising and exercising–as if it were any other time. This is not the case for me. Not only do I doubt my capacity to carry on as usual, but I also deeply wish to give my body and mind as much rest as possible, asking nothing more of myself than to cope with the fast itself.

The last time I fasted was in August 2019. While I have the aspiration to fast every two years, the conditions hadn’t felt right until this year. So, before leaving Plum Village, I decided to undertake my third seven-day water-only silent fast. 

A Complex Relationship With Food

For much of my life, I’ve had a complex relationship with food–both psychological and physical–often using it to manage my emotional state. I wrote about this in an article for The Mindfulness Bell back in 2017: (https://www.parallax.org/mindfulnessbell/article/food-a-nourishing-step-towards-better-health/). 

For many years before arriving in Plum Village in 2014, I often experienced a challenging mind-body state sometimes referred to as pseudo-hypoglycemia. If I didn’t eat something roughly every two hours, I would begin to feel weak, anxious, shaky, and irritable—something akin to being “hangry”. These experiences put me in touch with a lot of fear around being hungry and meant I often wouldn’t leave the house without eating first and always made sure I had emergency snacks on hand. 

This was particularly difficult at work, as the busiest times often coincided with lunchtime, when people would stop by during their own lunch hour. These visits often overlapped with the time I hoped to take for my own lunch, requiring me to be my most focused precisely when physically and mentally I was at my lowest.

I have a strong “completer-finisher” part of my personality , and this also extends to how I relate to food. I’m not sure that I have ever left food on my plate or eaten just one biscuit–unless I was being polite.

An Ice-Cream Story

I remember one Friday night when I was in my late twenties. The thrill of going out was already beginning to wane, and I found myself at home alone and in the mood for a movie and ice cream. Venturing out to the local shop, I was faced with something of an ice-cream dilemma. As I browsed the available flavours, I found myself unable to decide between the numerous options. Among the most craveable was a Ben & Jerry’s flavour–some kind of double chocolate, death by chocolate, ultimate chocolate flavour. There was also a plain Häagen-Dazs Vanilla flavour. 

In that moment, I found myself deeply empathising with Goldilocks and her porridge predicament. (For the record, I'm a big fan of porridge). The Ben & Jerry’s option was clearly too chocolatey for me, while the Häagen-Dazs Vanilla was far too plain. 

In a moment of inspiration, I realised that by combining these two extremes of flavour, I could create the perfect balance. Delighted by my own genius, I made my purchase and headed home with my two tubs of ice cream, feeling rather smug and blissfully unaware of what was now inevitable. 

Once there, I joyfully took out my bowl, added a modest scoop of the chocolate and a scoop of vanilla and sat down in front of the television to enjoy my evening of consumption. I was delighted with my choice–the combination was just right. So pleased was I that after finishing my moderate bowl, I decided to return for a second moderate bowl. Once again, I savoured the perfect balance of flavours…so much so that I couldn't resist going back for a third bowl. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth bowl, the two pots of ice-cream were nearly empty and the initial joy had turned to a compulsion to finish and be done with it. 

My completer-finisher part reasoned that we were nearly there, and if we polished off what was left, we could finally stop. Ever since then, I have known that, despite the epic nature of the combination, I cannot be trusted with two pots of ice-cream. (Interestingly, in researching for this blog, I discovered that Ben & Jerry’s now offer a chocolate-and-vanilla option. Unfortunately it’s dairy and I am unable to conscionably recommend it.) 

Healing is a Journey

Having the opportunity to spend time in Plum Village had such a positive impact on my relationship with food, but this journey was not without its ups and downs, as few important journeys are. Mindfulness brought me closer to understanding the patterns that once ruled my eating habits. And yet, I continue to see that healing is not linear.

As I reflect on the compulsive nature of my ice cream story, I see it as a metaphor for many of the unexamined habits that I’ve had throughout my life. Whether in food, work, or relationships, my “completer-finisher” mentality has often led me into imbalances—whether it's overindulgence in sense pleasures or the sense of pushing through tasks until they are "done," even at the cost of my own well-being.

In Plum Village, the teachings of mindfulness have helped me develop the awareness needed to slow down and listen to my body’s needs rather than rush past them. This growing awareness is the foundation of the healing I’ve experienced, but I recognise that it is an ongoing process. It’s a process I’m still engaged in, and it’s one that continues to unfold as I explore what it means to nourish my body and mind in more mindful ways. 

In this festive season, I invite you to bring the loving light of awareness and compassion to your own energies in whatever way they manifest for you. 

To make this blog more digestible, I’ve split it into several parts. In the next part, I will speak more about the ongoing healing in my relationship to food that began in Plum Village.

Please take care - Water fasting can pose serious health risks, especially without medical supervision. If you have any medical conditions or take medications, consult a healthcare provider before attempting an extended fast, as it may lead to dangerous complications.