Day 5 Afternoon — The Fast Begins (One Wild And Precious Life)

As the weekend begins at 5pm on Friday, I start a Fast for the next 15 hours or so to prepare for an Ultrasound of my abdominal region, focusing naturally on my liver, that will happen in Saturday morning. Yes, my appointment is at 7am in the basement at Kaiser Hospital when I guess they will brighten my belly with ultrasound jelly. It has grown in size in recent years to the point that demands reduction, but not quite yet verging on Couch Potato Hall of Fame induction criteria. Aside from a liver biopsy which is done with a humongous needle and the prospect of which utterly freaks me out, an ultrasound is the best method of finding out how my beleaguered organ is faring in the Hepatitis C siege. It feels a bit like a roll of the dice in Las Vegas with my belly being the craps table.

What I appreciate at this moment is the spiritual component of a fast. Like in the tradition of my tribe during Yom Kippur, I hope the fast allows me to shed in a metaphorical fashion some of the past sins that led me to this health crisis. Can I be forgiven for mistakes made under the influence of my disease of perception? When I look back at the last days of my addiction (was that a subliminal reference to the Gus Van Sant fictionalization of the death of Kurt Cobain), the insanity is mind-boggling to recall and becomes more and more so as the years pass. I cannot imagine what the hell I was thinking in the depths of my disease to create such havoc (I hate using the word create in such a disgusting context) and render such pain on my loved ones.

The many struggles I have encountered on the road of sobriety have slowly taught me to embrace and celebrate the gift of this rare human birth. Mind you, I do not really believe in reincarnation with an agnostic perspective at best. When it comes to such questions, I tend to side with Woody Allen: "I do not believe in an afterlife, but I am bringing a change of underwear just in case.

Nevertheless, the implications of the phrase "this rare human birth" are so powerful and moving because it emphasizes the true value of the gift of life. It reminds me of one of my favorite poems The Summer Day by the poet Mary Oliver, and I think I will exit by presenting you with the second half of the poem  below. If you have not read the works of this living giantess of American expression, then pick up her selected works as soon as you can. She is a voice of beauty and consolation, faith and revelation that expresses so clearly our sacred place in this world and the responsibility we have been given to protect the wonder of such a birthright. Here are the last nine lines of The Summer Day by Mary Oliver.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?