"AND ON THE SEVENTH DAY...."

"I think she's got it!" exclaimed Professor Higgins in "My Fair Lady", the first time Liza gets her "H's" and "R's" after long and arduous training. I, on the other hand, can't dance and sing in joy. Not just yet. With just seven days of fasting under my belt, the most I can claim to have accomplished, is a sense that it is possible to complete the month without serious injury to my physical, professional and emotional life.
I am hungry, most of the time. My reflexes are slower than usual and my sleep pattern interrupted. I often find myself  'drifting off' mentally, and just like Austin Powers in the first installment of the "Spy who Shagged me" I can not always control the "VOLUME OF MY VOICE!" These are just some of the evident changes during this seven day span.

I often search for people, while getting to work or walking the dog, who have that "look" that tells me they are fasting too. I guess I am looking for a way to belong and just that recognition in the eyes of a total stranger, soothes and motivates me. My friends, co-workers and neighbors are deeply supportive, even when they don't fully comprehend the reasons behind my choice. Their attentiveness to my well-being warms my heart and supports my understanding that human beings are inherently compassionate.

I visited a primarily Indonesian mosque in Astoria and got to participate with the people gathered to pray, celebrate and break fast together. Altough I was the "odd woman out", and my appearance was not fully appropriate ( I forgot to cover my calfs!) no one turned me away. In fact, I was swiftly welcomed and given food, allowed to enter the women's section of the prayer room, and even offered appropriate clothing, if I chose to pray with them. I couldn't in good faith do that, only because I wouldn't understand a word of what was being said. I did extend my prayers, in the only way I know how: saying "Thank You" for all that I had received that day, for the people in my life, for nature, for all the people that I do not know and the mystery we call "God". I shared the wonderful food prepared for all to enjoy, and had lovely conversations with a couple of women, who having no family here like me, came on their own to be with their "Muslim family" as Rina, one of the women called it. One of the highlights of my visit was watching the 2, 3 and 4 year olds in the prayer room, attempting to follow the praying activities of the adults: tumbling on the plush carpet, falling over their long skirts, but otherwise quiet and aware that this was a special place and yelling or misbehaving was not the thing to do!

On my path to remembering my true nature and connecting to divine consciousness, I have never felt less alone.