My fast is dynamic. It swells and ebbs. Some days it is agitated and some days it is peaceful. Some days it changes from hour to hour. My body is a boat, floating on a river, leading me to somewhere I've never been before.
My cravings and my body in general have grown more quiet. Even my prayer time has become more quiet, as I've learned to approach the altar with remembrance of all the miracles that God has performed in my life, all the ways in which He has demonstrated His great love for me.
Oddly, I have more energy than I expected to have at this point. I'm pretty well detoxed by now, not having had any coffee or processed foods or anything but fruits, vegetables, and some nuts for the past 10 days. I don't yearn for a cup of coffee all day long (even though my husband still brews a pot every morning - Oh, the aroma!); I'd still like one, but it has taken a back seat to my longing to make the most of the rest of my fast, and to see mountains move in my life.
It is interesting to me how quickly I have become attached to my new fasting routines. For example, this morning I was thinking about how I can't wait to have my half of a grapefruit at lunch today. What started as a sacrifice seems like a treat.
The first few days were rife with negative emotions and resistance. The next few days were burgeoning with learning and revelation. And now it is still.
Now there is only sitting quietly with expectation. In a green pasture. By still waters.