MEDICINA

Početna strana / Arhiva / Fascikle / Linkovi / summary / Manage /

« ST. VINCENT AND THE GRENADINES - THE SMILING BLACK MAN | Main | "禁食12天" »

FASTING - 12 DAYS

2025/07/04,09:13

Fasting

I began fasting on April 14, 2012, after my last meal around 8:45 PM. The next morning, on April 15, 2012, I drank sweetened coffee and smoked two or three cigarettes. That day, Easter Sunday, Nebojša and Katarina visited us in Sjenica, bringing food to an already overflowing table. Since fasting means living on water alone, with nothing else, I had to give up my ugly habit—smoking. That day, cigarettes were my biggest challenge, even more than the Easter feast. Later, we went to "Bagič’s" place, where, not wanting to upset my uncle, I nearly gave in to temptation. However, my uncle’s charisma deterred me from taking cigarettes or alcohol, even though I was on vacation. I slept very well. The first day passed. I didn’t have a headache, as often described in books about fasting.

The second day, I mostly spent walking, but with an irrational, overwhelming fear of wolves, so I always carried a thick stick with me. That day, I walked about 6-7 km, and the walk felt good. I had cravings for food, but not excessively. I warmed my chakras and various parts of my body with stones heated on a blazing stove, which we fueled with spruce and beech wood. We lit the fire with a torch. I went to sleep. During the night, I suddenly jolted awake and, for the first time in my life, didn’t know who I was, where I was, or what I was. Pitch darkness surrounded me, the desolate wilderness at 1,500 meters above sea level, the wind howling, rain pouring. It was as if I were in a coffin—but not for the living.

The third day was marked by the onset of excessive stomach acid production. I kept spitting. I also walked, about the same distance as the day before. Already, I felt slight fatigue, and walking wasn’t as enjoyable. Normally, I’m an athlete, and my resting heart rate is consistently below 60, but during these days, it didn’t drop below 80. This was likely due to acclimatization to the altitude, where the temperature is about 10 degrees lower than at sea level, not to mention the oxygen concentration. Still, I didn’t feel short of breath. I continued warming my body with hot stones. I didn’t sleep well, waking up to urinate.

The fourth day was the calmest so far—until nightfall. However, I think I made a mistake by walking about 12-13 km that day. I didn’t feel extreme fatigue, but I started feeling short of breath. When I returned to the cabin after the walk, I couldn’t relax, and my heart rate wouldn’t drop below 93. I slept poorly, and the acid reflux was even worse. I continued warming my body but lacked the willpower due to the stomach acid. Every time I turned, left or right, I had to burp and spit acid into a cup. I fell asleep but didn’t sleep well.

The fifth day started off sluggish, with continued dizziness. I walked very little. Everything that hadn’t bothered me before now did—the smoke in the cabin, my thoughts, my uncle, fasting, everything… I ran outside to vomit but couldn’t. Instead, I let out three primal screams, loud enough for the wolves in the mountains to hear and respond. It felt amazing—I felt like a primal man. But the "primal scream" was useless against the relentless acid. When I went to bed, as soon as I lay down, I felt the acid and started spitting. Again, the smoke, the thoughts, my uncle. In a second, I rushed outside to the south-facing terrace and began vomiting. I couldn’t believe what a person could expel when their stomach held nothing but acid and the water they drank daily. For a moment, I panicked during the vomiting but didn’t question it. The vomiting continued—three strong gushes and a weaker fourth, all landing on my uncle’s firewood, which he had prepared for building the cabin. I lay down again, afraid to burp, thinking the scenario would repeat. But I dared—and nothing happened. I burped with relief late into the night until I fell asleep.

The sixth day passed well; the acid subsided. I didn’t walk much, only about 2-3 km. Throughout these fasting days, I urinated normally—maybe even more easily than in Vrbas. Sometimes the urine was yellow, other times clear as water. I slept poorly. The sixth day passed.

On the seventh day, I remembered Malakhov, a top Russian fasting expert, who recommends drinking mild, unsweetened lemonade. I asked my uncle to bring me a lemon from Njegovuđe, but he resisted—he was my guru. A man who, for the past 25-30 years, fasted for 12 days annually, finally gave in and brought me a lemon. I squeezed half a lemon into 2.5 dl of water and drank the sweetest, most delicious beverage of my life. I woke up during the night. The seventh day passed.

The eighth day was excellent—whether because of the lemonade or the cessation of stomach acid, I don’t know. In the morning, I felt strength and energy. My uncle went to the forest for firewood, and I split it—it felt amazing. I bathed roughly every other day, but interestingly, my feet didn’t smell, nor did my shirts or even underwear. Divine, almost godly. That day, I walked a little. I also drank two small lemons in water. My uncle only brought small lemons, claiming they were "male" and juicier. I disagreed—I wanted the biggest lemon from the coast. My pulse slowly dropped to around 72. I woke up once during the night. The eighth day passed.

The ninth day brought even more strength and productivity. Again, I chopped wood but quickly tired and stopped. I walked about 2 km to fetch water and bathed. We listened to songs on a laptop, and I enjoyed daily conversations with my uncle. He broadened my horizons and gave me the strength to break free from the slavery in which I lived—slavery to society, thoughts, behavior, perceptions, everything… What was interesting was that I began to observe all my thoughts and noticed they were worse than snake venom. This realization didn’t happen on the ninth day but around the fourth or fifth. If only I could silence or filter those thoughts, I believe I’d be the happiest and most successful man. Discipline is the key—that was my conclusion after leaving the elite 63rd Parachute Brigade seven years ago. In 2005, I left the army with cardiac arrhythmia—ventricular extrasystoles. I was terrified and quit alcohol, coffee, carbonated drinks, and excessive physical activity. Within six months, the extrasystoles disappeared. On the ninth night of fasting, I felt one extrasystole. I told myself one or two a day wasn’t scary. Soon, another came. Then 10-15 in half an hour. My first thought was to stop fasting. But I decided to wait until morning. I fell asleep, waking once.

The tenth day started gently—I felt mild fatigue and had 2-3 extrasystoles. I got up, brushed my teeth, drank lemonade, and now, as I write these observations, I’m drinking water. I decided to continue fasting. Around 11 AM, my pulse was about 68, which pleased me. For the past hour and a half, I’ve had no extrasystoles, giving me strength to continue. Today, I’ll spend in silence, as agreed with my uncle, to quiet my thoughts and reconnect with myself. Silence suits me.

As for physical changes, the weight dropped—understandable, right? (Laughs.) In these ten days, I estimate I’ve lost about 10 kg and now weigh 79-80 kg. The lipomas (fatty deposits) scattered across my body have shrunk by about a third on average—some more, some less. The largest, originally about 2 cm in diameter, is now about 1 cm. I suspect they’d disappear completely after a 20-day fast, but even my dear Guyton doesn’t recommend that. Guyton, a top medical physiologist, says fasting for 14-15 days isn’t harmful. Malakhov lasted 27 or 29 days and is still healthy. He treats people with fasting for the worst illnesses. Some people even claim to live on solar energy alone—so-called sun gazing—a mystery to me, though I’ve managed to stare at the rising or setting sun for nearly seven minutes.

My skin cleared, I grew a beard, my eyes became more pronounced—I now resemble a soldier from Erich Maria Remarque’s novels, evoking memories of my bachelor days. Around 2:30 PM, my pulse was 66. I feel good, aside from the negative thoughts that plague me daily—mostly battles against people who irritate or have irritated me. A thought starts simply but escalates into a conflict scenario. Mostly, these are "authority figures" in attitude and speech.

I continue drinking lemonade and started a second lemon. My uncle thinks there are no more lemons, but I "stole" one from his bag while he changed in the small cabin. I realized the root of these mental conflicts was me—the thinker. I’m at war with myself, not those people I’ve mentally constructed. On the other hand, I didn’t choose to perceive things this way—these patterns were ingrained since birth, from the moment Learning began. Wrong or right? I’d say fateful. My name, taken from the great Russian chess player Boris Spassky, confirms this. He was "Spas-en" (Saved), while I—well, we’ll see what the second (or first) part of my name, Banović, means.

Buddhist teachings say not to identify with these thoughts or "bite" at them, spinning conflict stories that drain precious life energy. Instead, observe them without emotion or self-identification. The mere idea fills me with joy—this objectivity enables happiness and a life without suffering. It also frees one from pride and the inflated ego. Observation, observation, observation…

My silence was abruptly interrupted. An old woman appeared at the cabin door, instantly reminding me of elders from Memedović’s documentaries about the Arctic. She smiled, I smiled back—but didn’t speak. I think I can endure. She asked about my family and other questions, to which I responded with polite nods and smiles. I took a blood pressure monitor and headphones, sat beside her, and she understood. She pulled out some medicines, asking me to explain them. Her blood pressure was like a young man’s—120/80. Still, I only smiled. She asked about the medicines—still smiling. Finally, I erupted. My voice was strong, confident, full of faith in what I said. I explained the medicines, satisfying both her and myself. She said her heart skipped beats, so I auscultated her and told her she’d live to 110.

Our conversation took an extraordinary turn. From this old woman, I learned the recipe for "Vodnjika"—a divine drink. First, acquire a 50-liter barrel (with or without a tap). Gather wild apples (very sour), cornelian cherries, and rose hips. I didn’t ask the proportions for 50 liters of water but will before returning home. Add all this to the barrel, fill it nearly to the top with water, and seal it well. Store it in a dark, cool place (a cellar). It’s ready when all the fruits sink to the bottom. In my life, I’ve never heard of a healthier drink than "Vodnjika" from Durmitor.

Rose hips, cornelian cherries, wild apples, bilberries, St. John’s wort, and many other plants growing here at 1,500 meters are absolutely unpolluted and healthy. She mentioned cornelian cherries are edible, but rose hips less so—though when slightly rotten, they can be eaten. She didn’t know what vitamin C was or that rose hips are a bronze medalist in vitamin C content among all foods. Good thing vitamin C isn’t toxic. Yet her blood pressure was like a young man’s, and her heart beat like a Swiss watch.

She soon left, inviting me to visit. I nodded, smiled, and waved. My silence continued. My uncle had gone out—perhaps to Njegovuđe, Kolašin, or even Tallinn. Who knows?

By the end of the tenth day, I decided to try an experiment. I wondered what could accelerate fat and lipoma loss. After brief thought, I realized: fat itself. Remembering my uncle had oil, I drank roughly 0.3 ml of sunflower oil—just enough to prompt my body to burn its own fat for energy.

That evening, I saw the young moon with a companion star, looking like a scene from a high-budget Arabic film. Below them, the savage Durmitor wilderness stretched under dark clouds, with only a few scattered lights from Žabljak’s houses. The contrast of beauty and dread showed me that both are life.

I went to bed around 10 PM but couldn’t sleep until 4-4:30 AM. Acid reflux tormented me, likely from the cistern water, which I found revolting but had no choice. I felt incredible hunger, restlessness all over—especially around my shoulder blades, upper arms, and thighs. My thoughts were anything but pleasant. I decided to end the fast. At one point, sexual thoughts arose, and I fell asleep.

I woke around 8 AM on the eleventh day but stayed in bed until nearly noon. The morning energy surge made me reconsider quitting. The lipoma on my left arm had shrunk by two-thirds. If I had more time, I might have fasted for 14 days, but I must return home in three—and I don’t want to look like an ascetic who can’t eat.

I told my wife my uncle bought a lamb and that I’d gained 5-6 kg. When she sees me, hopefully she won’t have a stroke. The kids will recognize my smile, but they might not recognize me at first. I’ve stopped measuring my pulse.

I decided to break the fast, but my uncle returned from Njegovuđe and, after a brief but heated debate, talked me out of it. He brought back many things, but what caught my eye was blackberry wine. Outside, the sun shone with a light breeze and birds singing. I watched a white cat sit on a stump, turn toward the sun, and absorb its energy—statue-like. I thought: Why not me? So I sat still, soaking up the sun, though I kept glancing at the cat whenever there was a noise. It remained a statue. We continued until sunset.

On April 25, 2012, from a spot above my uncle’s cabin where I sat in a chair, the sun set behind Durmitor around 6:56 PM. Two more nights, and my uncle and I will open the blackberry wine. So far, yet so near…

I went to bed around 9:30 PM, much calmer, almost tension-free. I remembered my friend Ana, who practiced yoga and once told me most people don’t know how to breathe—it must be diaphragmatic. I tried it and instantly felt relief throughout my body. I slept the best since arriving—seven and a half hours, compared to the previous average of under four. The eleventh day passed.

The twelfth day began, and I felt like a dragon hatchling—except I couldn’t fly or breathe fire. Was it due to the two lemons I’d had the day before, Ana’s breathing technique, yesterday’s sunlight, today’s sun, or all combined? No idea.

For the first morning since arriving, it wasn’t snowing or raining. The weather was perfect. My uncle showed me where to pick bilberries (uva). I gathered 10-15 kg—enough for a year’s supply of unpolluted, healthy dried berries in Vojvodina. Once dried, they’d shrink to 4-5 kg.

That evening, the white cat—my only true friend here—returned. We basked in the sun together. My uncle, despite being 62, worked like a young man—baking bread (whose aroma filled Durmitor), frying bacon and salami. I nearly gave in to temptation but retreated to my room.

I fell asleep before midnight. On the thirteenth day, I woke to the smell of soup. I thanked my uncle for helping me endure this act of health and regeneration. I began chewing—rubbing bread crust on my tongue, then spitting it out. Same with an orange. Then, a few spoonfuls of soup. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s it. Off to sip my soup.

Dr. Boris Banović

«	Jul 2025					»
Po	Ut	Sr	Če	Pe	Su	Ne
	1	2	3	4	5	6
7	8	9	10	11	12	13
14	15	16	17	18	19	20
21	22	23	24	25	26	27
28	29	30	31

Komentari