Feasting

He prided himself upon feasting. Every day was a feast and he took pride in its fruit. Feasting was directly connected to celebration, and celebration tied to abundance in life. Every cup of coffee, every conversation, every deal completed, every glass of wine, every morning, every noon, every evening was calling for celebration. He felt that all were called to be great celebrators, maybe they wouldn't be able to celebrate as well as he could, but they were still called to be a feasting people. However, one morning he woke up and didn't find celebration in the cup of coffee. In fact, the experience of the oily water was rather mundane. Conversations also grew burdensome, as people all seemed to always want to speak of the same things... Namely themselves. Another deal was completed, and another, and another and another, and ten more, but what was another deal? It was certainly not longer a feast of adrenaline, but rather another opportunity to top himself in climbing a higher mountain. But his legs were tired. And the wine... no... not the wine... it also no longer tasted of a celebration, but rather more like a coma... Numb and empty. Void of any of the expressions that it had previously manifested over his tongue. Feasting and celebration had turned cold. Until he stopped. He stopped drinking, he stopped feasting, and he stopped celebrating. HE FASTED. And to his surprise abundance again poured in. There was life in the fast. And when it came time to once again drink coffee and wine, to do deals, and to dialogue with humanity, the feast returned. Celebration returned in the balance of the feast and the fast.