What a clean tongue and clear eyes have to do with leadership

Fourteen days ago, I started preparing for a deep cleanse—a fast.
Not just a detox, but a reset on all levels.
I followed the Mayr method again, something I’ve done a few times before and still trust. The principle is simple:
Give your digestion complete rest. Let the body empty what it hasn’t been able to release.

This time, it wasn’t just physical. I had postponed it for years—always traveling, too busy schedule, too much to do.
But something shifted. The timing felt exact.
And I knew: this fast wouldn’t just clear my body.
It would cut through residue I have held on to for too long.

I don’t obsess over food. I generally eat quite healthy.
But in the days before the fast—those 4 preparation days—I became weirdly aware of how attached I was. Not to food in general, but to certain things: coffee, salted crackers, nuts, cheese.
The attachment wasn’t physical. It was emotional.
A kind of subtle resistance. A need to hold on.

And then—on day 4—I injured myself.
Not a little bump. I thought I had broken my leg pulling down an old wall.
In hindsight, it was exactly what I needed.
A full stop.
The fast hadn’t even officially started yet, but my system already knew:
This week is not for doing. It is for listening.

And so I did.

Alone, in silence, something opened. I entered a quiet, intimate space with myself.

Yes, I meditate. I  have presence practices,  to draw myself within.
But during this fast, somewhere around day 5, a deeper stillness opened—
Not observing myself.
Not being aware of my thoughts.
But becoming completely quiet inside my body and one with where I am.
No separation. Just presence. Embodied.

Even on the days when I felt nauseous, dizzy, unable to stand for long, it was still there.
There was no fight. Just listening.
And from that place, things started to move. Not externally. Internally.

The desire for outer impulses, like watching a movie, disappeared after 3 days. But reading stayed. Quiet, inward.  And for those who fear the hunger, it is not there during the fast.

On day 6, clarity came.
Two themes surfaced hard:
My relationships—past and present—and my work. My next steps.
They weren’t spiraling thoughts. They came like waves, emotional and exact.

I knew the themes inside out, but  I had to see it again, through Mirror Mastery, the self-reflection model I have developed. And what it showed me wasn’t new—but this time, I didn’t avoid it.
I didn’t try to reframe it or fix it.
I saw it. Felt it. And something let go.
Not with effort.

That night, something closed. And I woke up differently.

My tongue stayed coated, the nausea as well. My strength didn’t return overnight.
But by day 8, I knew I needed food again.
I broke the fast with steamed vegetables and a soft-boiled egg—
No salt. Nothing fancy, but oh so yummie after 7 days.

That same day, I spent hours crouched in the garden, pulling weeds.
It felt grounding, until it wasn’t.
And I felt it. That old pattern—pushing past my body’s signal.
Message received. Again. Slowing down, taking longer to build up.

Now I’m on day 12. Or day 16 if you count the prep phase.
My tongue is finally clean. My sleep is deeper.
And I feel myself arriving in a body that no longer wants to hold what I carried. Not emotionally. Not physically.

The nausea faded. But what hasn’t faded is the stillness.
That sense of presence is still here.
Not as a state I try to reach.
Just as a way I am.

So what does this have to do with leadership?

Everything.

Imagine what would happen if we built fasting—gentle, structured, reflective—into our leadership culture.
Once a year. Maybe every two.
Not just to detox, but to drop the mental noise, the habitual pushing, the tired narratives about productivity.
What if clarity came from emptiness, not just from strategy?

I hear the arguments: you can’t shut down a company for a week.
But there are ways to solve this, once it has your priority.
And even during the fast, I still worked, just a few hours a day.
It’s not about withdrawal. It’s about rhythm and listening.

You can fast in groups, in waves, as teambuilding off-sites, or create a mild version with two light meals a day.
It will not only bring clarity within teams, within the organisation, but a deeper connectedness.

And to be clear:
Don’t do a Mayr fast like this alone if it’s your first time. It’s intense.
The physical effects can be disorienting, especially if you don’t know what to expect.
Seek guidance. Be supported. The depth is worth it.

Because this isn’t about not eating.
It’s about finally listening.
To your system.
To the part of you that’s been trying to speak—not through thought, but through nausea, silence, heat, fatigue, clarity.

And when that part is heard, your body softens.
Your eyes shine.
And from that place, leadership no longer relies on force or control. It becomes something quieter, rooted in clarity, guided by response, open to what emerges.