portrays himself as purely kind and generous, but acts as a glutton and sloth.
See his belly bloated with murdered animals and unexpended fats and meats.
He sucks sugar down and feeds his spiraling depression and draining self-worth.
Every man lies helpless under his own culture. Habits bind him. He cries in pain.
But does he, a passive pawn, deserve sympathy? Who cares for his fate?
We care deeply. His beautiful soul shines. His goodness glows. He appreciates,
finds and shares beauty. His sensitivity and love signal a shared planetary pain.
How can he be so callous, then? Dear friend, dear brother, the one who died
paralyzed and listening to Pearl Jam. I placed my hand under his, holding him with breath.
His discomfort is all of ours. If we cannot ease it; we sit in it, we inhale it, gasping.
Here is the work of dogs and cats close at hand helping.
Every one argues so adamant in their position, but they haven't read a good book
nor so many as I. Even a modicum of interest sends me to the library, bringing
home stacks of books. So why wouldn't they believe that I have read several
studies by at least 10 doctors who agree that meat and dairy causes cancer,
while everyone knows that vegetables and fruits cure a variety of ills.
Diet as medicine. Nonfiction informs. Fiction pleases, but subtly changes the world, too.
Activists who spend their lives bringing light and bearing witness to horrors
find peace in visits to farm sanctuaries. The purring turkeys and all easeful
ducks, chickens, sheep and pigs live beautiful lives of leisure here.
It's worth the long drive to witness. Everyone loves the demonstration cows
placed beside the highway to graze while most of the cattle crowd in dark rooms.
Animal factories are hidden away, because the pain is too much to bear.
Pain and injustice (allowed to one) comes to many. What can be done, will be done to you.
Injustice radiates out and the man feels it however removed he thinks he may be.
He wonders where it comes from which adds to his pain and confusion. Why? Why?
It comes from meats. Instead we could create a cushion of compassion buffering ourselves
further from pain. All the unwanted are treated as cattle, which is easy to forget
in a charmed life of wine and chocolate tasting.
Everyone longs to be out of doors in the sun and blue sky, but instead finds
themselves earning dollars in factories and offices for the majority of their life's breaths.
Then it doesn't seem so wrong to confine animals too. We confined them, we confined ourselves.
It seems justifiable and safe. It's a legacy of World War II and the industrial revolution.
We are still suffering from the war we won.
We die of cancer, heart disease, diabetes, and depression. We suffer.
What's worse than death? Suffering. Peace comes with release and to die
matters not to the departed, but we left behind live in endless grief,
which grows greater over time, bearable but huge and carried forever.
It's nonsense to be glib about cancer, when we and those we love are so fragile.
We carry the great, dense weight of frustration, but take the meliorist perspective and prepare
to improve the world slowly over time. To find peace, I took Trooper for a walk.
spot upon her forehead made for kissing. She fears wind and leaves
and the combination of those is terrifying. She reminds me that fear is a useless thing.
"Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful," writes Mary Shelley in Frankenstein.
I walk little Trooper along her usual route and look into her trusting eyes
yet she never, ever feels safe. I walk her and take an afternoon nap.
When we come together, I forget the world's evil. All my doubts and judgments fade
and I live in a glorious, joyous interconnected time of love.
There's a spice to the surface of his skin. Oh, everything about him shines!
Who would have guessed we'd be strolling in simpatico one day and eating
pick me up tiramisu the next? So much good fortune once seemed impossible
and now it's found simply on Sunday walking, walking until bliss rises with my husband.
If I could go back in time I'd tell my 16-year-old self to spend less time crying
along to Tracy Chapman and no time worrying about her hair and thank her for
becoming vegetarian on Thanksgiving. "You rock!" That girl had so much passion.
One day she will visit all the islands she has dreamed of and more.
She may look forward to many days of dining out and dancing.
I look for my 70-year-old to arrive one day from the future, will she say: "Be radical! Move!"?
It's not enough to enjoy a life of leisure while others suffer and even the righteous
may be sloths and gluttons at heart. It isn't reasonable to always work, cry and strive.
But some heroes do and we can't relax our ethics while the world cries.
Once, it seemed better to be alone to recharge, but that may be a lie or untruth.
In fact, it feels better to expend energy, to be with people, go and do — and act!
Once I said hello to friends and was comforted that we are all in this together.
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