A Dream of Life Someday

In unbridled fantasy, I’ve seen myself far and away, in a land of sunshine and sand and the shimmering verdure of vast, primordial trees, and the glistening of flowers, and the shade of leaves. Gone are the cities, long-gone, the people, and their stifling affectations. I am an animal among animals, and the jungle is my home. I walk a barefoot path, over the rich, dampened Earth. There is mystery in the forest, and there are tales on the waves. Nature is within me. Cool air clings in beads upon my forehead, and shivers send me dashing between moss-covered limbs and through sweet-bedewed puddles. I hear the singing of birds in unseen places, who fly the calm currents like blazoning leaves, round and around my body as I stand. I feel the gentle brush of their wings before they rise into sunlight, that pours like golden powder, from the canopy overhead. I hear the secret whispering of underground streams, and I follow to the place where water flows quietly, and dragonflies hum, and the shadows stir. When the moon is high in the sky, I run to the shore, and plunge myself into the silvery sea. And I laugh with the stars, and I splash water all around. Then I sleep in the sand, by the light of distant orbs, and I dream of waking!

Trash Talk

Only the best blogs have the pleasure of their opinion, upon the putrescent topic of trash. Such blogs make no pretence to Holiness, nor to its thousand abject servants, among which number “Elegance”, “Good Taste”, and loftiest of all, “Grace”.

Today, let those goodly ambassadors take leave, and may they find welcome in the unlikliest of places, where their presence will be hailed a miracle. We bid them farewell, as now, ladies and gentleman, we hit the all-too-familiar terrain of…dun dun dun…rock bottom!

I have summoned you today, to the terrifying sidelines of my domesticity. That’s right. It cost you a click, but what would you wager on time well-spent? Let’s get right to it, shall we?

The day before last, I declared peace with the heaping refuse upon which I had shed my tears for so many a torturous night. The mound glared back, alas, speechless. I say “alas”, for what soldier in victory, is silent before the fallen corpse of his enemy? I fully expected a strident proclamation of success! No matter. This unspoken tongue proved insignificant for an olfactory power I have never before known (save in the moribund coils of day-old meat). Its fetid horror came upon like swells of Hell-borne sewage. I drowned for a moment, then readied to cart this anathema into the alleway, where I prayed to be done with it forever. 

But as I made passes, and I was upon my fourth trip outgoing, I realized a bottomless shame! Bottomless, at least, as the fill into which my trash would tumble! What animal on Earth, but the human, produces trash in such quantity? It’s disturbing beyond belief. Where does it go? What is its end? And do we bid it farewell at the knotting of drawstrings, only to suffer its return in tainted supplies of food and water? 

Consider what we live on! Only consider what we persuade ourselves of needing! Then dare to compare it with what every other animal needs, and what they leave behind, in turn. Are we not supremest of supreme wasters? Our trash is most needless! Our audacity, most unforgivable.

Nature makes leftovers, but usefully. A fallen tree trunk becomes the living niche of countless creatures in search of a home. The castoff shell of a sea snail, becomes the hefty abode of a hermit crab. What does Nature create, that it does not break down in good time? But our discards become the cords that strangle poor birds, and the sweet decaying smell that tempts bears from their forests, and into our towns, where we shoot them for trespassing. In all of 500 millenia, the dregs of our industry live but half their given time, and still they are toxic beyond anything Nature-born.  

What is wrong with this picture? We stand accused before Nature, and her defilement is likewise our own. 

But wastefulness is a choice. It is a laziness to be exercised out. So, too, it is the willingness not only to look, but to see, one’s way of life, and to recognize its flaws, then not to give up, but to redress them each to each. We must learn to live on what we need, and not what we want. 

But let us not merely trust to the minimalism of our lifestyles, or else claim exemption from the rule that judges us wasteful. We are all of us, wasteful, who purchase things shrink-wrapped; who scribble little nothings upon full sheets of paper; who buy food that goes to rot in our refrigerators; who buy books we never read, and papers we read in halves. We are all wasteful, the eaters, the drinkers, the money-makers, and the spenders. 

Might we not live as animals live, with only their footprints left to testify? It’s not so hard to imagine, is it? So, let’s get started!

Taming

Alas, friends, today I awoke with a headache between my ears! Then I looked out my window and saw the world all etched in gray and melancholly! I quite like the rain, though today, it merely drizzles with an indecisiveness that aggrieves me. I may admire it through the thinnest pane, and listen to the gentle music of its tumult upon multiforms. But may I confess my partiality for extremes? I would rather be soaked than splashed. All of life overtake me, or else in purgatory, let me slumber between sheets of too-soft satin!

Though moderation is humanity’s hallmark, yet I wish for the edge! Life is a concentrated formula. All the better, we say, for the goodness of our dilutions. We are as a milk upon the land. Our passing is smooth and sweet.     

My fellow humans, do I misspeak, or is ours the veriest of mollifying touches? We come upon this world, doctors, with our hands ever ready at a cabinet of palliatives. Our patient is diseased Nature, whose symptom is hysteria. All the day long, and the livelong night, she cries an agony of chaos and abandonment. She heaves with unchecked emotion, and in fits of exuberance, she is unkept by even a moment’s soundness. We select from our store, the drug “Civility”, which is known above all else, to calm. We apply it generously, wherever her anguish is most. And at length, she dreams. Her eyes grow filmy, and her lips quiver, as with a word unspoken. While she sleeps, we whisk about her face until it is properly that of a lady. We comb her fearsome tresses, and relieve her of trimmings that terrify good taste. Now we dress her in hems and ruffles, and sharp-heeled shoes. When the last of sleepy visions has passed from her eyes, she will gaze in a mirror, beholder of an image she never thought possible. But how prettily she makes up! And she will thank us most graciously for our patience and dedication. And while our praise is not undeserved, yet we will accept it with humility.

But something is wrong! The lady comes to with a start! Her eyes are the untrained wilds of madness. She kicks off her shoes, and makes flurries of ruffles. She tears at her hair, as if searching to find a poison root. Long before she gazes upon her made-up reflection, she has shattered the glass by the force of her wailing. What have we to do, but dose her once more, and once more, and once more. Long-term side effects aside, sooner or later, we shall succeed with the lady in our care. Now, at least, she does not spit back our medicines. We call that progress, and it is the foundation of our ascendancy.

But I ask you, friends, at what cost do we civilize Nature? Are we not ourselves, that raven-eyed nature and the doctor who tames? Ours, too, is a nature in contradiction.

Whence? Vegas!

My Dear Friends,

I’ve returned from Vegas! Have you missed me? Prithee, yes!

Because I missed you! Though Vegas was fabulous as ever. At the end of the day, I welcome the simple life. And Vegas, however soft its beds, however its meals may satiate, is a place of ceaseless transitions and evolutions. It is unfixed in time, so too, in place. Nothing remains long in that city, so it tends to exhaust.  

I went with my partner, my father, and my sister.

Of course, the adoration of glitz is a genetic predisposition. My father and sister, are equally enamored of that wanton city in the West. And why not? Where else can you see nobility together with ignominy, so impossibly on show, in the aspects of giant voracity met with giant feasting! 

I am almost ashamed. What sort of man praises austerity, who celebrates in decadence? Such is human nature that it calls us on irresistably to the self-same behaviors that most it deplores.

But now is no time for philosophizing! The highlight of our trip was Cher, live at Caesar’s Palace!

I’m almost in love. First of all, her voice! I’d seen her perform twice before in Denver. But on both occasions, the accoustics of the arena did little to showcase the power and range of her voice. She is such a natural singer, and it is a joy to hear the thousand nuanced expressions present in her phrasing. I’m convinced she could sing anything. She filled that arena as if it were a thimble, her voice ringing to the highest heights, and soaring back down and upon us. Don’t believe what you’ve heard from people who call her voice mediocre; she’s an absolute pro.

Our seats were the best: dead-center before the stage, five rows back.

Wikipedia states that she is 63 years old, but I refuse to believe it. How! What founain of youth does she drink, that she manages the total defiance of time! And I’m not speaking only of the obvious–her face and body–but of her energy. As she pranced all about, she seemed more like a woman in her thirties than one thirty years older. And she sang while she danced. And she spoke between songs, not breathlessly, but with enough energy to tell jokes that left us all in stitches.

Yes, Cher is hilarious. But her humor is so understated, it seems unrehearsed. At one point, she said, “This is a fabulous show. It would be be fabulous even without me.” Then she paused. “Who am I kidding? It would be shit without me.” Then she went into descriptions of how fearsome is her entrance, in which she descends on a moving platform from the highest corner of the arena. She called the platform a “death mobile”

Now, Cher is gorgeous, and fills out her costumes (which numbered no less than fifteen in less than two hours) as only an icon of fashion can do.  

Perhaps I seem too taken, but I assure all my readers, it is not unduly. She’s the greatest, and I feel so priveleged to have been able to see her in a venue so lush, in a show so arresting. Her dancers were extraordinary, too. And the whole was underpinned by nearly 40 years of retrospective video clips and stunning special effects. If you get a chance to see her while she is in Vegas, do! By all means, do!

She’ll blow you away by the immensity of her talent and the temper of her self-deprecation.

While in Vegas, we also visited Sigfried and Roy’s lion and tiger sanctuary at the Mirage. Such stunning animals, I was frozen in gazing upon them. Their magesty is supreme, and you can tell just to look in their eyes, they are wise as wise can be. We even got to see a six-month-old leapord cub, with its spots so beautiful and its playfulness so unchecked. 

I love animals. They make me wonder in a way that nothing else does. Maybe one day, I’ll be lucky enough to live among them, in a place far from the hustle and bustle. When I grow up, I want to be an animal

Last but not least, we visited one of my ever-favorite sights, at the Bellagio Conservatory, where people with the divinest taste in art and architecture, stage scenes of incomparable seasonal beauty. This time, we saw Springtime vignettes: giant butterflies; oversized watering cans; a butterfly pavillion; Japanese and French and Italian gardens overspreading with tulips and poppies and roses; and glorious fountains of limpid waters, shot in seamless arcs over mosaic walkways. I’m salivating as I write these words. Ah, to dream even a part of what I saw in the Conservatory at Bellagio this past weekend!

Viva Las Vegas, baby!

The Final Page

Many times in the life of my relationship, I’ve marveled the audacity of friends and family, who, coming before me, profess some secret they know of the partner of my heart. As if love were not the truest confessional! What knowledge do they have, of which love has left me benighted? Unlike them, I need no expression to sort out truth; it is bold before the eyes that love alone can open.  

This is for them.

The Final Page

Before that day, on which the final page of the Book of Life was penned, the story was long. Already, it was bound in a rich purple cloth, with golden leaves seamless, and the merest satin ribbon, which flowed from the end, like a darling melody. To all but one, whose face was a shadow, the hero had settled his lots with lifelong fortune. His travels, though wide, had found him a place in the company of happy mediums. What more could he dream, that he did not already have? His gaze was bold, upon the spoils of his exploits. His smile set forth brilliance, in the guise of perfect contentment. But in his eye, something untold was stirring. Such an unnoticed thing, it was a tear! A tear not yet cried, nor of sadness, but of joy.

But the writer of this tale was taken with wishing. He had dreamt of the book, and in dreaming, he had seen it bound up and closed, upon a shelf, in a library, in a place he knew well.

For nights, he worried with longing, and left the book open. The final page glared up in the moonlight, like a mirror perfectly polished. With the tip of his pen, he stirred ripples upon ripples, in a well brimming with black ink. But he could not sleep, nor then could he wake beyond the opening of his eyes.  

Upon the seventh night of his sleepless dreaming, a miraculous thing arose in his heart. It felt like a breeze from a faraway land; warm, as if it had blown for ages in a place of perpetual Summer. Soothing, it seemed to tempt him from a fear he had suffered unknowingly. Now it was a golden ablution, the tenderest liquesence, lapping upon him in waves upon waves. Now, the endless blooming of flowers, and the ecstasy of their perfume. He fell to the floor weeping, with his hand upon his chest. He mustn’t. He must. He must stay his heart, or else let it fly.

Spring rose fast through his body. When it came upon The Mind, whose cast was of stone, in the gray-crowned aspect of a mountain unmoved, it rode high to the peerless summit. And from that lofty height, glorious Spring brought forth water, and down the dusty sides. The trees  burst forth verdure. The streams overflowed. And from deep within the mountain, came forth rumbling, then fire, endlessly cascading. 

The writer heaved again upon the cold planks of his floor. For many moments, he could not rise. But at length, with ineffable longing in his soul, he roase a hand to the edge of his desk, and pulled himself up. He readied his pen to write what he felt. It would be long, if it would be at all, for his hand was all atremble, and he took pains to make it steady. For hours, he pecked upon pages, and sent them in shreds to the walls of his room. His heart was bursting. His mind was a flood.  But inexorable sleep cared for neither, and it overtook him in place of the words he struggled to pen. He drifted upon his arm, still toiling upon a solitary sheet of parchment. The words blurred in his eyes, as the lids drew down, like shadows over the moon.

In the morning, he woke. His body felt lighter. Contentedly, he smelled the sweet air of flowers, from a field just beyond his door. He could hear the birds as they sung, and the streams as they flowed. Nothing looked as it had, but it was more beautiful, more vibrant. He smiled, as he gazed down upon his desk.

He saw the inkwell. It was empty to the barest emptiness. Pages lay beside it, in fits. But where was the ending? Surely, he had written it. Now it was gone, utterly gone.

His searches proved fruitless, though they lasted the day and deep into the night.             

In the days and weeks following, much was made of the book he had written. It garnered honors universally. All who read it, spoke of it in rhapsodies. Its praise was undiminished. It was held in triumph, the sort of story that leaves its readers not wanting.

The writer smiled only half in amusement, when it was written of his hero, that his happiness was complete. What must it be like to have ends so contentedly? 

He only just knew that imaginary happiness, but he could not share it. From time to time, he turned to thinking of the thief, who had robbed the world of a page they knew not existed. At length, he came to know the identity that had caused him such wonder. He knew it definitely. But knowing contented him, and he did not claim back what the shadow had taken. It was the thief’s alone to know, what others only fancied.

Excitement

Greetings, friends! Today is a good day. With a bit more work, it may yet be goodly, as well.

But whilst I prat on over deeds and their goodliness, listen here: I’ve written the first paragraph of my novel! Indeed! And I couldn’t be happier.

It happened quite by accident. I sat down this morning with little to say, less even than that to write. But not wanting my blog to go even one day more without nourishment, I struggled to think of something. 

I am as much a fellow known for impetuosity as I am one for whom (it may be said) planning precedes action. On occasion, I am quite content to let the day pass without exception; today was no such day. The hours begged to be notable, if only by a few thoughts scribbed in haste. 

As I began to write (and to agonize), an idea occured to me: today, I would post a work of fiction, a parable. It would contain a bite-size moral, and it would satisfy my longing for productivity. But as I took to writing, I was struck by the labor of what I tried to articulate. Usually, I am too quick to string words; but today, it was like performing the heimlich maneuver. Nothing was coming very easily.

At long last, something appeared.

Now, I have spoken for some months with friends in  my circle, telling them that I would soon begin work on a novel. And each time I’ve sat down to start, it has been instead, writer’s block of the worst kind. Perhaps I’ve thought too much of how to begin my first book. Perhaps I’ve planned too much. This would not be the first time that “overthinking” has supplied me my excuse, when blame must be placed for a slow start, or worse: no start at all.

As of last week, my intention to write a novel went public when Jared and I were featured in an interview piece for the Washington Blade. I would like to share the link to this article, though I’ll preface it by saying I was misquoted at times, and if you should see anything strange, know that I am not illiterate, nor do I believe “survivals” is a fitting substitute for “survival skills” (my actual words). Now the link: http://www.washblade.com/2009/3-13/news/national/14212.cfm).

That “something” I saw, as I wrote earlier this morning, is the first paragraph of my book, and I’m quite satisfied with it. Even more satisfying is the title, which has captured my imagination. I won’t share it just yet, as I want some days to roll it round in my mind, but shortly, I will begin posting excerpts! And then you will know what I really think!

What Cats See

It is a favorite pastime of mine, to observe animals in their nature. It is not so very difficult as one would imagine, one presuming such extremes to exist only in the wilds of Africa, or upon some ethereal mountain summit. Nature must be the deepst of greens, we think. It must wade in mysterious waters, and it must sound like thunder in a faraway sky.  But to think of it in this way, to fancy it forbidden beyond tangles of impenetrable wilderness, is a blindness we cannot abide. Animal nature is equally within us, and we may see it as simply, in the wariness of a mother guarding her child, or in the ravenous devouring of food after a season of want. But in humans, who specialize above all else, in disguise, nature is well-hidden. Finding it must always prove a long-suffering chore. And, so, for our purposes today, let us consider Nature more readily set forth, in the sublimities of a housecat.

Of cats, I have always been most enamored. As a youth, I wished myself many-a-time to be so blessed as they, who, with an air of ancient sagacity, gazed out through luminous, bottomless eyes. I longed to be as agile, and as secretive as a cat. I marveled and I coveted their speed, so uncharactertistic of the limbs I swung at my sides. I might well have measured time by the steady rocking of those arms and those legs. But cats! Cats sprung skyward, and they blurred between fixtures, like ripples in space-time. Their elegance was supreme. Nature trembled with outrage, to witness her laws broken and splintering, in the wake of cats. Indeed, no animal but the cat, has ever defied or testified so much of Nature. She must measure the infinitude of her pride, only by the staggering depths of her self-sacrifice.

I wondered often, the secret knowing of cats. And when I was especially proud, I fancied enlightenment, which I found idling in some unkept corner of my cat’s eye. It was as if I had happened upon some long-forgot treasure, no longer a prize to its owner, but a discarded thing, burned nearly to nothing in the fire of its former mystique. How fond I was, in those moments desperately pretending. How I did weary myself with wishing to see what they saw!

Now childhood is behind me, and perhaps, my heart tells its tale differently. But no. I find myself fonder than ever, and where pining has left behind ashes, I find there, too, the tireless dreamer. One day, for all my yearning, I may know what my cats keep to themselves. For now, I must settle this fit, with only the soft corners of human perception to offer me hints.

Not one month ago, I woke in the morning, earlier than I had planned. Opportunity presented me with a mischevious house all my own, at least so long as my father and sister remained asleep. After a few moment’s frivolity, I sat in hunches upon an office chair, and parked msyelf a few feet from my cat, who gazed out a window. From the other side, gazing in, was glorious Nature! Broad strokes carried her far as the eye could see, into the giant unknown of a late-winter field. I struggled to look beyond the rickets of trees, and the sun-bleached grass, but I found myself yawning. What was to see, that took more than a moment? I longed for a time lapse of, perhaps, days or weeks. I would have taken anything to see a seemingly extinct landscape, come back to life. As it was, I felt I must turn from the picture, or else die of boredom.

Then it happened! I tarried a moment before leaving off. I saw my cat staring, as if watching a film unfold by seconds too arresting to be captured by mere man. What did she see? What did she hear? But I was equally deaf of what I could not hope to see. Something, something stirred in that brush of Nature. Something fascinating.

Surely, I thought, “It is a mouse. Only too soon, it ranges out of sight.” But it did not, or perhaps it was not a mouse at all. My cat remained riveted. And so I stared, and delighted in the presence of things unseen.

And now I think. I think of all that we miss in our obsessive search for meaning. This, my friends, is precisely my point when I go into fits of admiration over animal nature. See, then, what hints they leave us, of the life they lead, perhaps secretly? There is so much there, that we do not grasp, but hurriedly, we discount it. Would it be better–it would–to leave behind these tired eyes, in the miasma of civilized living, and to trade them for a day in Nature? Imagine what a film we would see! Far grander than cinema, is life!  Life is grandest of all.

Yes! A Mighty Spouse Pronouncement

I did it! I spent all day today cleaning! The suits are steamed and the turtlenecks are folded. They appear to me worn-out figures, obeisant even, from the hot breath of my Rowenta Commercial Steamer! Poor things. A night of cool air will fluff them from their malaise. And speaking of fluff, fresh towels now billow from off our closet shelves! Our bed is a clear expanse, like the ocean at nighttime. But you should have seen it this morning! Ah, me. What a talent to torture blankets thus! We deserve an award.

But nothing can compare with the beauty I rendered in our kitchen, formerly of gloom and chaos! Let me rhapsodize! If only you could see the spic and the span! Cupboards never looked so bare, that rejoiced in their emptiness! Let’s just say I emptied that bag, and sorted its contents from 2 to 1. Curious, is it not, that things in disarray are often twice as large?

Forgive these outbursts. Cleaning house may not be so dramatic as I’ve led you to believe. Doubtless, it is quite tedious. But this is precisely why I must romanticize it. Suppose I told you what really happened. Suppose I told you that I spent my morning lumbering up flights of stairs, neck deep in grime and whatever else lived in that mound? Would you not yawn? Would your head not loll? Would it all sound more like a lullabye than the rousing tale I’ve narrated?

‘Tis true, alas. Life is awash in the boredom of our chores, but take heart! It is nothing so long as we switch on some music and ride into that closet with an iron-shaped joust, crying, “Flatten, Wrinkle!”

Veganism, Part 4b

Perhaps, humanity own nothing upon this Earth, but for the life in its veins and its constant struggle against Nature. Yes. Yes, indeed. Though animals, too, we climb higher and higher, until we believe we can see as far as Nature herself.

Yet all we see from that that perch atop the world, is the Nature we can never escape. Should we not run to it with arms outstretched, that Nature in whose shadow we tremble? Will it not nurture us as  it nurtures every other living creature? How different are we, that it would deprive us of food and water, a place to keep warm? Why have we dreamt of rising above that which created us?

For some time, I considered how coldly we had betrayed our origins. Our wealth had been the Earth, and we had traded it for paper, for steel, and for glass. We had settled for less, what we thought was more. And our struggles had changed. Where, once, we (like the animals) had struggled for life, and our lives from that struggle, drew increase, now our days returned less for a pining that idolized baubles and fancy trimmings.

 When we concede to live as part of a civilized society, we sign our names to an unwritten agreement. Our promise then is to resist what our natures beg us to do. We agree that chaos has no place among the aspects of civilization, thus commencing our lifelong struggle within.   

We become slaves to second-thoughts. We feel shamed by our hearts, for all the senseless things they profess; and more, we put stock in our brains. But where does all of this lead? When we say nothing that we do not first subject to the sieve of forethought? Consciousness becomes a prison for the feelings, and thought becomes the guard at the door.

For my own part, the more time in spent in the company of “society people”, the worse off I became. I felt I was losing touch with myself. And I grew desperate to find a way out.

It came to me one day, as I was thinking back to the time in my youth when I felt least inhibited. I had been a free spirit. The world seemed to invite me wherever I went, and I, in turn, welcomed the unknown.  

I remembered then, the wonderful times I had shared with animals. I had always felt more myself around them. When I was sad, they sat with me. When I was happy, they matched my energy, and played along. What is more comforting: an animal friend who never strays, or a person with condolences, and a bouquet of wilting flowers? 

I can’t recall a time I thought twice before speaking to an animal. My trust was complete, and it needed no language, no false promises, or words of encouragement. Animals showed up; people penned notes, or made calls, or wrote checks.

Among animals, it matter not how I looked, what I was wearing, how much money I had, but they accepted my affection just the same.  

Some people will not so much as look at you for all the kindness in the world. To those for whom a worthwhile companion means someone to help you get ahead, a person offering no more than his or her heart, may be judged unworthy.  

At last, I asked myself: Is there anything I could do for which an animal would judge me unkindly? And here, finally, I discovered yes, there was something. It was the violation of Nature’s one and only moral code.

The only thing we have to claim in this life, is life itself. Nothing is more sacred. Nothing is more certain. We are given this, and this alone.

And to live that life, is right. But to take more, is wrong.

I began to piece it all together. I thought of society’s fiats, the unwritten agreement to subjugate our natures and to stifle our feelings. I thought of the deprivation of our hearts, and the exhaltation of our minds. I thought of the peace I’d felt when I was myself, among animals. I thought of the life I had to live, my only piece to own in all of creation. I thought, then, of right from wrong, and a question occured to me: what had I needed, and what had I taken? Had I claimed too much? Had I forgotten what was mine, and what was not?

Yes. I had fallen a prey to thinking myself better than every other animal in creation. I had taken all our inventions for proof of my right to claim what I wanted, not because I should, but because I could. I had subscribed to the notion that humanity is what it is not. And with that belief, I had allowed myself to become a negative being, defined more by the absence of nature, than by its presence.     

It was clear to me that with my life alone to claim, I had taken far more than my share; fully enough to sustain hundreds of lives; and in so doing, I had forgotten that Nature (unlike humanity) creates only what it can sustain. There was a lesson in that.    

I decided to become vegan not because I felt it was wrong to eat meat, but because I felt it was wrong to take more than one’s fair share. It was wrong to “think” that my life depended upon things that it did not. I asked myself, ”must I make my own life by ending the lives of others? Is that necessary?” The answer was no. I could more-than-survive, I could LIVE on the vegetables of the Earth. For once, I would more-than-think of doing the right thing; I could feel it in my heart of hearts.

I love animals, one and all, because, in them, I see a wisdom and nobility that social conditioning has lost upon us. I believe that they will teach us a great deal about ourselves, if only we realize it is within our power to look. I believe Nature is within us still, though we beat it back mercilessly. I beleive that a life can be beautiful, even in the absence of worldly wealth. Most of all, I believe life is sacred, and that our every decision must pledge responsibility to that principle.

In closing, I will offer that trust in oneself is a long process when you’re starting from behind. It takes bravery to realize a different way, and it takes persistence, because (as we all come to realize), social conditioning runs deep in our midst. But everyday is an opportunity to pause and reflect on the consequences of so-called civilization. Nature asks that we trust what she gives us, but too often, we brand it with imperfection. We turn to “thought”, which we believe will save us from our meaner inclinations. We believe that by reducing mystery to its building blocks, we will find more in life to appreciate. But I would argue the opposite. When we resist cage our natures, as we do the animals, we lose touch with ourselves, until, finally, we are nothing more than a series of numbers.

I realize that my personal reason/feeling for becoming vegan, may not appeal to everyone, and this is why I have attempted to present three, very different perspectives. I leave you this day, with the affirmation that we are all animals, none greater or more fond of its life than any other. When we realize that the meaning of life is simply to live it, then we will base our lives upon peaceful coexistence. Until that day, my friends…

Veganism, Part 4a

Isn’t it always the plight of the heart, to be analyzed by the mind? For its vast, amorphous feeling, to be reduced to science? To judge emotion by the same, rigid standard by which thought itself is judged?

As I sit here, thinking how best to portray my personal reasons for adopting veganism, I am reminded that thought is very much like a sieve, through which we pass our emotions. We sift out the impurities; the parts of our being that remain unpredictable or mysterious. What we seek to produce, is purity, something with the seamless consistency of logic. Something that is the same through and through, that we can rely upon time and again. 

My previous arguments for veganism have been of a scientific nature.   

I presented these arguments because there are those among us for whom it will be difficult to accept that which is not absolute proof. Those individuals will always require the substance of numbers to sway them. They will find the appeals of the heart empty, and perhaps even foolhardy. They will deplore those who choose to found their lives upon the ceaseless rocking of waves, which we unerstand to be feelings. They will wonder why some of us choose mystery over certainty.

I respect those who swear by their minds, even as I am one who swears by his heart.

Even using the word “reason” to describe why I am vegan, seems somehow a contradiction.

But let me start at the beginning. I first considered becoming a vegetarian some five years ago. A part of me, which I would be unable to point to on a map of the body, felt at odds with the lifestyle I was living. I had consumed animal products since birth, and it is well-understood that old habits die hard. Though often, I considered changing, I knew it was easier to trust the society in which I had been reared, than to break off radically and choose another path. 

Society, with its long-reaching arms and its air of certainty, instructed me that humans had always survived on an omnivorous diet; that we had evolved to eat both animals and plants, and that to do anything apart, would be no less than a rejection of Nature. So it seemed to me that I was up against something much greater than social conditioning. I faced thousands of years of evolution.

But much in my life had always been a countercurrent. While I watched others as they sailed by peacefully, I found myself always moving in the opposite direction.  I wished as one does, who feels terribly different, to experience life from the other side. Just once, I wished. I longed to rid my heart of strange feelings, and to think my thoughts without pangs of self-doubt. If only I waved my paddle a certain way; if only I shifted my weight this way or that; if only, if only; then, all things being equal, I should be able to turn round my boat and sail with the others. But all things are not equal. And the more adamantly I struggled to turn my course, the more immutable it became. The more I tried to change, the more I stayed the same.

While we can think our way through almost anything, we cannot change the way we feel. And this is the very definition of a moral compass: a marvelous device of the heart, almost entirely irresistable, but to the subtle art of the mind.

Alas, it is not so easy to embrace one’s true feelings. Nor is it easy even to see those feelings, hidden, as they are, beneath the crust of social conditioning. From our earliest consciousness, we are taught to sift out our emotions, and to purify our thoughts. We are taught to weaken our instincts because they are unpredictable. We are taught to silence our hearts when they beat most importunately. Far better are we, indeed, who employ reason, when feeling is hysterical. 

And so we all look forward to that day when everyone will be so rational, when society will be vindicated, and guilt will be the disease of ancient history. Everything, then, will be the light of reason; and for every facet of human nature, a number will exist to make it all square. We will accept what we see and what we do without ever wondering if it is right or if i it is wrong. Every action, will have its equal and opposite reaction. And we will know our lives even before we have lived them. Ours will be a living science, and a science we live. Is this bliss?

Or is it tragedy? What is our time on Earth if not a chance to explore, even recklessly, that which lies before us? Pavement may end; but roads go on. When civilization is nothing more than a dot in the distance, the neverending glory of Nature will stretch before you. And what is more natural than to see, or touch, or taste, or smell? And is it not unnatural to stifle those senses, and forbid them when they beg to be used?

I drew Nature alongside Civilization, and for the first time, I could see there, the desperate fear of people in a world they could never fully control. All around them: chaos. At the edges of our cities, where the buildings seemed to shrink and pale, all-mighty Nature snaked its way between slabs of concrete, weakening the foundations of our constructs. Wilderness invaded wherever humanity struggled to maintain semblance. But downtown bustled with activity, seemingly strong against Nature. Here were skyscrapers, and sidewalks and streets; billboards with made-up people; digital readouts; news tickers; and money. All things we created. All things to give us false confidence in a chaotic world.  

I got to thinking: we spend all our lives long trying fruitlessly to contain Nature. We are besieged by the wilds all around us, and we define our humanity more by what we shun than by what we embrace. We tell ourselves that we are not animals and that the same laws that apply to them, do not apply to us. To prove it, we erect cities in defiance. We swallow down pills by the hundreds, if only to prove that Nature cannot create a plight that we cannot cure. With our science, we attempt to show that Nature is easily reduced to a blackboard of equations.

But would our cities not crumble before the winds of time and the rush of water, even in spite of our cleverness? Do we ever cure the last disease, before Nature returns bearing a more pernicious affliction, the like of which we’ve never seen. The unknown plagues us, even as we increase our knowledge. The more we know, it seems, the less we know.