sleepless long nights that was what my youth was for
I was at a staff meeting this morning and took proper advantage of the free food that sat invitingly on a ply-board table. What I picked up was a chicken biscuit sandwhich from Bojangles. Now, most of you know that Bojanles is my favourite southern fast food joint. They have the best sweet tea in the south east, not to mention the best biscuits in the U.S. Occassionally, however, I have the "bad" Bojangles experience. This has happened to me only once before, but reliving my first experience was hardly desireable. I'm not exactly sure what it was that I bit down on, but it was chewy. My best guess is a tendon.
Whenever I'm eating chicken and I bite down on such a chewy, misplaced, area, I am immediately reminded that I am actually eating a CHICKEN. Not just meat, but something that was once living and breathing. It had a pulse. I recognize that I too have a pulse and tendons. I cannot chew and just have to swallow the huge bite I have taken, otherwise I most likely will gag.
These are not pleasant experiences.
While Winston (our President) was very clearly, and with her persistent charistma, discussing upcoming events, all I could think about was the damn tendon. Not only that, but all the "Christian mission," talk got me thinking about my spirituality and how it differs. To make matters more complicated, I was sitting next to my friend Rye, who is a vegan, which made me super-conscious of the whole experience.
And then, it came to me---I'm not practicing.
Buddhism is hard to practice in America (I mean, it's hard to practice anywhere as it is). I'm constantly surrounded by vices: I smoke, I drink (too much), I smoke things other than tobacco (occassionally), and I eat meat. The first three vices are mostly forgiven by liberal Buddhists, who stand by the fact that one can indulge, but must be mindful of the fact that they are indulging and the consequences of the action. However, I cannot talk my way out of eating meat. I'm not even mindful when I eat it. For me, the only good argument I've heard about meat consumption is that, "Every living thing feeds off of other living things" (Darrach Dolan and Matt Jones). It's true if you think about it. But with all of the products that are available to us, is it NECESSARY for humans to "feed off of other living things" in the respect of eating other animals? I really don't think it is.
So why then, do I do it? Buddha wouldn't approve. I don't even think Jesus would really approve in this day in age, to be honest.
I'm seriously thinking about cutting meat out of my diet for good (and not just for Jesus and Buddha mind you).
The dilemmas are numerous, however. My family eats meat, my friends eat meat, America eats meat, it's hard NOT to eat meat when all there is is meat meat meat. I love Bojangles most of the time, I adore Chick-fil-A, and I don't know how I could live without sushi eel rolls. But right now just typing the word "meat" is making my nauseous.
This is something for me to ponder on. If it's the decision I personally should make, then I will make it. But I need to stop talking myself out of vegetarianism. Sure, I hate chickens with a passion, but do I really think that's grounds for eating them?
This is what my brain does when it's been raining for three days. I'm also out of my anti-depressants and very spacey at the moment. That's another thing - I want to stop taking my lexapro. I was terrified to go on it and now I'm terrified to get off of it. The cycle of self-psychoanalysis never ends. It's not the "crutch" factor that bothers me as much as the fact that I miss depression. And that's why I'm scared of letting myself get off of it: I still miss feeling like shit. I'm not sure if my writing is as good when I'm on the lexapro. But then again, I also get the feeling I haven't really TRIED to write lately; everything is done half-heartedly. I'm also too tired after work put my imagination into action. I need to look for inspiration.
Whenever I'm eating chicken and I bite down on such a chewy, misplaced, area, I am immediately reminded that I am actually eating a CHICKEN. Not just meat, but something that was once living and breathing. It had a pulse. I recognize that I too have a pulse and tendons. I cannot chew and just have to swallow the huge bite I have taken, otherwise I most likely will gag.
These are not pleasant experiences.
While Winston (our President) was very clearly, and with her persistent charistma, discussing upcoming events, all I could think about was the damn tendon. Not only that, but all the "Christian mission," talk got me thinking about my spirituality and how it differs. To make matters more complicated, I was sitting next to my friend Rye, who is a vegan, which made me super-conscious of the whole experience.
And then, it came to me---I'm not practicing.
Buddhism is hard to practice in America (I mean, it's hard to practice anywhere as it is). I'm constantly surrounded by vices: I smoke, I drink (too much), I smoke things other than tobacco (occassionally), and I eat meat. The first three vices are mostly forgiven by liberal Buddhists, who stand by the fact that one can indulge, but must be mindful of the fact that they are indulging and the consequences of the action. However, I cannot talk my way out of eating meat. I'm not even mindful when I eat it. For me, the only good argument I've heard about meat consumption is that, "Every living thing feeds off of other living things" (Darrach Dolan and Matt Jones). It's true if you think about it. But with all of the products that are available to us, is it NECESSARY for humans to "feed off of other living things" in the respect of eating other animals? I really don't think it is.
So why then, do I do it? Buddha wouldn't approve. I don't even think Jesus would really approve in this day in age, to be honest.
I'm seriously thinking about cutting meat out of my diet for good (and not just for Jesus and Buddha mind you).
The dilemmas are numerous, however. My family eats meat, my friends eat meat, America eats meat, it's hard NOT to eat meat when all there is is meat meat meat. I love Bojangles most of the time, I adore Chick-fil-A, and I don't know how I could live without sushi eel rolls. But right now just typing the word "meat" is making my nauseous.
This is something for me to ponder on. If it's the decision I personally should make, then I will make it. But I need to stop talking myself out of vegetarianism. Sure, I hate chickens with a passion, but do I really think that's grounds for eating them?
This is what my brain does when it's been raining for three days. I'm also out of my anti-depressants and very spacey at the moment. That's another thing - I want to stop taking my lexapro. I was terrified to go on it and now I'm terrified to get off of it. The cycle of self-psychoanalysis never ends. It's not the "crutch" factor that bothers me as much as the fact that I miss depression. And that's why I'm scared of letting myself get off of it: I still miss feeling like shit. I'm not sure if my writing is as good when I'm on the lexapro. But then again, I also get the feeling I haven't really TRIED to write lately; everything is done half-heartedly. I'm also too tired after work put my imagination into action. I need to look for inspiration.