What if there was a blueberrian, someone who abstains from eating blueberries, for the blueberries’ sake? What empathy would this take? Emphasizing with animals, with their eyes and noses and human-looking things, seems infinitely easier than emphasizing with the blueberry. I suppose if one were born blue, possibly.
If I were born blue, I might never eat a blueberry. Blueberries and I would be comrades in blue, defenders of the cobalt gates, to stand atop turquoise towers bracketed by a sapphire sky and utter our solemn oaths to one another, for life. Squeezing each other to death. My mother, the only one ever to understand, would sit on the moat and collect my juices and repair my pulpy flesh.
I do not have vegetarian sympathies, and occasionally I wonder how cruel that makes me.
I eat animals.
I expose myself with that statement. Unadorned. Stripped.
I eat animals.
I must also not love animals.
I do though. Very much. My life would be dull without their brightness.
I do not feel the pain of an animal.
If I were born without a voice, and in my early years often felt overpowered and forgotten, I might empathize more with the voiceless, overpowered animals on this planet. Would I project my own vasanas upon their soft gentle faces and seek to defend them? Would I fight for them, would I argue in their defense, would I carry my anger (and their assumed anger) with me? Would my fight be for the animal, or for my own feelings of voicelessness?
I do not know.
But I respect the fight.
The cause for my fight, if I were to fight for animals, maybe the cause would not matter.
Because through my fight for another, for the animals, I might find my own strength. I might discover my own voice. I might realize how powerful I am. And always was. The fight might vaporize all the delusions of myself.
I would fight long and hard for them. I would win a battle. I would gain confidence. In myself.
Does this confidence last.
But it is the intention! The striving! The push! The tumult inside valiant deeds!
Maybe. After a long life road, battle-worn and shield ragged and bent, I’d stumble down and find a truth that could not be lost, a truth born from actionable experiences, a truth no longer dependent on the world.
If that be the case.
Fight on, dear fellow warriors.
Fight for that which bangs on your environment, your personal experience, your every sense. Fight for them and fight for you. So you might know the why and what of the banging. Or, in the final conclusion, find nothing left to beat upon at all.`