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So, you flip it over. You toss it around. You examine all angles, including the one that notes how PETA and self-righteous groups of its ilk -- hardcore vegetarian, vegans, raw foodies, animal moralists, et al -- how you can sort of burst their bubble in a split second simply by, well, by pointing at their lunch.
You can inform them about their lovely organic salad, about how the various threshers and mechanical lettuce-picking machinery over at the organic farm casually kill countless rodents and insects and birds every week as they move through the fields, not to mention the animals that were run over on the highway during delivery. In short, no matter what you eat, some animal, somewhere, has suffered and died for your meal.
Not fair? Sorry, totally fair.
You try to parse and balance it all. Maybe you realize, the point here is not to become so extreme in your reverence that you become utterly frozen, paralyzed by the knowledge that no matter what you do, you are going to kill some other living thing -- or rather, many, many of them -- simply by walking around, breathing, existing.
The point is not to become like ancient Jain monks, famous for such extreme reverence for all life that they would literally sweep the ground in front of them as they walked, in order to avoid harming even the smallest insect with their footfalls. Totally ridiculous, you think.
Except, of course, that it's not. It's also terribly beautiful. Luminous. Aiming toward something like purity, enlightenment, higher consciousness, even as it reveals, by contrast and sharp relief, just how violent and destructive life is, quite literally every step of the way.
And so maybe, as you go about your PETA-mocking day, you try to understand that the idea is to minimize harm and impact, to tread a bit more lightly, to see where you fall on the grand spectrum.
Over there, at the far end, is PETA and its ilk, severe to the point of silliness and total impracticality and eye-rolling give-me-a-freaking-break. On the other end ... well, I don't know what, exactly. Some sort of bloated, trophy-hunting imbecile who kills endangered exotic animals on a private game reserve for sport and whose ex-wife has her puppy killed so she can make a belt out if it.
It is the ever-present question we like to bury and try to ignore. Where do you fall along the continuum? How much consciousness do you have at any given moment of the impact you have? What is your true intent? Do you crush the damnable fly? Do you shrug and scoff and move on? Do you offer thanks? Do you dare see through it all?
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2009/06/24/notes062409.DTL&nl=fix