Crazy Talk

Here is some crazy talk that I would share with you.

After scans and blood work, consideration and review, the doctors said "Eat a lot more protein. We understand your misgivings, but if you can make some portion of that meat protein, we believe that will improve your well-being."

So this (predominantly) vegetarian was like "fuck," but I ramped up my protein consumption. I knew they might be onto something, especially because I'd already figured out that when I'd have a serious sugar craving, nothing resolved it better than a couple of ounces of spicy poke or lox (thus the "predominantly" - I'm happy to give my body what it needs for optimal health). But I've avoided meat for many years because I was taught to hunt and collect my own meat, and to me this always seemed superior in many ways to buying it. And whatever improvements in farming have been made as of late, still I have qualms about buying meat.

Neither do I want to kill animals of any sort. More recently, I've even come to believe that plants too are if not sentient then still far more sensitive and attuned to their environment than we give them credit for, as some experiments have shown. So it occurred to me that my choice to be vegetarian is then essentially speciesist. It is much easier, of course, to kill and consume a thing that lacks eyes or a scream or any capacity to fight back but in its chemical composition and defensive appendages, like needles and thorns. But this life must consume life, and plants still offer the first digestible access to the sunshine energy that moves all things on this planet. And of things I must eat, these are surely ideal.

I would live well, freely in joy and in health. There is a point of balance, a prescription or program for general well-being which must change over time and as our bodies and circumstances also change, and I have long endeavored to discover what that prescription looks like for me. So when after closely examining my physiology the doctors told me to eat meat, I had to try, and I have to do it in a way that's in alignment with my values. I tried fishing at the lake on my own, but returned empty-handed after murdering a couple of worms, which I lamented. Worms are great beings who provide fertility to soils like you can't even imagine.

When Greg Foster took me salmon fishing the other day, I wasn't sure whether or not my investment would yield more than the learning for which I'm glad to pay. I ended up with huge returns, after all, and more learning than I'd expected in such a short time. I had asked the deckhand in the early darkness before we went out onto the ocean how he murdered the fish once on deck, and he said he did it with a small baseball bat. I was glad to hear that, because my father had taught me to end a fish quickly in this way. I explained that I'm learning to murder things again and told him that if I should catch a fish, I should like to do this, if at all possible. I was deeply honored when he let me. The salmon went still after the first strike, but he had me clock it again to be sure, and I knew it was dead.

I watched when the deckhand gutted the fish, and later Greg and Astrid showed me different methods of cutting up the meat for storage. It has been years since I have cut meat, and it's a fucking skill. I don't want to waste a thing; I was taught to use up my kills as much as possible, and this is important to me. Steaks seemed to minimize the waste, so I went with that cut and because I was so clumsy and unskilled with the knife, Greg and Astrid did most of it for me. Bless them both for their patience with this tyro after a long day. I took most of the tail end of my big fish (Momaluca) home to cut up myself for jerky, and I took the head and everything else to make stock.

I froze the tail for easier thin-slicing, but it was so thick that it didn't freeze well in four or five hours. I got half of it done sloppily, but threw the other half back in the freezer and made much better cuts later. The first half I did with black pepper, and the second with red pepper and sesame seeds. I cannot believe how fucking delicious it is. Actually, I can: Momaluca is a good and sacred fish, and I knew he would be even before he took the bait.

As his head cooked in the stockpot, his eye gazed at me, and would not stay down when I pushed at it. I stopped trying. The pupil turned white. I thought I would cry much sooner, but only as he stared at me from amid celery, shallots, carrots and garlic did the tears finally come. I feel sorrow and gratitude, the kind I know I can never repay but maybe by living in the best way that I can, with love in all that I do. In this whole process of learning again to murder things with eyes, things that have no intention of harming me but which I intend to harm and end, I have thanked the earth, stars, my ancestors and all things many times. I hope that I can be worthy of this honor of being here now.

I buried what little remained after I boiled the fish into stock. I made a mistake in starting the stock before I'd finished cutting up the jerky, so that some of the bones did not get into the stock - waste for which I am sorry, but I know better now.

I do not know why things move as they do. I do not know why eating a little meat should make me feel healthier, stronger and sharper, but I can feel that it does. I have been learning more and more to accept myself as I am, but in order to accept ourselves we must first see ourselves clearly. The beasts that we are know more and often better than all these words can explain or ever hope to justify. That my particular constitution may require meat for optimal functioning, and that I must kill it to eat in a way that honors my self and my needs I must also accept now. And when the earth eats me, I hope I am as tasty as these fish.