Every time the Vigil comes around, and I change my diet/become conscious of choices, the v word always comes up.
Once upon a time, I was a member of the Food Police. You know the sort. “A REAL pagan wouldn’t eat _______.” It was usually aimed inward, mind you, but it was still a judgment that I passed. Wouldn’t eat mass produced crap food. Wouldn’t eat fast food. Wouldn’t eat anything other than organic. Would only eat locally sourced meats, humanely slaughtered, etc.
What a fucking oxymoron that last one in. Humanely slaughtered? Humanely slaughtered?
Cognitive dissonance, let me show you mine.
I understand the sentiment. Animals slaughtered for the meat market in as quick, painless, and terror-free environment as possible. But, maybe there are different words we can use for that.
Anyway. Anyway. We struggled for a number of years to grocery shop with our ideals in mind. And then? Then, we were fucking broke, and we had to get real. Organic became a sometimes luxury. We always opted for the less treated meats, because Beth’s digestive system is a princess, but they haven’t always been the best, just the best that we could afford. Because we had to, we let go of the guilt eating that way created, and really, it was a humble and needed lesson for me. Don’t be an asshole, Jo. Just don’t.
The only person whose diet I get to judge, is my own, and I am demanded to do so with compassion, at all times. Damn it. Fucking compassion. And so.
Holding Bull, on the first night of the Vigil, and feeling Him also holding me, I think things shifted. I’ve toyed with vegetarianism off and on for most of my life, and it always come back to being too much work.
Which is a bullshit excuse. I live in a vegetarian and vegan mecca, for fuck’s sake. I pretty much have ALL the options. Can I afford them all? Nope. But maybe this means I need to be thinking about my food more than I do, and maybe this means I need to make better choices, when I can.
I used to say, I’d never be able to give up cheese. And now, eating dairy is causing Beth bodily distress, and we’re trying out nut cheeses, instead. Because, above all, I want things to be simple, and having two different menus to shop for is just not simple.
Will this take, this time? I dunno. But it feels like it might. And I have to wonder, is prozac the reason why? Fucking anxiety. Fucking depression. Fuck them both, so much.
He pushes. He’s pushed, all this time. Gently. Water erroding rock. “Maybe try again.” No judgement, but maybe you don’t need this thing. Maybe one more try? Maybe keep trying.
Always, with keep trying. Poseidon, He is constant. He is steadfast. Moody? Unpredictable? Those stories are so out of date.