“I have never tired of manna falling from above”

Maybe it’s because it’s Fall I’m finding it hard to write so much about animal issues right now. Maybe too much of my mind is taken up with memories and the free association bouncing off the shortening days and beautiful colors. So what the heck, I’m giving in and writing free association today.

For many years my great uncle lived in a two room cabin in the Blue Ridge mountains, it had a downstairs with a stove and refrigerator on one wall, a bathroom in the corner (hmm, does that make it three room?), and then a rickety set of stairs leading up to an open loft above with a bed and dresser up there. Then he started having trouble with stairs so he gave that cabin to a woman who helped to take care of him and moved to a one room (or two if you count the bathroom, I’m confused) so that everything could be on one floor. So the space shrank and the world shrank, as his legs no longer carried him across paths and fields or down rocky embankments to stand on cliffs and look out over the valley.

The walking sticks that once poked through dead leaves to chase snakes from his path, or tapped at rocks to test the safety of the footing, were replaced by canes. Then even the canes sat barely used by the front door.

But there was always the sky and the air, and pure water and watercress glistening in the spring next to the house. There were always the animals, the rescued dog at his side, the deer grazing even right next to the porch, comfortable in his quiet and he comfortable in theirs.

The last time I saw him alive I walked into that one room just in time to see a rather fat black snake slipping out the open window at my approach. My great uncle told me he “was just visiting with the old man.” (This was not a moment of senility, he always addressed snakes as “old man,” it was just how he addressed them) Then he spoke joyfully of the hummingbirds that came to his feeder right outside his window and how he could watch them even from his bed. He wondered at how an animal so small could be so beautiful and move so quickly. He said they were great company for him.

Perfect days without regret, sorrow, envy, or resentment, just joy frozen in time. A moment I can call up from memory to guide me through the harder moments.

During that time when things were the worst for me I held onto the thought that there were other happy moments, hummingbirds, and clear days ahead, just that the darkness was what I had to go through to get to the other side. Something like crawling through a tunnel or wading through a swamp. You can’t stay where you are; you have to find the way through.

Some people collect things in life, some people collect money. Some have ten or more houses, some have fancy cars. I know what it’s like to be around someone who seemingly has everything and yet it’s never enough. I know what it’s like to be around someone who is never satisfied. And then I have this incredible gift: I know what it’s like to be around someone who is always satisfied. I know what it’s like to be around someone who finds joy in every space, however small, who can spot beauty wherever it hides. I know what it’s like to be around someone who never saw a single fault in me, never saw a fault in a bird, or a snake, for whom every single sunset and sunrise was new and perfect and unique.

I also know what it’s like to sit next to the dying and write down for them the last few things they want to pass on. I’ve never known someone to say in those moments that they wished they’d been less kind during life. I’ve never seen someone regret compassion.

This connects back to how I feel about veganism, and animal rescue, and any other effort to do good. I’m not going to regret this later. I’m not going to one day wish I’d had a little more cruelty in my diet. I’m not going to look back and say “I wish I’d just kept driving and didn’t stop for that injured cat.” I’m not going to look back and wish I’d cared less or loved less.

It’s not like I got through that swamp and suddenly everything was perfect, but having gotten through that place I know that I can get through some really tough things. In all honesty, becoming a vegan in the first place was a little tough for me. I missed some foods I’d eaten before and I wasn’t sure what I should be eating. I had to go through that to get to this place where I love the food I eat and eat and cook beautiful, artistic, healthy (and sometimes not so healthy) foods. I don’t feel deprived at all, I’m not sorry I made that choice. But I had to trust at a few points that things were going to get easier and easier.

Sometimes we hold the things we know so close that our arms are closed completely, we can’t embrace anything new. Then we let go of something that seemed important so we can take in something better, or just because everything we’re holding onto immobilizes us. We are surprised by everything our hearts can hold. Giving up eating animals can let us view them in a whole different way, to love them in a way that we were afraid to when we still ate their flesh. It doesn’t take any love away from anyone else. We don’t love our friends any less. Instead we let go of the defensiveness, the need to protect our favorite foods from criticism, and letting go of the defensiveness gives us more room to care.

I know, I’m rambling again. When someone tells me “I just can’t be vegan. I don’t have the willpower” or “I like meat too much, I could never be vegan” I naturally think “Of course you could, you just don’t realize how much you really can do.” You’re holding the familiar so close, but you don’t know what you’re capable of, all that you can hold until you open your arms.