Zombie Buffet

I’m having a food mood swing.

I love meat. I love meat bloody. I like to chew the gristle when I’m done with meat. I’ll order twenty wings for myself without pause. I’ve been a happy carnivore for thirty years…until now.

I’m having a food mood swing. I’ll admit to having felt guilt before this—it’s a hard thing to be an animal lover and animal eater. How to reconcile when I’m not stranded on an island and forced to hunt? Recently, that guilt took space on my shoulder and fired a moral shotgun into my ear. The same chicken wings came with a flash of cruel imagery—cages, blood, pain…I can’t cook eggs for the kids without suppressing a sob. I’m a wimp.

I’m not saying I won’t have meat again someday, so I won’t get preachy about it. I’ve done minimal research (don’t have the stomach) and have limited fact-ammo so won’t take up a picket, but for musing’s sake: isn’t it just one of the most awful things we do? As humans, shouldn’t we treat animals well? What’s the benefit to not? My jury’s still out on an afterlife and judgement gate, but it’s hard to deny that evil has residual consequence. Do we really want to put that torture out in the universe? If we simply don’t want to be good just for the sake of being good, let’s be mindful of a very good principle:

Ever mind the rule of three, what ye send out comes back to thee.