Energy is what we are, and energy is how we feed. It comes into us both negative and positive, but we do best to strive for good in all we eat upon this rotating atom of green and blue and lush and kind. Being vegan, I am a curiosity to many who do not understand how my survival is maintained, how I have not collapsed into a xylophonic clatter of bony catastrophe. Or how I do not swan about my days in a sluggish mess of inertia. Or how in deed I fill my plate with nothing more than leaves and roots and sawdust nibbles of rabbit food. And how in holy cow hell my hollow bones and teeth are strong without the suckling teat of mother moo. And don’t I miss the drizzled ooze that dons the chin and salivates tongue? Greasy, gastronomy farts, turgescent, rancid, stinking poohs, the consequential belly bloat; I’ll thank you not for all of those and praise the plants that calm and harmonize my floral gut. To understand the health of plants, requires a recognition of the market force behind the farm. To say they propagandize the industry of meat and milk is an understatement much ignored. A plant-based diet, with processed food, abandoned but for the occasioned vegan Ben & Gerry, will, with time and care, provide us all with matter enough to soar and swoon in beams of sun and light and energetic attitude. And oh! that’s just the tip of the meaty, mountainous berg of doom. Foremost in all this narrative of how we feed our greedy selves, is the knowledge of all the torture met by the tender-hearted animal folk. It’s easy, peasy, pudding and pie to never look piggy in her eye and justify our growling need for bacon burger, chicken fried. Like a children’s rhyme we narrativize our customary lore of the emotionlessness of fish and foul. Yet personify our cats and dogs because we hold them high, our families of furry friends who would never end up in our beefy pie. Oh why? Oh why? It’s a logic to be reckoned only by psychopathic wolves in the skin of the lie. Nobody wants to watch the myriad of uploaded videos and documented facts that show the horrific torture imposed on the sixty-billion animals a year. That’s human population almost three by score, every – single – year, for at least the past half century or more, who are killed without a care, and beaten and bludgeoned for their fear. And often times, the killing goes wrong and so their torturous end is prolonged. But you cannot watch because you might be sad, or cry, or feel discomforted. And you might have to own up to your contribution to this slavery; slavery unlike any in our history before! I have played my part, my dark, demonic, hellish part, but will no more, no never more! The energy I imbibe comes not from the negativity of the tortured flesh from one, once mind so beauteous. Every slurry of meat, ground and churned in halls of Hell, brings into a body such negative vibe, it’s not wonder we creep about blaming our lethargy on the banality of our occupation, little able to find the energy to pride ourselves in our daily tasks, lovingly, energetically, positively. At the end of the day we need not yawn our swollen, tired bellies home to plates filled with willingly hidden torturous pain, but rather we can prepare a meal colour-filled, with gentle green and loving red, the yellow sweet, the purple blessed. And fill our cups unto the brim with energy drenched in godly sun and know that we have tortured none.