Following is a link to the post "A Vegan No More" by Tasha, "food loving, feminist, and globetrotting political scientist." In this blog post, Tasha eloquently describes her painful, introspective journey from dedicated vegan to conscientious omnivore. Plagued by the symptoms of a deficient diet, she spoke with doctors and researchers who encouraged an immediate change of her diet that affected her life, her choices, and her views on the sustainability of veganism. She passionately stood by her vegan beliefs until the truth hit home: "that while there are people who can be quite healthy on a vegan, or predominantly vegan, diet, there were many people who simply could not."
For more information about Tasha follow this link to her "About Me" page at VoraciousEats.com.
To read the article "A Vegan No More" please follow this link.
Tasha not only deals with her personal struggle with veganism, but she also seamlessly ties in her feministic beliefs. She dialogues with the conflict of having a Capitalistic and Patriarchal society in light of world-wide poverty and 21-Century women's rights. My own views on this subject are not necessarily the same as Tasha's. But I am in awe of the stamina, passion, and conscientiousness with which she comes to these issues. I encourage you to take the time to think of your impact on the world, and more importantly of your impact on your local community and friends.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Egg - by Andy Weir
You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.
"Author’s Note: (Andy Weir) wrote this some time ago and posted it here. Later on, someone posted the entirety of the text to 4chan without (his) name, and then reddit posted an image of that page. Somewhere along the way the authorship got lost in the shuffle. So to be clear: Yes, (he) wrote this. No, it’s not a repost from somewhere else. This page is the original source."
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
"Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine."
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
"You’re still growing."
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.
"Author’s Note: (Andy Weir) wrote this some time ago and posted it here. Later on, someone posted the entirety of the text to 4chan without (his) name, and then reddit posted an image of that page. Somewhere along the way the authorship got lost in the shuffle. So to be clear: Yes, (he) wrote this. No, it’s not a repost from somewhere else. This page is the original source."
Friday, November 5, 2010
Apartment Complex
They were not for rent when he moved in
--young buildings looking over the world.
but he needed a place to stay, and
my first tenant abandoned the lease.
I agreed.
Yet,
I’d evict him if given the chance.
These rooms need more than gloom.
Sometimes he stands on the ledge of these eyes
looking past that window into the great beyond
and he jumps.
An exeunt fit for a tear
Christina Richards
November 27, 2010
--young buildings looking over the world.
but he needed a place to stay, and
my first tenant abandoned the lease.
I agreed.
Yet,
I’d evict him if given the chance.
These rooms need more than gloom.
Sometimes he stands on the ledge of these eyes
looking past that window into the great beyond
and he jumps.
An exeunt fit for a tear
Christina Richards
November 27, 2010
Insanity is Relative
I can’t forgive you for the night
you attacked our mother
My eyes seethe as your hatred does
pounding
red, red lights
lights cover my eyes and
see your violence violating all I hold dear
He is man and I am her,
and this man…
this man…
He is his god, he is my god
She pushes him away
I do the same
I don’t want people to see that
my god is drowning in crazy
your insanity reflects me
my image
the image of our mother
the image of God
Christina Richards
October 4, 2010
you attacked our mother
My eyes seethe as your hatred does
pounding
red, red lights
lights cover my eyes and
see your violence violating all I hold dear
He is man and I am her,
and this man…
this man…
He is his god, he is my god
She pushes him away
I do the same
I don’t want people to see that
my god is drowning in crazy
your insanity reflects me
my image
the image of our mother
the image of God
Christina Richards
October 4, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Persephone and Hades
It was morning year, and the white heavens were breaking
on the surface of the water.
Where the water was not touched,
the land sparkled—the depths of the heavens
could not, the depths of the water, penetrate.
Instead it fumed and rolled and wisped into the light.
There is such beauty in this light—
seen through the foaming mist, breaking
darkness. Yet light could not penetrate
the depths of the water.
White kisses from the heavens
covered the dying earth. They touched
my skin, they touched my hair, but not you they touched.
These white kisses nor the light
will ever reach you, in a grave that only reflects the heavens.
This morning my whole world is breaking.
There is no cooling balm or water
that could this pain penetrate.
Where you are I cannot follow, for my soul can only penetrate
the depths of hell. Before I touched
you, and before you pushed my heart back under water,
we were a match as pure as this morning light.
Your love was my undoing, breaking,
and assured me only you would sing in the heavens.
Yet to reside in a house made of dewy heavens
which the darkness of this world could not penetrate
was never my dream. That would be breaking
me into these soft kisses, touched
by misted winds and cool light.
But I am the water.
I am the darkness in the water,
and I reflect the heavens.
I was drawn to your love, yet did not know it to be light,
which could not penetrate
this facade no matter how much you touched.
There was never a point of breaking,
only light bending to a death beneath the water
where white heavens were breaking on the surface
and where they touched they could not penetrate.
Christina Richards
October 14, 2010
_______________________________________________
Linked here is a description of the Sestina, the form used to produce this poem, from University of Pennsylvania's website: http://writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/sestina.html
on the surface of the water.
Where the water was not touched,
the land sparkled—the depths of the heavens
could not, the depths of the water, penetrate.
Instead it fumed and rolled and wisped into the light.
There is such beauty in this light—
seen through the foaming mist, breaking
darkness. Yet light could not penetrate
the depths of the water.
White kisses from the heavens
covered the dying earth. They touched
my skin, they touched my hair, but not you they touched.
These white kisses nor the light
will ever reach you, in a grave that only reflects the heavens.
This morning my whole world is breaking.
There is no cooling balm or water
that could this pain penetrate.
Where you are I cannot follow, for my soul can only penetrate
the depths of hell. Before I touched
you, and before you pushed my heart back under water,
we were a match as pure as this morning light.
Your love was my undoing, breaking,
and assured me only you would sing in the heavens.
Yet to reside in a house made of dewy heavens
which the darkness of this world could not penetrate
was never my dream. That would be breaking
me into these soft kisses, touched
by misted winds and cool light.
But I am the water.
I am the darkness in the water,
and I reflect the heavens.
I was drawn to your love, yet did not know it to be light,
which could not penetrate
this facade no matter how much you touched.
There was never a point of breaking,
only light bending to a death beneath the water
where white heavens were breaking on the surface
and where they touched they could not penetrate.
Christina Richards
October 14, 2010
_______________________________________________
Linked here is a description of the Sestina, the form used to produce this poem, from University of Pennsylvania's website: http://writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/sestina.html
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