The Inn Keeper's Request

In honor of my friend Aral - www.mysticmontage.blogspot.com - today I'd like to begin with some words on food and drink from a mystic perspective. These are from The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran, Lebanese-American mystic poet, philosopher, and - some have even argued - ecologist.

Here we go:

Then an old man, a keeper of an inn, said, Speak to us of Eating and Drinking.
And he said:
Would that you could live on the fragrance of the earth, and like an air plant be sustained by the light.
But since you must kill to eat, and rob the newly born of its mother's milk to quench your thirst, let it then be an act of worship.
And let your board stand an altar on which the pure and the innocent of forest and plain are sacrificed for that which is purer and still more innocent in man.

When you kill a beast say to him in your heart,
"By the same power that slays you, I too am slain; and I too shall be consumed.
For the law that delivered you into my hand shall deliver me into a mightier hand.
Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven."

And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart,
"Your seeds shall live in my body,
And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart,
And your fragrance shall be my breath,
And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons."

And in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyards for the winepress, say in your heart,
"I too am a vineyard, and my fruit shall be gathered for the winepress,
And like new wine I shall be kept in eternal vessels."
And in winter, when you draw the wine, let there be in your heart a song for each cup;
And let there be in the song a remembrance for the autumn days, and for the vineyard, and for the winepress.

Mindfulness.

As I have become mindful - aware - of the food that I consume, and of its source, I have come to recognize my connectedness to it. "I, too, am a vineyard. I, too, shall be consumed." You and I and the lamb and the apple, we are one. We must eat, but we are called to eat, ever-aware of our connectedness to our food.

And when we begin to become aware of our food and of its source and of our connectedness to it, we may never be able to eat the same way again. When we remember that the beef on our plate came from a steer raised in a tightly crowded, dimly lit, feedlot, and we remember that we are one with that steer, we may begin to grieve for the life of that steer. When we become aware of our lettuce and of its source, and come to know that it was raised in a giant monoculture, and sprayed with pesticides, and transported 3000 miles to our grocery store, and we remember that we are one with that lettuce, we may come to feel sadness for the life of that lettuce.

And, when we truly know our food and its source, that knowledge may also be to us a source of great joy. When we know that the apple that we crunch with our teeth came from a tree grown organically in a small, family-owned orchard within 25 miles of our home, and when we know the names of those farmers and could pick out their faces in a crowd, then there may come to us a great and sustaining sense of gladness and thanksgiving, as we remember that we are one with apple, with tree, and with our farming neighbors. And that is when eating becomes an act of worship.