Vegetables Don’t Bleed, Croak, or Flip Flop in Shudders When You End Their Lives for Cooking

When I was a young college boy, I went walking in a grey clouded morn far from the cottage my father, Raul D. Leveriza, rented at the beach in Matabungkay. The whole leg of Chinese ham my Mom, Pura Leveriza, was preparing for the members of the family and their respective guests who stayed overnight whiffed with mouth watering pleasantry over the white powder down to the water’s edge.

I strayed too far while deep in my thoughts. I found myself in the outermost reach of the next town, which was Nasugbu. My steps had taken me through the clumps of trees on a tangent to the highway. I glimpsed the loose herd of white Brahmin cows with longhorns which always loitered on the sands to smell at the outrigger boats docked in rows. One thing about cows is that they look pliant and very submissive. They bow their heads to submit to slaughter in a meek uncomplaining way.

Lo and behold that’s where I found myself of all horrors on a dull somber morning. I stumbled into the compound of the town’s slaughterhouse. I should have turned around as soon as I caught on where I was. But no, the curious cat in me clawed to get near the cluster of cows that crowded unalarmed near the doorway to the warehouse where a massacre was going on. They didn’t have a hospice with white robed medical attendants making sure to anesthetize the animals so they can die in peace.

I hope you have already eaten your meal before you read on about what I saw. It was a gruesome sight like the neighborhood bullies with bare torsos streaming with sweat got hired to do what they do best. Two muscled goons worked on a cow over a slimy bloody flooring. One held the cow by the neck while the other hammered away with a sledgehammer on the crown. I didn’t see the cow put up a struggle to get away. Its legs caved in and became lifeless after a flurry of blows.

Needless to say, the whole party wondered why I didn’t touch the ham during the fun filled breakfast complete with sunny side ups and American sliced bread. I stared morosely at Maria Berlanga, my sister’s best friend, who ate with gusto in her bikini.It seems the capacity to romp with the merriness of living was totally drained from my being. It took a while before I could bring myself to touch meat again. For about a month long stretch I deteriorated to lunching on Hershey chocolate bars and ice cold Coke.

The traditional Krishnas believe that animals have spirits like us. In fact karmic laws sometimes may maroon a former human spirit into a lower animal form if the person did not fully evolve into the next higher level which has more intense spiritual consciousness.They believe that the quickest way to devolve is to do an injustice to a fellow human being. Chanting the Maha Mantras to glorify the Abba Krishna purges one of sins and purifies the spirit to advance upwards to the transcendental level.

It is not a strict code to be vegetarian to embrace the knowledge and the protection of the Abba Krishna. It is just one of the steps that help achieve a rising in spirituality. Even Mahatma Ghanid cannot fully transform to a one hundred percent vegetarian. I am about forty percent carnivorous but I eschew red meat and concentrate on ravaging the fish of the ocean. The Omega 3 for my heart is great.

We eat to live. We can contribute to the cycle of life by going vegetarian. What we ingest we spew out to fertilize the greenery around us to blossom some more. Nature and man can fit together gracefully in a harmony meant to decorate the blueness of the earth planet with a plasma of green. Hare Krishna Hare Rama Abba Krishna.