The Rich Vegetarian

An Examined Life

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Talk is Easy

“Don’t you feel that there is such a lot of chatter going on all the time?”
“Like you are surrounded by a bunch of chatty folks all the time?”
“No, it isn’t just that.”

Talk is easy, quick and cheap
You can talk through the day until the sun sets, and then all night long.
Start the chatter and careless banter as day breaks,
Then there is TV and talk radio, interviews and people holding forth endless opinions,
And the grocery store and yoga studio, salon and gym.

It is on Facebook and Instagram, Twitter and Tumblr,
We all have something to say, our voices count, our opinions matter.

Even when the voices have died down, the talk continues.

Unceasing, relentless, changing and evolving, yes.

“Let me speak, I have been silent so long
I want to share too, I have been quiet for years,
I would like for someone to hear me too.”

I wish it was quieter, I really do.

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Plain Splendor

I had a thought some days ago about feeling natural, authentic… and I wondered if it was easier to be that way in surroundings that also were natural, authentic.

I wondered if it’d be easier for people to feel more like themselves amid Nature – on a hike, walking along a river, swimming in a lake or the ocean. I wonder if artifice outside starts to make us behave in alien ways, trying to match up (or against) ideas, people, places.

I wonder if Nature’s plain splendor allows us to be plain and splendorous as well.

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Winter Yearning

I am looking to find a name for this yearning,
that emerges on a late winter night,
or early dawn.

When it gets cold and chilly, and the desire for comfort commingles with the one for warmth and closeness,
Hands go forth searching, the fingers clasping, curled up into each other,
Bodies curve inward, fitting like two crescents, soft and curved, curled and shaped.

The comforter and quilt and warm woolen blankets all get merged and layered,
coming together, never pulling apart.

It is the state between sleep and wakefulness, it is a half-dream, a silent conversation,
It is home and warm breaths and half-murmured imaginings, am I dreaming or is this real?
Perhaps I am recounting a dream.

But now I am gone again,
and we drift off into this half-lit, humidified quiet, warmed and whirring heater space.

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