I read this post on the NY Times today, the day after Thanksgiving:
Back To the Land
I was in a conversation the other day where I began talking about the hopelessness that creeps in. We are killing each other at a frighteningly fast rate. Substances that contain nothing of any nutritional value pass as food and we eat them up, coming back hungry for more artificial sweetness, so often finding whole food tasteless because we have not experienced the flavor of a real tomato or strawberry, as we have only had the over-treated brightly colored representation of a tomato or strawberry. There is something remarkable about watching food grow, and in sharing a meal with community. In the slowing down, we begin to become aware of color and sounds and flavors that were not there before, relishing in the first bite of bread fresh out of the oven or soup that has been simmering on the stove for hours. Ahh, I digress...
In this conversation, mid-lament, I was reminded that I am not alone standing beneath the titanic wall of go-go-go. The picture then shifted for me shifted when I pictured myself not cowering in front of a 1000-ton brick and steel tank but standing hand-in-hand with so many people with whom I would love to share a meal or a life. We cannot do it alone, and what is better: we don't have to.