🕯️ "It's not what enters the mouth that defiles a man, but what proceeds from the heart."
The cafeteria lights buzzed faintly above. Ash sat alone with a plate of food—steamed vegetables, a scoop of rice, and a piece of roasted meat that still glistened under fluorescent glare.
He held his fork but didn't move. Something was shifting in him.
Why do I feel… conflicted?
The food wasn't bad. It was warm, nourishing, probably locally sourced. But for the first time in his life, he wasn't just looking at the food—he was feeling it.
Ash closed his eyes.
A memory came—his grandmother, long gone now, who used to say grace before every meal. Not a religious chant, just a soft whisper:
"Thank you, earth, water, sun, and life, for this nourishment."
He never understood it as a child. Now it hit him like thunder.
"It's not the meat," he thought. "It's the energy we hold as we receive it."
"Food isn't just matter. It's frequency."
A soft warmth spread through his chest.
He looked again at the meat on his plate.
Was it wrong to eat it?
He'd read things—about frequency, DNA, even theories that pigs and cows shared overlapping genes with humans.
"But guilt is just another chain," he realized.
"A prison pretending to be purity."
He placed his hand above the food and whispered inwardly:
"To the life that once moved in this form, I thank you.
May your energy rise through me. May I walk in awareness."
Something subtle clicked.
It wasn't about being vegan or carnivore, pure or impure. That was ego wearing a robe. The real shift was in perception.
"Gratitude is the true alchemy," Ash whispered.
"It's not about what you eat—it's about how you digest reality."
He ate slowly. Every bite was a prayer. Every chew, a return to presence.
That night, he dreamt of a man with torn robes and wild eyes, sipping wine under a Bodhi tree.
The man looked at him and laughed:
"Boy, wine and meat may pass through the body, but the Buddha?
The Buddha stays in the heart—if you dare to let go of appearances."
Ash tried to speak, but the dream faded like incense smoke.
He woke up with a single sentence echoing in his mind:
"Don't imitate my freedom. Find your own.