Some people became vegetarians since they couldn’t eat things with eyes. The plants on my plate often gaze up at me with their thousand limpid deep eyes. This mute game also has paths of life with circulating blood, wiggling, and desiring, it’s the same, the plate I sit on or the plate they sit on, the same whether a thousand years ago or ten thousand years ago, whether raw food or cooked food, meats or greens.

The problem is that I am losing trembling. Let’s say, I don’t have the prayer of my grandfather, ten thousand years ago, which he offered with a fearful, thankful heart just before he struck the dear’s neck with his stone ax (there’s no prayer in the market, either), and I don’t have the shudder in the heart, that uneasy thanks, which my grandmothers felt when cutting the root of a young bamboo shoot (there’s just goods and bills), and only a very painful pose remains.

As I have lost the method of eating thankfully, fearfully, eating with no leftovers from head skin to root when I stopped the breath of a thing that is not me to provide something for my body, I am really afraid that I can’t be sure when this heavy plate I’ve sat on could be empty clearly. How far on earth could I go with this heavy dismembered body?