The Love of Life

Miracles happen every day, though we may not always be lucky enough to witness them. Blessings are among the greatest of these miracles, and one arrived unexpectedly when a book called The Love of Life found its way into my hands yesterday. Truly one of a kind.

The moment I opened its pages, I read: “All parts of this book may be reproduced without permission. For free distribution. This book is not for sale.” Gratitude washed over me instantly, as though my soul had been praying for this encounter not for weeks, but for months.

As many of my friends know, I dislike solid food not from any desire to lose weight or restrict myself. I simply have no natural hunger, and when I do eat, my body does not feel well. My journey with breatharianism has moved through many phases. I am not a full breatharian. My only experience of that depth was twenty-two days without water or food, a period that profoundly changed my understanding of what the human body truly needs.

For a long time, I have been praying for guidance. For seven years, I was a joyful, strict vegan, because deep within I have always known that animals experience pain. The thought of their suffering, or of consuming what belongs to them, whether their bodies or the gifts of their bodies such as butter, milk, and eggs, has never sat easily in my spirit.

Out of compassion, the Buddha permitted me to eat some meat over the past few years. I ate very little, a few bites, always with gratitude for the life given. Each piece was a genuine offering I received with care, especially these last months when I had no desire for vegetables at all, consuming mostly liquids: tea, coffee, and occasionally soda. I asked the Buddha many times what I should eat. Though he speaks to me every day, on this particular question he was quiet. “You are not your body,” he reminded me, again and again.

Then Green Tara came to me this month. She told me that consuming anything with blood affects one’s energy. I asked her: if I must eat something, what should it be? I had no desire for vegetables. Her answer was immediate: fruits. I have little interest in fruit either, and yet the idea of becoming a fruitarian moved something in me more than veganism ever had.

And then The Love of Life found me, while I was walking among thousands of books in the library. Of all the volumes I could have reached for, this one moved me to my core.

Inside are one hundred stories, all true accounts of people who lived in China, some from three thousand years ago. Each is documented with specific locations, dates, and names. Together, they carry a single teaching: when we cherish life, we cherish our own.

I read the first story and kept going. Time disappeared entirely. Before I finally left that day, I had read eighty-six stories, tears moving down my face continuously throughout, each account touching something deep. The next thing I had known, the monastery bells were ringing for the eight o’clock evening chant. I had entered at three in the afternoon.

I returned the following day to finish the final fourteen stories and the closing words. Before I left, I made a vow to the Buddha and to all animals: I will never again eat meat for the rest of my life. May I become a full breatharian before I break this promise.

I checked out the book for thirty days. I prayed that its stories might find their way to people like me, and to those willing to take this path. I pray this book changes thousands of lives, and through them, countless beings.

This is a promise. I know I may not be strong enough to keep it alone, so I ask the Buddha to help me.

A miracle accompanied the visit. My throat had been struggling with a persistent tightness that made swallowing difficult. Without hunger and without the ease to eat, a quiet frustration had settled in me. My doctor had prescribed a small amount of food each night, and the effort to meet that requirement brought on deep stress. Then my throat closed further. I could breathe, but very little seemed able to move through. Even tea I could only manage in small sips.

After making my vow, my throat opened. I could drink tea freely. I could breathe without resistance. I still have no desire for food, but at last I have an answer. Live the promise. Share it with the world.

May you cherish life, that you may cherish your own.

Note: The Buddha’s last meal, according to some accounts, included pork, after which he fell ill. This sits with me now in a new light. So much of modern illness may trace back to carelessness, even ignorance, about the lives we consume. But once we know, we cannot unknow. And when we truly know, we find we have no choice but to change.