To be part of an epidemic of obesity, to be a walking manifestation of a cultural dilemma, or not to be... my personal question of survival. My diversion to exertion, my proactive self-destruction, comes down to a betrayal, a neglecting of a court order from the evolutionary process of perseverance.
Gluttony, sloth, and greed, deadly sins as old as written reflection... a mirror, a magnification, indisputable evidence, a proclamation of guilt throughout the week. A sad journey of wobbly stunted motions, arthritic feet, and short breath panting.
Cut loose, cut calories, increase motion, change something fundamental inside where the sun don't shine... where a voice goes unheard, where some lie lays undisturbed, some rotten anti-truth decaying still salvageable flesh. Demons dance on a corpse of this living being, laughing and teasing 'Wake-up! Wake-up! You foolish old pig on a stick, or we will roast you in the flames of your own decadent sins!'
But I am intoxicated with diversions, and beat myself down with my spiralling stupor. Lamentable lard laid out on the pit, a luau for angry lost souls and mocking Asian crows.
A feast for the dismal self-righteously hungry, or one more blessed witness to God's rule? A Rumi poem of a lion eating a greedy ox, allowing the fox a chance, to know it is better to sacrifice all of the hunt's bounty, in order to be allowed to be left in the hunt. Better to sacrifice today’s pleasures in exchange for life, in agreement with the punishable laws of our universe.
Get off my merry-go-round while I still can.