It's obvious why Yang Zhu advised treasuring the body in both of these sometimes opposing senses. Healthy bodies imply longevity, and longevity implies more time in which to savor and indulge myself in this only life I have. But, in the words of Bill Maher, "Fun costs you." The great many pleasant things on Earth, ingested, imbibed, or immersed, may eventually kill me, if some freak event doesn't kill me first.
Hence I have my breakfasts of contradictions. Sure, fruit and bread have plenty of vitamins, fiber, carbohydrates and protein, and they psychologically help me feel that I'm actively choosing to eat healthfully; but a thin dallop of peanut butter spread on every bite of three bananas, or thin divots of hazelnut-chocolate spread spackled on all ten slices of bread, eaten in one sitting, undresses that pretense where it matters -- in my guts, in my blood. I live to serve my taste buds, the pleasure centers in my brain to which they connect. I need all of the mechanisms which serve them to run for a long time. I have to make a tradeoff. If living for a century means eating kale every day, I'd rather be dead.
This regular compromise of pleasure for survival, and vice versa, is not a unique dilemma. What's unique for me, as a Yangist, is that I see it to be the only dilemma in life that deserves my concern. I have a brain structures that crave certain stimuli, and I can use other regions of that very brain to feed those cravings and preserve the means that are necessary to do so. I know my self to be my body and the actions of that body which compose the narrative of my life. As those parts of me change, so do I, so to try to escape the workings of my brain is not any more sensible than trying to flee from my own heartbeat. Any such effort would at best fetishize some self-external abstraction or ideal. There's no workaround for human nature.
In the ideal situation, one which is rare, but occasionally achieved, technological innovations or knowledge eliminate my need to compromise my desires. Maybe someone in the future will make delicious, healthful, and cheap peanut butter, allowing for my truly "guilt-free" breakfast. Maybe a scientific discovery will uncover that I've unknowingly eaten my way to immortality one sweet, salty jar at a time. Until then, though, I'm stuck with the painful truth -- Nutrition Facts.
In most situations, I've found that the following meditation has worked in helping me evaluate the directions that I've taken in my life. Whenever I have a moment to reflect on my present situation, I imagine my life being taken away from me very suddenly. I imagine a sniper shooting a bullet through my skull, plunging to my death as the building where I sleep topples in the sudden jolt of an earthquake, being stabbed to death in my bed, having a sudden heart attack or aneurysm, having my skull crushed in various freak accidents and psychopathic homicides...you name it! While I imagine suddenly dying in these often gruesome ways, I invariably ask myself these questions, often assuming that I'm dead already:
- Is this really how you wanted to spend the last instant of your life?
- In almost all instances, the answer is, "No." I want to spend my last moments of my life laying with the person I love most, my eyes lazily gazing on her, her looking back understandingly at me, understanding that I'm at peace with her there, sharing perfect silence.
- Very often, the answers that I give to this question really provide a sense of direction and ambition to my life as a whole. For me, it clarifies what my truest motivations and interests in my life are.
- If I can, then I'll go about doing just that, assuming that I don't get distracted. I also happen to meditate in this manner frequently enough that I often can find the time to pursue the things that matter to me at those times.
Unfortunately, that's the best that I can offer myself. Beyond that, I just try to satisfy my impulses within the constraints of my budget. At least my favorite breakfasts are cheap!