"The fourth insight is about the universal energy," Margaret said.  "We learn about the universal energy in the third insight.  Do you remember everything you learned from the third insight?"

I thought back.  "The universal energy is in everything," I said, "even rocks and TyvekŪ, but the more animated something is, the more energy it's got.  And if you squint just right and concentrate real hard, you can see its aura, and pretty much everything's got a brown aura."

"And what conclusions can we draw from these observations?"

I shrugged.  "The universal energy is universal," I said.

A few cows snorted.  Margaret shook her head and snapped a fly off her ass with a sharp swish of her tail.  "Try actually thinking," she said.   "If the energy is in everything, and we're part of everything, what can we conclude about ourselves?"

"That we have energy?"

"We have energy, right, good.  And the fact that the more animated we become, the more energy we display in our auras--what do you suppose that means?"

"That the less animated we become, the less energy we display in our auras?"

"Well, yes, that's true.  But what else?"

"That our energy levels can change?"

Margaret's big brown cow eyes gleamed.  "Very good," she said, "And if we apply the laws of thermodynamics to this hypothesis?"

"I don't know those."

"This is elementary science.  Of course you know."

"I really don't."

Margaret sighed.  One of the cows behind me muttered, "He's hopeless."   There were a lot of murmurs.

"Let's try this a different way.  How do you get more energy?"

"Me personally, or just like... you know, hypothetical someone?"

"You personally.  Say you're tired.  Say you need a little pick-me-up.   What do you do?"

"A shot?"

A few of the cows grunted and began moving off.

Margaret's nostrils flared.  "You don't do a shot when you're tired," Margaret said--a little sharply, I thought.

"Oh!  I know!  I sleep!"

"No.  You don't sleep.  You don't do a shot, and you don't sleep.   You eat, idiot.  You consume food.  Why?  Don't answer.  I'll tell you.  Because food contains energy.  You absorb the energy from the food."

"But don't I just shit it out again?"

"That's it," I heard from my left, "I'm out of here."  Another handful of cows turned and plodded away.

Margaret sighed and closed her eyes as if she were fighting a terrible struggle inside her--a struggle more awful than the normal one of all those stomachs fighting for the same food.  Suddenly she opened her eyes, and they shone with fierce brilliance.   "You take a tomato," she said.  "Tomatoes have energy.   You have energy.  You eat the tomato.  Your body absorbs the energy from the tomato, and it passes what remains of it--but without the energy.  Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said.  "Shit has no energy."

"Let's drop the dialectical method.  I'm going to talk, and you listen.   If you understand, that's fine.  If you don't, I'd like you to get into your car and drive away from us, and never come here again.  Do you understand?  Sh!   Just nod.  Thank you.  Very good.  Everything has energy, but our energies aren't constant.  They're in a state of flux.  That means they change.   We can use our energy and we can consume more energy.  We can get more energy from an apple or tomato, for example, by eating it.  But there's energy in everything, not just food.  We can get energy from anything.  And we know that the more animated something is, the more energy it has.  It therefore stands to reason, if you can pretend for a moment that you're capable of following reason, that we can gain the most energy by tapping into the things with the most energy.  Is that clear?"

I was stunned.  "I understand," I said.  "It's sick and terrible, but I understand."  She was a grim cow, to be talking like this with such a calm demeanor.

"What's sick and terrible?"  She asked.

"The Fourth Insight," I said.  "I get it, now.  It's cannibalism."

Silence engulfed us.  Margaret blinked once, twice, three times.

"Get in your car," she said.  "Get in your car and go."

"It's not cannibalism?"

"It is not cannibalism!  Although technically I suppose cannibalism could work...  you get energy from eating us, after all."

"I'm sorry," I said.  I felt ashamed.

Margaret shrugged.  I'd never seen a cow shrug.  It was impressive.   "Sorry for what?  Look at these skinny little legs.  You think we'd have survived in the wilds?  We've only got one evolutionary advantage.  We taste great."

"We're delicious," Eleanor added.

"But cannibalism isn't the answer.  We can get energy without eating things.   We can inhale energy the same way we inhale the very air we breathe."

"But that's like eating," I said.  "Don't we eat air... technically?  Sort of?"

"I'll be kind enough to ignore you.  Listen.  Energy can be inhaled, and energy can be exhaled.  It's a spiritual process.  It requires complete concentration.  Just relax, meditate, focus, and breathe in the energy from the objects around you.  Anything from a tiny insect to another human being."

"Isn't that kind of like stealing?"

Margaret shrugged another one of those impressive cow shrugs.  "I guess," she said.

"Is that really moral?"

"I don't know," she said.  "But it works.  Now please...   go away.  Swiftly.  And never come back."

I moved toward my car.  Margaret and Eleanor watched me.  The other cows had all gone away--except for Deirdre, of course, who couldn't go anywhere on account of she was dead.

"Before I go," I said, "Don't you want to give me some kind of teaser about the Fifth Insight?"

Neither of them said a word.  They just stared at me silently, looking pretty stupid, and wet, like a couple of dumb, wet cows.

"I'll just go," I said.

More silence.  Margaret might have arched an eyebrow, but it was hard to tell.   I was in the car now.  The car started without a problem.  I turned on the lights and killed the hazards.

I honked twice, quickly, a kind of happy beep-beep, and still they stared morosely, ambivalent.

I swung the car around toward Ensenada, more or less, and stepped on the gas.