Riding the Mule Train of Life

There are times in you life when you get a true glimpse of who you've become or are becoming. Sometimes the glimpse is more of a backward glance...and with it you see an artifact from your past that suddenly surfaces as inconvertable truth, a tautology.

Recently, my mother sent me copies of my late step-father's papers, old resume's , letters of thanks sent when he was inducted into the Columbia University Hall of Fame, testimoninals describing his very storied and eventful career. My first response was awe at what he had accomplished. This I felt the entire 33 years I knew him.

In one tribute, a script I believe he and my mother wrote together as a sort of travelogue of his professional life, there is mention made of my mother and her relative youth and great beauty ("what a catch!"); and of my sister taking up the torch where he left off. Clearly she was moving forward in his power-house footsteps. There was no mention of me, I assume because there was no superlative to latch onto. At that time, circa 1985, after 5 years, I was still in college, a scruffy student without a sense of purpose, supporting myself by managing a small bakery. My life had almost no nexus to theirs (and indeed at the time, I'd probably wanted it that way), thus the omission.

Here, in the antique tracings of my life I saw how I had cast the die. What I was to become.

That truth without any sugar coating or punches pulled is this: I had chosen, I have chosen the way of the mule.

"Would you like to swing on a star
carry moonbeams home in a jar
and be better off than you are
or would you rather be a mule

A mule is an animal with long funny ears
he kicks up at anything he hears
His back is brawny but his brain is weak
he's just plain stupid with a stubborn streak
and by the way if you hate to go to school
You may grow up to be a mule"

I remember hearing this song alot as a little girl. Made famous by Bing Crosby, it's my sense impression of a mule and in turn my own self-image. Dull, slow, stubborn, bulky, a good pack animal because I display less impatience than the average person. But, with apologies to Mr. Crosby and lyricist Johnny Burke , rationally I know that's not the whole story. Typically in any public situation, my mule like demeanor morphs into the appearance of patience (though regrettably less so in recent years.) and a odd tenacity. But I am also obstinate, doggedly refusing to budge if I feel at odds with a situation. Like a mule, I'm intelligent and sensitive with a "highly-developed sense of self-preservation" making it "difficult to force or frighten"(1) me into doing something that doesn't square with my own ideas of safety or security.

Unlike the high-strung drama and passion of a stallion or thouroughbred, characters like me appear never to scale certain heights because well, high elevations are dangerous places without sure footing, especially if one has no interest in being there...and I almost always see that path as imprudent, foolhardy, nervy and...ironically... for me personally stupid...about as smart as wings on a donkey.

But to quote Forrest Gump, stupid is as stupid does and right now my life is so dumbed down with "safe" choices, thickly yoked with a superabundance of self-preservation I'm near mute with boredom and at a standstill.

But it is all my own doing. Astute readers will note that I said I have chosen the way of the mule...it was not foisted upon me. I opted to make it my path, away from my family and toward my own identity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The year before I turned 18, Mom, my sister Gina and I had gone to listen a lady psychic at a friend's house. The New Age was in full bloom in those days, an intriguing novelty. Said psychic led us in a group exercise to explore our past lives. She said examination of these "memories" gave us insight into our current journies. In particular, we were to concentrate on the circumstances that led to our deaths. We all settled rather skeptically into our seats and let our minds untether from the present, with surprising results.

Mom dreamt she was tall and statuesque inventor with long flowing golden tresses in the final leg of a 19th Century footrace. She was a hair's length away from winning when she was seized by an attack of breathlessness and collapsed. As she lay there gasping for breath, dying, there was the overwhelming sense of regret and sadness over lost potential, of the tragedy of beauty and vigorous, forward moving life force being curtailed too soon.

Gina, on the other hand, perceived herself as a european housewife, beautiful, clever and quick but, kept and confined to a cruel man by societal convention and the gilded chains of economic security. She wore on her wrist an aureate bracelet that represented her confinement, a symbol of her status as an exotic, priceless caged bird that would eventually wither and die. Upon waking from the guided meditation, she wrenched a similar bracelet from her wrist.

My experience was startling as well. I envisioned myself to be a native american in Wyoming (although I'd never been), a male scout betrothed to the chief's daughter. All that stood between me and an exaulted place in my society was the completion of a test...I had to display my prowess as a hunter by killing a lion. In my light trance, I saw myself passively track the wild cat for many days until it finally sat down and rested. I approached the cat from behind, my throat full of this sine qua non, my essential duty. It turned and said to me..."Go ahead, kill me, it's your task, the obligation required of your office. Do it already. Why do you take your time?"

In that moment, I rejected the predetermination...killing this non-threatening animal simply because it was custom made no sense to me. My decision doomed me to a solitary life as a pariah in the tribe. On the last day of that life, old and alone without decendents or intimates, I lay down on my back ready to accept death. With my eyes trained on a panoply of constellations visible through the top of my teepee I said, "I never want my survival to depend on my success."

Thus the way of the mule. Safe, without expectation. Stubborn. Rejecting predeterminations.

A quick review of just a few of my postings illustrate my grappling with the mule.
*Change of Life
*Difficulty Listening
*Emerging
*See the difference

But even a molly mule can safely bring her cargo home over rough terrain. I think my key discovery is it's just a matter of choosing the footfalls that suit me; As my own guide, I can trailblaze a way to my own country and discover how to thrive there on my own terms. It's just a matter of one step at a time, pointed in the right direction.

(1) Sourced from Wikipedia's entry of Donkeys-pack animals that share many characteristics with mules...and me