THE MULE
Chapter 28
The salt spray felt good on my face, but the cool ocean water felt even better as it splashed up around my legs and chest as I ran. The wet sand shifted solidly beneath my pounding bare feet as they sprang my weight above them forward along the beach and through the breaking waves that crashed white foamy froth onto my legs and the sandy shores of my home and my deeply troubled mind. I needed to be, to make sense of things. I needed to be! I had a life, but didn’t have one, or, couldn’t remember it, or had chosen not to remember it. I’d told her to wait, to not say another bloody word and just wait, and if she chose not to, I’d track her down to the ends of the bloody earth. But in the meantime, I needed to be!
I needed self-discipline right then. The wet ocean and the ripples created by the urge to merge of the waves and the sand seemed to be giving me exactly what I needed as I ran. I had faith in the universal law that said for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, whereby, having thrown a pebble into a pool of water, it was impossible not to create ripples. When the ripples encounter something in their path they come back, of course-maybe directly, or from another unexpected direction, and maybe in a different shape or form, but they always come back… eventually.
As my pumping thighs carried me faster and faster the ripples just beyond the wave breaks had captured my full and focused attention. My feet seemed to know where they were going. I didn’t seem to care. The ripples had me and were trying to teach me something. I was sure. Because any action taken by anybody or anything, like the currents or the tides or the fish in the sea, will always create ripples that eventually come back, and, when they do, it’s always nice when those ripples bring good news with them and not bad.
I knew that the type of news that would be brought back with them would be determined by the original action that created them in the first place. And that action would have usually been taken and created as a result of a need being seen and then met for that action to suit a particular situation, even if the action deemed to be correct at the time was inaction. The ripples reinforced in my conscious mind that my self discipline was the immediate result of my controlled attitude for the present given situation, which had been decided by a feeling of right at the time, and then had been forthcoming, after due and immediate consideration of the events of the time as they happened. I had walked out. I had needed to be.
‘Then my action had been to run, along the beach and through the cool water, just to remind my mind of who was in control right then, and who wanted to be in control-me, myself, or I? I knew that my understanding of that simple fact would determine whether or not I was a disciplined person, but more importantly, if I wanted to be one. I ran without thinking, simply being aware of whatever the ripples told me as they came down in ever-changing shapes and sizes around my ankles thrashing in and out of the wet shifting sand as I ran.
The ripples spoke quietly, but loudly to me as I ran in their arrival inside my choiceless awareness. The salt spray filled my lungs. It invigorated and energised the efforts of my thighs and legs. They spoke to who I really was, of me, my conscious mind, that always overreacted to emotion as a general rule, which then stimulated myself, my subconscious mind, to remember past emotional imprints and behavioural patterns. And that part of my overall mind would then act on its perceived reality by then re-stimulating my conscious mind to further action or inaction once again.
The ripples also spoke to I-to who I knew I really was, who had always acted on the reality of the happening moment of now in a way that had always felt right. I would then guide me and myself along whatever paths of action or inaction that would then hopefully prevent the overall me from getting into more trouble than I could handle at any given point in time. In that sense then I’d hopefully be balanced, which would then cause any action I felt like taking to make use the natural teamwork of my power of One. And when that happened, anything was possible. I knew that, even regaining my bloody sanity.
Passers-by flashed past me quickly without my even noticing whether they were male or female, man or woman, dog or cat, just as apparently my former life had also flashed past me that quickly, without me noticing it either, or even remembering it, for that matter. All that seemed solid and real to me as my legs carried me faster and faster through the crashing surf and shifting sands beneath my feet were the principles that I thought I had always believed in-not because they, in themselves were infallible, but because of the principle of those principles. I believed in them. They were correct and had integrity. They didn’t move. They were like a lighthouse to me and to those I tried to help, signalling us both in some way that they were natural laws, which could not be broken. They could be bent, or you could break yourself against them, but they could not be broken, because they simply were. They were a guiding light to me, every single moment of every single day.
It seemed important for me to believe right then that I should be grateful for them being in my life as I’d accrued them over whatever life it had been that I apparently couldn’t remember. I somehow felt that if I did believe in their existence right then, they would empower me through basic common sense and help me with my present dilemma. I knew anything that made good common sense could and should be easy to make good common practice. That had always been my theory, anyway, I reflected, although at that point in time I had absolutely no idea even how long always actually had been in terms of however many years of my other life had gone by without my conscious knowing.
I was having a moment. I knew that as I ran faster and faster, revelling in the freshness, the sheer naturalness of cool as the salt water splashed up from around my pounding feet and wet me from head to toe. My body was running, but in my mind I was sitting down to plan my next move. But there didn’t seem to be one. I felt that since this was the case I might just as well co-operate with the inevitable.
I made a conscious thought then to keep my thinking and my attitude calm and cheerful right then, at least, and maybe try to lighten my situation with a bit of wry humour, which had always helped me in the past. I needed to avoid running whatever misfortune I thought I was experiencing through my mind like a tape recorder. I needed to somehow turn defeat into victory; even if it was only a moral victory of each moment of now that threatened to consume me with images of a life lived and lost through not being able to be remembered.
Through choiceless awareness I allowed the ripples to teach me whatever they wanted to as people and jeeps and dogs and leashes flashed by me without intrusion inside it. I needed them to teach me to stay calm and produce any healthy emotion that would help me feel there was always hope for any situation; that there was always providence, and that there was always the ripple effect on the lake of whatever life I had had that I seemingly couldn’t recall. I needed the ripples to teach me right then and there that I could cope and accept this setback gracefully and co-operate with the inevitable. I needed them to tell me that I could take all of this and a hell of a lot more if I had to, and that someone, somewhere, was bound to be worse off than me. I needed badly to be taught by someone, anyone, that I could somehow turn defeat in a final victory… right then.
In my mind as I sat there desperately trying to plan, while my body ran as if in the final hundred yards of an Olympic sprint, I knew that mentally I was down, but I was still breathing, so I wasn’t out. I knew that my misfortune wasn’t anybody’s fault. I sensed that somehow, and that there were still a lot of nice people out there who would one day receive my help. I had a date with those people and I intended to keep that date… somehow. At my desk in my mind then I decided that maybe the only practical solution to my problem right then was to stop thinking about it, so I did, and simply committed myself wholly to running the race, feeling in every essence of my being that I was running the race of my life… for my life, whatever it was… and whatever it happened to be, from that moment onward.
For no reason then I suddenly turned at breakneck speed, plunged and collapsed in a tumbling ball of arms and legs into the white foam and crashing waves, with the wet sand finding its way into every crevice of my body. I felt the pull beneath me of current strength, outward and away from the shore, back into the deeper waves.
The surf covered my ears and my head and I let it-I allowed it. It was another world, quiet, tranquil, devoid of inner dialogue that had been insistent on telling me that I was now a non-person; that I had somehow given up a life to have another one instead for some reason yet unknown to me. I let the waves take me in whichever way they wanted to, any which way, but loose.
I just floated on that ever-changing line where ocean met beach, where mind met body, where questioning thoughts met with no answers whatsoever and didn’t seem to care right then. It was quiet and it was cool-it was simple and uncomplicated, and I liked it… a lot.
The choice was mine. I knew that-past choices, now choices and future choices. It had always been that way, only I didn’t remember making any for a past I couldn’t remember either. I’d thought I’d had a blueprint for happiness in life, that whenever I caught myself starting a thought that would produce a stressing emotion like worry, anxiety, fear, apprehension, discouragement or the like, I’d simply stop it and substitute a healthy emotion, like equanimity, resignation, courage, determination or cheerfulness. That had always been the plan, the blueprint.
I thought then that my blueprint for happiness had and would always keep certain things in mind, certain principles-that I would sense, from that moment onward, to always keep my attitude and thinking calm and cheerful, right then, whatever the situation. And that would be the basis for all of my therapy-deal with the now, then take care of the next.
And that when the going was good, to tell myself that life was in fact, good, then allow myself the delightful feeling of simply being happy. And when the going got rough, to always stay outwardly, at least, as cheerful and as pleasant as I possibly could be and avoid self-pitying at all costs.
I opened my eyes into the salt water and looked up. They stung only for a second. I wanted to see the life I had now through a different perspective-one I wasn’t used to seeing from. But I also wanted to see the life I had then, whenever then had been. Had it been a life that had kept itself simple? I wondered, as I saw the light rays from the sun reaching down to me through the shimmering surface just above my face. Had it been one where I had avoided watching for disasters to happen that might never happen? Had I liked my work, whatever it had been? Had I a hobby and had I been satisfied with that life? Obviously not, came an answer on a ray of sunlight that seemed to warm me as it entered my face after passing through the swirling water.
They crashed around my floating, tumbling body just beneath the surface. I rested momentarily, in another world-one that I could touch and feel right now; one that I knew was real because I could feel it touching me now, everywhere at once.
I wondered, as my body rolled over with the momentum of another crashing wave above me, if my other life, my former life had had simplicity in its being lived each day? My eyes saw the sandy bottom in the far, yet near distance. It was changing shape constantly with the wash of the undercurrent and the waves, but it was always there, still living in its shifting, but still enjoying its existence or it wouldn’t be there. It would simply go to somewhere where it could enjoy its existence. Had my other life had a family enterprise? Did it have the idea that the family was a part of the human enterprise? Had it had an atmosphere of affection, of mutual respect and regard? Had it been an atmosphere of enjoyment that the sandy bottom beneath my gaze was now appreciating in every way, simply because it could, for as long as it chose to remain there?
My gaze searched that sandy life deeply, invasively. It searched that sandy bottom for whatever it had to teach me. I felt a pressure in my body-a straining, a yearning desperately for something more in my life right then-something needed, something good. It searched for love between the tiny shells that tumbled and rolled with each undercurrent’s shift. It searched for the giving of love and affection first, before it could ever be received. It searched for giving more than my share and that was okay. It searched for independence and it searched for self-esteem. And it found tiny shells and shifting sands that somehow knew they were just as good as any, knowing they just might be the inspiration to look for and to look at when you see their lives closely enough. They knew weren’t going to limp through year after year of anxious, troubled misery, worrying about the tides and the currents, because that would be an interminable hell on earth for them. They knew that, somehow… and so did I… then… somehow.
No. As I looked and I searched and I found, I somehow sensed that they would continue to rock and roll with the tides and the currents and the punches. Their eyes would always be calm with equanimity. Their chests would always be thrust forward with pride, with courage, with a pleasant word for their fellow travellers, the tiny shells, or the shifting sands, or the fish who lived their lives with them, yet separate, in another world of their own, inside their world-not mine-their world- the world we all shared together, as one… right now… except… I didn’t belong there! Not yet! Not yet! I had to go back! Go back! Go back! GO BACK!
A pressing and a fear of falling-of being closed in and wanting to get out-of having no control and of being vulnerable-of being at the mercy of, and of crashing-falling from a great height-crushed-hurt-with an unknown destiny in a frightening situation, and of being killed- of dying; and a pressing outward-a yearning for something more, something needed, something desperately needed!… Desperately!… Desperately!… Desperately!
My eyes slammed shut like spring-loaded underwater shark grates as my body twisted violently .My feet searched frantically and instantly for solidity. They found it in the welcoming sands of the shifting bottom and the tiny shells, which crunched beneath the force of so much instant and upward power as they launched my body vertically upward from beneath the tumbling waves where I had been lying and holding my breath in another life I had been visiting while looking for answers… while learning and taking teachings.
I blasted out of the surf like a shot out of a cannon, lungs screaming for air, bursting for oxygen, longing, yearning for life, any sort of life. I gasped and I spluttered as my body reached the uppermost travel, like a dolphin on its highest turn, gathered from its own momentum when launched from the sandy bottom. Then I fell quickly back into the tumultuous surf and rolling waves. Feet welcomed home, then sent on their way once more by the solid shifting life of the sand that cared in not knowing or caring who he was, what he was, where he had been, or where he was going. He just didn’t belong there, and both knew that. Once more I breached the surface like a humpback whale playing and entertaining the tourists and the people watching on the beach, and those swimming rapidly out toward me.
I crashed again downward into the frothing surf and huge rolling waves, flapping and floundering and finally managed to hold my own, as well as my head, above water, as the first swimmer came up to me and locked his powerful forearm around my throat from behind. I choked and struggled violently. Then it shifted position to hold me by the chin. I stopped struggling then and simply breathed, allowing whatever wanted to happen to happen-caring, but not caring-interested, but not interested, other than in passing fancy while I looked at the sky and breathed deeply again and again and again. Jesus! It felt so good. I felt so good. Life felt so good! Any life felt so good!…even the life I had been leading for as long as I could remember… as a mule!
In a way, I was happy I’d lost the bacon and eggs Tina had cooked me for breakfast, I reflected. They had come up with what felt like a gallon of pure sea water I’d emptied onto the friendly sandy beach, after my rescuers had swum back in, dragging their hapless lot of me in tow behind them.
I’d never been kissed fully on the mouth by a man before, and, I was determined I wouldn’t be again, in whatever life I had coming to me. I didn’t like it one little bit, and, I hadn’t thought it was necessary. At the time, however, I had no strength with which to fight off his unwarranted and uninvited oral advances. As I walked shakily back along the beach toward my apartment I wondered whether I threw up because my lungs and stomach had unsuccessfully tried to fool my body into believing salt water was fresh water, or because of the absolute horror of being deeply French-kissed by a bloody man. Either way, I felt better-not great, but definitely better.
They had wanted to get me an ambulance, but when they’d seen how quickly the fighting life came back into me while my rescuer had tried to bury my head into the wet sand with the sheer power of his Mick-Jagger-lips alone, they figured their waterlogged phoenix had indeed risen from the ashes of the pounding surf and would probably live after all.
After thanking the big man I never wanted to see in person again in this or any other lifetime, I had been helped to my very unsteady feet and had stumbled off erratically in the direction that had seemed familiar to me at the time. Luckily for me my feet had known the way home. My conscious awareness had caught up with my feet after about a hundred unremembered yards later.
I had wanted to be. I’d left Tina standing at the end of my bed with instructions to stay there and wait until I returned, but after first telling her not to open her mouth or say one more single word or I’d hit her. At the time I’d meant it, too. I’d angrily strode past her, intending to walk along the beach, just to collect my chaotic thoughts. My mind had been numb after the past two days and events had taken their ultimate toll of whatever rational sanity I might have begun that time period with, but when Tina had told me she had been married to me for twenty years, my thoughts had somehow refused to function or focus on anything other than I had to get out of there and just be… and I had, albeit nearly drowning myself in the process.
Now, as I felt my strength returning, I knew what I hadn’t known all along-that Tina had not been the mule-I was. Somehow, I sensed somewhere inside of me that she had told me the truth, finally, and that I was, indeed, married to her, and had been for twenty years or so. I now accepted that. I didn’t wonder about it at all, knowing that she’d tell me the whole story when I arrived back home. And I wasn’t surprised that I wasn’t wondering about it. I just wasn’t. My inner mind, I figured now, or one of them, anyway, had told my outer mind to just stop thinking about everything; that there was, indeed, a good reason for it all-a rational reason that would make sense to me, once I knew what it was. I wasn’t out of it as I walked steadily along the sand looking down at it, and I wasn’t into it, either. I just accepted that everything would work out somehow. That’s all.
I began to become curious about that sand as it passed beneath each step I took. I slowed and finally stopped, just looking down at it, at all the tiny individual grains that combined together densely enough and worked together so closely as to form a team of sand of such depth and width, and to be so strong, that a human being of my size and weight could actually walk on it and not fall through it.
Then I knelt down and ran my fingers through its firm, dense wetness, scooping a handful into the palm of my right hand as I did so. I felt it and squeezed it. It was cool. It was loose, but each individual grain was so strong, I found, that I couldn’t crush it for the life of me. In fact, I had trouble just grasping one grain on its own to even try. My fingers seemed to be shaking like a leaf. I closed my eyes, knowing what had happened, what was now beginning to happen, and what was most likely going to happen any second now. And then it did. I noticed it. I saw it. I was watched curiously, but I didn’t feel it as my face fell forward with my body following, until hard, wet sand and soft face met painlessly and soundlessly head-on.
Going into shock fully then I lay there looking curiously at the sand directly in front of my eyes. Then somebody suddenly turned out all my lights at once.