I was south of Big Sur on a solitary excursion when I saw a mule walking the ridge of coastal hills just west of me. He was by himself, without a lead, and he was walking slowly with measured, deliberate steps. His head was bent toward the ground, and his back was maintaining a slight arch to withstand the volume of supplies he was carrying. His appearance there didn't make any sense with no guide, or nomad tribe to serve. I drove a few miles ahead, pulled over, and waited.
It took over 30 minutes for him to
travel the short distance between us,
I examined his cargo. It didn't make sense. Instead of having one large wrapping of gear like you'd expect to see for one rider, he had layers. Each layer was distinct from the next in the same way the artifacts of geological time are in the exposed narrative of an exposed cliff. There were over ten distinct layers which meant ten individuals, or ten separate tribes, had placed their necessities over the thin blanket that I assumed was his. He stared at me for the longest time before it occurred to me what he was doing.
"Oh, no, no, no," I said, "I didn't stop here to place something more upon your back. I was concerned to see that you were shouldering so much, and wanted to know if I could assist."
"You stopped to see if you could take some of this upon your shoulders for a distance?"
"Well...not exactly," I said. I just wanted to see if you needed help taking some off. You know, reduce your load a bit."
"There are people, entire families, expecting these things by night fall. If I peel them off, who will pick them up, and get them there?"
"I hadn't considered that," I said.
"Those focused on lightening their own loads never do," he said. I nodded in agreement.
"Can I offer you some water, at least?"
"You may," he said. I kicked a small divet into the earth with my heal and poured some Crystal Geyser in, until the divet was full.
"Does it bother you that they do that?" I asked.
"Do what?"
"You know, use you that way. Dump their baggage on you, and leave you alone to carry it all."
"It used to, until it didn't, " he said.
I cocked my head in confusion, and he started back on his journey.
"One day, as I was carrying a load for 4 or 5 different families, it occurred to me that the reason they were dumping their loads on my back, was that I'm designed to carry it. When I understood that, I understood the honor in what I do. And I knew they did as well. It makes no sense to argue with the assignment you're given when you realize your assignment is one others depend upon."
And he was gone.
Fucking brilliant mule, man. Fucking brilliant.
I considered every word the brilliant mule said. I appreciated him because he answered the one, primary question I carry into any new encounter with someone I'm getting to know, man or woman, or mule:
"Are they self-aware?"
You a wear a me?
I know that true self-awareness isn't about an individual's desire to be understood by others. It's about a deep desire to know them, instead.
Anyone versed in the excavation of insight can tell you that when you begin to see yourself for who you really are, in the composite complexity of intertwined threads of dark and light, you no longer care what others think. You become acutely aware that their need to name you is the solution they arrived at to confront the fear of facing themselves. Getting angry at their base meanness slowly changes its shape to sorrow, and you feel pity on them for the safety that defines their life.
We have the ability to understand, and explain many things that we encounter in this world, with this life, but we have a singular capacity to enter just one: The Self.
If you've done that, even just a little, the fallacy of knowing anything else has been revealed. Everything we need to know about how to behave, or connect, or assist, or preserve, or to fight, or to love is waiting to be found just beneath the surface of who we claim we are.
You cannot have a genuine understanding, or acceptance of self, and continue to hate. You can not arrive at the forgiveness you find for what you have failed to enact justly, and not extend that forgiveness to anyone who left a bruise on you.
There is only one flaw in how we were designed,
and it's in the agreement we make to allow fear
to take residency within us.
Fear of what can only help you if you face it.
Fear of what can only draw you closer to others if you can admit yourself to them.
I'm dumbfounded, still, by the energy, and time, we devote to assigning our stories to the people who's stories are already too large to carry.
But we do.
We see their ability to shoulder the burden of everything we refuse to acknowledge in ourselves, so we lay our load on top of theirs without any concern for the weight that they're under.
The fear we carry, the fear that prompted that action, has the power to negate the profound depth we hold for compassion.
If you're going to be afraid of something, fear that.
Fucking brilliant mule, man.
Fucking brilliant.
