Dear Friends,

Ages have passed since I last posted. Being a social hermit suits me, I find. One of the beautiful aspects of the aging process is the clear understanding that we all have to live according to our own unique rhythm and style — even, or perhaps especially, in the midst of global upheaval and change.

Just a few moments ago, I felt a tap on my heart to share the bonus section I added to the 2nd edition of my book My Life as a Mule, and so I shall. I realize that my book is a strange creation to most readers . . . and yet, I could not have written it any other way.

May the *Eagle’s wise words bring you solace and hope.

With warm Aloha,

* Sj *

*Below in bold.

The counselor gently tugged the Mare’s mane. Her reaction—to roll onto her other side while remaining asleep—effectively pushed Miss Betsy off the narrow bed and onto the aged pine floor.

“Molly,” the Rabbit persisted, “you need to wake up.” Again, Miss Betsy tumbled to the floor.

The third try charmed Molly into opening her eyes. “Minnie?” she asked, yawning until the counselor clearly saw that this camper had ample room for wisdom teeth.

“It’s Miss Betsy,” she whispered. “I need for you to quietly get out of bed. Please don’t awaken the others. I’ll explain everything outside.”

She quickly hopped out the door and waited for Molly to join her.

As Molly wiped the sleep from her eyes, Miss Betsy spelled out what was happening: One, you’re the Indian Princess for Cabin Six; two, you are not to speak or the title will be revoked; three, the ceremony will take place at the campfire.

Speckles of light fell through the trees joining a swarm of fireflies. A silent parade traipsed through the freckled woods, heading towards a distant burnt-orange glow where Butch stood at the end of the trail waving a lamp for all to see. One-by-one he steered the solemn marchers towards the logs. Once seated, he too joined them in facing the hot blue fire.

Steam from the day’s earlier downpour filled the hollow basin, matching the fog in Molly’s mind. The somber group waited in silence until the great Eagle stepped through the mist. His wings, spread wide, flapped slowly, clearing the air and sending warmth on the cool summer night to the yawning campers.

“Indian Princess, hear me. Look not to this world. Its signposts have been marred with time. Look to the heavens and go within. All that you seek, you already possess. The earth is our Mother. Nature, our family. Treat one another with respect.

Compassion is your Queen, be worthy. Kindness your King, honor him.

As part of the whole, there is no other you. Play your role well.

Live, breathe, and soar. Though the ground may pull, the power of flight is yours.

Trust in yourself and all that is.

Secret Handshakes are a fool’s game. Do you hear my words?”

Yes, the novices nodded.

“Then remember, be who you are, and accept others the same.

At each passing year, trade your shoes for a day with those of another. Feel their pain and discover it is yours. Feel their sorrow and know your own grief. Rejoice in our connection. Together we are one.

Now go. Live the life you are meant to live, and show others the way.”

Molly must have returned to her cabin with Miss Betsy, though she did not remember. What lingered was a feeling of responsibility, for her actions, words and dreams.

We’re connected. I must remember . . .

Excerpt from My Life as a Mule: a fictionalized memoir or a memoir with a twist by Sj Hylton LeHoven, 2nd edition