Trickster
An uninvited trickster visited me last night. I saw her eating birdseed on my welcome mat, black shoe button eyes glinting in the night, and the moon lighting up pink ears. She didn’t even flinch as I approached.
I was not surprised. I’ve been reading about tricksters. Just when you think you have it all sorted, the trickster comes along to mock your righteousness.
Tricksters have a place in society, but we banish them here because they challenge our dearest beliefs, and we, in the US of A, are pretty attached to our beliefs. One of my favorite podcasters, Joshua Schrei, warns us that tricksters will piss on our most sacred statues. And the more I convince myself that my statue is better than yours, the more I set myself up for an unpleasant visit from the trickster, reminding me think outside my own box.
Tricksters are hungry for attention. Other cultures keep the tricksters in check by INVITING them to the most reverent of gatherings, allowing them to insult and cajole, reminding everybody the human ego is not so omnipotent.
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I don’t care for any joker who puts himself on a throne, but I also didn’t like what was happening before, and I wonder if we’ve all become a little too sure of what we hate, versus the love we stand for. We might be setting ourselves up for a trickster takedown.
When I think about the Hands Off protest on Saturday, I know it’s time to get clear about how I am polarizing myself, leaning off center into what I don’t want, while forgetting what I do want. Where have I been anchoring myself in opposition lately, rather than intention?
There are forces at play that I don’t understand nor have any control over, and the more I pretend to know, the more I’m setting myself up for a dropkick from the trickster.
In the meantime, I think I’ll sweep up my birdseed.
