life | Sharing Trickster's Hoard

This morning, a beautiful fog dimmed colors, softened outlines, made the world a more mysterious place seemingly full of hidden possibilities. I have never lived in a place where fogs were a common occurrence and so they seem special, dream-like, alive with unknowing.

My health has continued to decline. As my physical energy drains away, my thinking is becoming slower and foggier. I create less & sleep and bury myself in novels more. I still feel delight and amazement and curiosity, but in a dampened, reduced way. I seem to have entered a new way of being — one that I would not have chosen.

But this morning, as I saw the fog, I was called outside to enjoy being a part of it, The bird songs were not lessened but even felt somewhat intensified as the visual experience softened. I suddenly realized that I could look at my own interior “foggy” state in a different way, perhaps a way that can revive and heighten my sense of joy. Today’s gift of fog reminded me that it is all a part of the Mystery. And how we choose and use the metaphors for our existence can make a tremendous difference in our experience of life.

I will explore and play with this — And already my curiosity is brightened as I ask myself “What if…?”

During the last month, I have taken occasional Expressive Arts classes — where the emphasis is on personal process and experience rather than outcome. The class I enjoyed most focused on mark-making. I was reminded of a long ago class with the artist Rosamond Casey in which she quoted someone as saying “Every time you make a mark you change the world.”

As did Ros, my current teacher Betsy Bevan began by inviting us to make quick marks (lines, not drawings) to show our feelings in response to prompts such as chaos, serenity, fear, etc. It was a delightful limbering-up exercise for hands, fingers, and imagination. We were all fascinated by the marks we had made and by their similarities to & differences from those of our classmates. Then we were invited to simply make marks as we liked on a blank sheet of paper. I immediately discovered that what my hand liked doing was making curving, organic, upward sweeps. It just felt so good! Out of the jumble, a tree emerged. And out of the tree, figures emerged. There was no planning, no thinking, just movements in response to movements, marks in response to marks. I could never have drawn this if I’d tried to work from a concept. And I would never have discovered so much about myself and my feelings as I did by waiting to look at it after my hand felt complete.

In his remarkable (and much beloved) poem “The Layers,” Stanley Kunitz writes:

" Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes."

"In a time of destruction, create something.
 A poem.  A parade.  A community.  A school. 
 A vow.  A moral principle. 
 One peaceful moment."

                                          ~~~ Maxine Hong Kingston

There was  -- as I explained in my first post 4-1/2 years ago -- a reason why I named this blog Trickster's Hoard:

“Trickster Spirit is a paradox. Whatever you can say about him, the opposite is also true. For example, among the Akan-Ashanti of West Africa, the Trickster (Anansi, the Spider) not only scattered the world’s Wisdom among the people but also, in other stories, brought the people Disease and Death. Among the Diné of the American Southwest, Trickster (Ma’i, Coyote) is a source of both healing and witchcraft.

So, is he a culture hero? Yes. Or the source of trouble? Yes. Or a character in instructive morality tales? Yes. On & on… The only things I might dare say about Trickster are that he is insatiably hungry, insatiably curious, and an inveterate boundary-crosser and transformer. In many of his stories, Trickster brings things out of hiding or tricks others into giving them to him. Then, most often (as in next week’s story), Trickster inadvertently spills his cherished hoard out into the world.

Hence, this blog. For far too long, I’ve kept my weavings of words, fiber, and ideas safely hidden in closed boxes. Now, in response to Trickster’s prodding , I’ll open some of those boxes, spill out the contents, and see what happens.”

But for the last months, I have been hoarding again.

I have taken photos to share, entertained ideas, even — occasionally — found words. But I have kept the coffer sealed, waiting for some unimagined “perfect” moment. And the result has been, of course, stagnation and inertia — the very things that Trickster abhors. And so he has come again to poke at the walls I have built around myself. There are cracks. And through them I hear his croaks and howls and the sound of his flute calling me to come out & join the dance once more.

Oh, the importance of cracks! That’s where a seed might find soil to grow or (thank you, Leonard Cohen!) where the light may get into a darkened space, a darkened time. As Cohen councils,

“Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering.”

So here is my imperfect offering.

A large part of my problem has been not knowing what the purpose of this space wants to be. I am — as I’m sure you are too — filled with frustration, rage, and abiding grief at so much that is happening in our world. It seems impossible for me to write without reference to all the on-going destruction on so many levels. We do need to be aware of the negative forces that are rampant, so that we can understand them, resist them, and work towards healing.

There are many ways to begin the healing, even in the midst of the onslaught.

An African proverb reminds us:

The times are urgent.
Slow down.

How am I to begin imagining a better way of being if I am not actually “present” in my own body as it is, if I am not attentive to the small things that compose my current world?

And how will I find strength to move towards the enlivening future I’ve envisioned if I cannot draw energy from the good that –nevertheless — persists here and now, if I cannot find joy in the beauty that exists, if I cannot allow myself delight in a moment?

"The call to slow down works to bring us face to face with the invisible, the hidden, the unremarked, the yet-to-be-resolved. Sometimes, what is the appropriate thing to do is not the effective thing to do."   -- Bayo Akomolafe

While I ponder Akomolafe’s statement, I’ll continue to find joy in the rowdy colors of summer flowers in my front yard and in those they feed.

Including, of course, the brilliant goldfinches who forsake the bird feeder to pull petals off the flowers, digging out the seedlets beginning to form beneath.