Playing the Trickster
Within the mythology of nearly all cultures there exists this whimsical character known by such names as Hermes, Coyote, and Mercury, but always playing the role of the Trickster. In his book “Trickster Makes this World”, Lewis Hyde speaks of Trickster as:
They are the lords of the in between. A trickster does not live near the hearth; he does not live in the halls of justice, the soldier’s tent, the shamans hut, the monastery. He passes through each of these when there is a moment of silence and he enlivens each with mischief, but he is not their guiding spirit. He is the spirit of the doorway leading out, and the crossroad at the edge of town (the one where a little market springs up). He is the spirit of the road at dusk, the one that runs from one town to another but belongs to neither.
In short, trickster is a boundary-crosser. Every group has its edge, its sense of in and out, and tricksters are always there, at the gates of the city and at the gates of life, making sure there is commerce. He also attends the internal boundaries by which groups articulate their social life. We constantly distinguish-right and wrong, sacred and profane, clean and dirty, male and female, young and old, living and dead-and in every case trickster will cross the line and confuse the distinction. Trickster is the creative idiot, therefore the wise fool, the gray-haired baby, the cross dresser, the speaker of sacred profanities. Where someone’s sense of honorable behavior has left him unable to act, trickster will appear to suggest an amoral action, something right/wrong that will get life going again. Trickster is the mythic embodiment of ambiguity and ambivalence, doubleness and duplicity, contradiction and paradox.
In my mind’s eye, Trickster looks like the bumbling belled jester, being guffawed at as the buffoon, all the time smirking slyly under his tasseled hat at the knowledge that he is indeed in control. He is rude, raunchy, unpredictable, unreliable and perhaps even unproductive. If Trickster were in a school classroom, he might well be labeled as the class clown, a bad seed, a trouble-maker. But, in spite of this perception, he is one who can easily swallow his pride because deep within, his behemothic confidence relinquishes all derision. I see him wit-fully and creatively showing that the boundaries in our lives are something that we have made up and that they can (and perhaps should) be changed. He cares not what others think of him because he has a greater purpose that may rarely ever be seen; but when perceived, it is a remarkable awakening.
One of my favorite Trickster stories is from the Islamic poet Rumi. The story goes like this...
A dervish knocked at a house to ask for a piece of dry bread, or moist, it didn’t matter.
“This is not a bakery”, said the owner.
“Might you have a piece of gristle then?”
“Does this look like a butcher shop?”
“A little flour?”
“Do you hear a grinding wheel?”
“Some water?”
“This is not a well.”
Whatever the dervish asked for, the man made some tired joke and refused to give him anything. Finally, the dervish ran into the house, lifted his robe, and squatted
to take a shit.
“Hey, hey!”
Quiet you sad man. A deserted place is a fine spot to relieve oneself, and since there’s no living thing here, or means of living, it needs fertilizing.”
The dervish began his own list of questions and answers.
“What kind of bird are you? Not a falcon, trained for the royal hand. Not a peacock, painted with everyone’s eyes. Not a parrot, that talks for sugar cubes. Not a nightingale, that sings like someone in love. Not a hoopoe bringing messages to Solomon, or a stork that builds on a Cliffside. What exactly do you do? You are no known species. You haggle and make jokes to keep what you own for yourself. You have forgotten the One who doesn’t care about ownership, who doesn’t try to turn a profit from every human exchange.”
As a teen, I was commonly labeled as a class clown (I think I still have the ribbon from 1980 to prove it), as an “anti-establishment type”, or as one who likes to “stir up trouble”. Perhaps that was just my adolescent nature, so often common in us at the know-it-all early teen-ages. But perhaps I have always had a bit of the dervish in me, with that wry twinkle in my eye that says, “I see where you might view me as rude, raunchy, unpredictable, unreliable and perhaps even unproductive, but I know it is there for a purpose.” Shortly after entering college, I dove into the world of the arts, finally finding a “voice” for the trickster deep within. And oh, what a tool art can be to play the Trickster.
As an adult, I have come to see that I am never comfortable with normalcy, always longing for change, and learning to consistently ask the large “why” questions. That “stir up trouble” nature, once refined (although few might call me refined), becomes more aptly recognized as Trickster. To those that embrace their boundaries, this often is misunderstood as obnoxious, annoying, offensive, even threatening. But to those who long for freedom, Trickster makes this world.
A few years ago, after having sat in several leadership meetings with my Principal, he stopped by my room and paid me what I considered to be one of the greatest compliments of my life. He said, “I really appreciate you. You have the ability to make people think about things differently.” I smiled, thanked him for the kind words and, in the solitude of my mind heard a little voice say, “Playing the Trickster…”
Come along and play with me…
An audio conversation with Lewis Hyde, the author of “Trickster Makes this World: Mischief,Myth and Art” can be found at
<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSka5bcKaqAl>
They are the lords of the in between. A trickster does not live near the hearth; he does not live in the halls of justice, the soldier’s tent, the shamans hut, the monastery. He passes through each of these when there is a moment of silence and he enlivens each with mischief, but he is not their guiding spirit. He is the spirit of the doorway leading out, and the crossroad at the edge of town (the one where a little market springs up). He is the spirit of the road at dusk, the one that runs from one town to another but belongs to neither.
In short, trickster is a boundary-crosser. Every group has its edge, its sense of in and out, and tricksters are always there, at the gates of the city and at the gates of life, making sure there is commerce. He also attends the internal boundaries by which groups articulate their social life. We constantly distinguish-right and wrong, sacred and profane, clean and dirty, male and female, young and old, living and dead-and in every case trickster will cross the line and confuse the distinction. Trickster is the creative idiot, therefore the wise fool, the gray-haired baby, the cross dresser, the speaker of sacred profanities. Where someone’s sense of honorable behavior has left him unable to act, trickster will appear to suggest an amoral action, something right/wrong that will get life going again. Trickster is the mythic embodiment of ambiguity and ambivalence, doubleness and duplicity, contradiction and paradox.
In my mind’s eye, Trickster looks like the bumbling belled jester, being guffawed at as the buffoon, all the time smirking slyly under his tasseled hat at the knowledge that he is indeed in control. He is rude, raunchy, unpredictable, unreliable and perhaps even unproductive. If Trickster were in a school classroom, he might well be labeled as the class clown, a bad seed, a trouble-maker. But, in spite of this perception, he is one who can easily swallow his pride because deep within, his behemothic confidence relinquishes all derision. I see him wit-fully and creatively showing that the boundaries in our lives are something that we have made up and that they can (and perhaps should) be changed. He cares not what others think of him because he has a greater purpose that may rarely ever be seen; but when perceived, it is a remarkable awakening.
One of my favorite Trickster stories is from the Islamic poet Rumi. The story goes like this...
A dervish knocked at a house to ask for a piece of dry bread, or moist, it didn’t matter.
“This is not a bakery”, said the owner.
“Might you have a piece of gristle then?”
“Does this look like a butcher shop?”
“A little flour?”
“Do you hear a grinding wheel?”
“Some water?”
“This is not a well.”
Whatever the dervish asked for, the man made some tired joke and refused to give him anything. Finally, the dervish ran into the house, lifted his robe, and squatted
to take a shit.
“Hey, hey!”
Quiet you sad man. A deserted place is a fine spot to relieve oneself, and since there’s no living thing here, or means of living, it needs fertilizing.”
The dervish began his own list of questions and answers.
“What kind of bird are you? Not a falcon, trained for the royal hand. Not a peacock, painted with everyone’s eyes. Not a parrot, that talks for sugar cubes. Not a nightingale, that sings like someone in love. Not a hoopoe bringing messages to Solomon, or a stork that builds on a Cliffside. What exactly do you do? You are no known species. You haggle and make jokes to keep what you own for yourself. You have forgotten the One who doesn’t care about ownership, who doesn’t try to turn a profit from every human exchange.”
As a teen, I was commonly labeled as a class clown (I think I still have the ribbon from 1980 to prove it), as an “anti-establishment type”, or as one who likes to “stir up trouble”. Perhaps that was just my adolescent nature, so often common in us at the know-it-all early teen-ages. But perhaps I have always had a bit of the dervish in me, with that wry twinkle in my eye that says, “I see where you might view me as rude, raunchy, unpredictable, unreliable and perhaps even unproductive, but I know it is there for a purpose.” Shortly after entering college, I dove into the world of the arts, finally finding a “voice” for the trickster deep within. And oh, what a tool art can be to play the Trickster.
As an adult, I have come to see that I am never comfortable with normalcy, always longing for change, and learning to consistently ask the large “why” questions. That “stir up trouble” nature, once refined (although few might call me refined), becomes more aptly recognized as Trickster. To those that embrace their boundaries, this often is misunderstood as obnoxious, annoying, offensive, even threatening. But to those who long for freedom, Trickster makes this world.
A few years ago, after having sat in several leadership meetings with my Principal, he stopped by my room and paid me what I considered to be one of the greatest compliments of my life. He said, “I really appreciate you. You have the ability to make people think about things differently.” I smiled, thanked him for the kind words and, in the solitude of my mind heard a little voice say, “Playing the Trickster…”
Come along and play with me…
An audio conversation with Lewis Hyde, the author of “Trickster Makes this World: Mischief,Myth and Art” can be found at
<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSka5bcKaqAl>
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