Restoring the Wisdom of Myth to Culture & Community
Trickster Wisdom & Looking for Roots
The following is adapted from an essay I wrote for a training manual on working with youth.
When asked how we attract young people into soul work—be it heartfull-language, rites of passage, a storytelling, or ritual—I think of Trickster. We have an appalling lack of Trickster energy in this culture due to a widespread aversion to lived paradox. That is, abstract and conceptual paradox is fine, perhaps considered enlightened, erudite, even entertaining. But lived paradox, like Trickster, is messy, ambiguous, shape-shifting; providing an apt description of the adolescent condition. Hence, meeting some form of Trickster may be helpful—as Deldon Anne McNeely writes:
Lucky is the adolescent who comes under the influence of an adult with a healthy dose of Trickster available in their psyche… to laugh at oneself without too much shame, to role-play, to experiment with a variety of identities… with humor and a more life-affirming perspective.
Trickster embodies paradox. If we hope to effectively work with young people we will need all the psychological maturity we can gather—maturity arises in the capacity to sustain and endure paradox.
Cultivating some Trickster energy of our own, will make us more attractive to adolescents; and perhaps open our eyes to all that is attractive to them. It’s also clear that the old Trickster myths offer adolescents a different perspective on their own statusless-status, their betwixt-and-between condition, suggesting to them that adolescence itself may be something truly important and powerful.
Of course, inviting the neighborhood boys to come for story night won’t get much attention, rather we might say, “we’ve got a bunch of bows and arrows, and were going to do archery Saturday afternoon and then build a big-ass fire.” So maybe six guys show up, and learn to hit something with an arrow. Talking happens, but the main thing is we’re doing something, there’s action going on, and the talk is peripheral. When it comes time to lay the wood and make a fire, instead of pulling out a match, or lighter, one man brings out a bow-drill, and begins diligently with, silent prayers, to call a tiny smoldering coal out of the wood. First seeing the smoke and then the tinder ignite, if we’re lucky, a boy will say, “could I do that?” Quickly dousing the flame, the man begins to offer instruction. An hour or more later half the boys have attempted and maybe succeeded in calling a flame. At last the fragile bundle of burning tinder is pushed into the heart of the perfectly arranged tepee of kindling, and the fire climbs into its full glory. Something primal and sacred has happened—no words needed. Once the fire settles, at the right moment, another man says, “how ‘bout a story.” And then I give a story, with drum, voice, and heart. In the end when asked, “do you guys wanna do this again?” everyone agrees, “yes!”
A number of important things occurred here: first (because I’ve invoked Trickster) did we trick the boys? I say no. We were tricky, and we used cunning to make this happen, but we never lied or fooled them. Second, through the telling of myths, and later poems, we begin to develop an image laden group-language. After hearing many stories and many poems—as Robert Bly has it, “storing up the granary of images”—it is always amazing and delightful to listen to a young one speak of his life from his own heart, eloquently weaving threads of story and poem that have become land-marks in the vast territory of his soul’s life.
The third thing which occurred is something that runs invisibly through the background of the whole event: the boys experienced the authority of the men without anyone asserting it; this is the trickiest thing of all and must be explored at length.
In modern society young people have a long-learned inexpressible sense that grownups are not the same thing as adults. Many teenagers have lived all their lives without encountering an authentic adult. They know there’s something missing in the grownups, they don’t know what it is, and deep down they feel betrayed by the adult world for not showing up at that critical moment when genuine adult contact is needed.
This circumstance makes it very difficult for young people to enter deeply into situations where authority must be present. The gathering of boys described above is a first event, but what we hope for is to go deeper and eventually enter territories where boundaries must be held, and someone has to say “ok, stop! we’re not going that far." It may seem easier to just be pals—but if you’re doing initiation, or mentoring, just being pals will not work. If a grown up person is less psychologically mature than a young person, it is impossible for the young one to receive any real food from the older one. If we succumb to the temptation to earn approval from the young ones who we hope to reach we will fail. Hence, at both ends of the two way street each of us—grownup and teen, woman and girl, man and boy—separately face the same problem/opportunity.
In The Sibling Society Robert Bly describes the devastating effects of life in a culture that refuses adulthood and adult authority: “Adults regress toward adolescence; and adolescents—seeing that—have no desire to become adults.” Thus, the primary challenge to any opening between grownups and youths is mistrust of authority. Ironically, mistrust of authority is precisely what keeps grownups from becoming adults: we abdicate our own interior authority in favor of earning approval and at times we seize gratuitous authority—we all know it, many of us do it, and everyone hates it.
Mistrust of authority is a chronic illness overwhelming modern society. Yet, ultimately, earning approval as a substitute or diversion doesn’t work—it makes us sick. Soon enough we go off hunting for more—because approval is an addictive substance, and as such, it is a substitute satisfaction for (or what Caroline Casey would call the “toxic mimic” of) a natural desire to receive confirmation in and of the soul.
Whether trying to accept your own interior authority, or walk the ground of another’s, the best advice I know is this: before you look up, look down, look for the roots—that’s where authenticity comes from. False authority is a rootless tree looming over us with no connection to the earth—it’s not alive. To have authenticity we need deep roots reaching down to what Martín Prechtel calls “the indigenous soul.” The indigenous soul is not interested in mere approval; it will accept no substitute for the rooted ceremonies of confirmation bestowed upon the soul by elders who are looking eagerly to call forth and give praise to the strangely-beautiful-one-of-a-kind qualities of soul that come into the world as a gift only through this one unique individual person. We all long for this, and even if we never got it, we have to learn to give it to those who need it most: the boys and girls, the young men and young women in our village.
Long after that first event those boys, now young adults, are still in my life. I am deeply grateful for the many things they’ve taught me, grateful that each one once granted four men authority to guide them across that dark initiatory bridge, grateful because they know the authority of the old indigenous stories and grandfather fire, grateful for how well they live. Today they come for companionship, they come when there is trouble and when times are good—and yes, they still come for stories.
When asked how we attract young people into soul work—be it heartfull-language, rites of passage, a storytelling, or ritual—I think of Trickster. We have an appalling lack of Trickster energy in this culture due to a widespread aversion to lived paradox. That is, abstract and conceptual paradox is fine, perhaps considered enlightened, erudite, even entertaining. But lived paradox, like Trickster, is messy, ambiguous, shape-shifting; providing an apt description of the adolescent condition. Hence, meeting some form of Trickster may be helpful—as Deldon Anne McNeely writes:
Lucky is the adolescent who comes under the influence of an adult with a healthy dose of Trickster available in their psyche… to laugh at oneself without too much shame, to role-play, to experiment with a variety of identities… with humor and a more life-affirming perspective.
Trickster embodies paradox. If we hope to effectively work with young people we will need all the psychological maturity we can gather—maturity arises in the capacity to sustain and endure paradox.
Cultivating some Trickster energy of our own, will make us more attractive to adolescents; and perhaps open our eyes to all that is attractive to them. It’s also clear that the old Trickster myths offer adolescents a different perspective on their own statusless-status, their betwixt-and-between condition, suggesting to them that adolescence itself may be something truly important and powerful.
Of course, inviting the neighborhood boys to come for story night won’t get much attention, rather we might say, “we’ve got a bunch of bows and arrows, and were going to do archery Saturday afternoon and then build a big-ass fire.” So maybe six guys show up, and learn to hit something with an arrow. Talking happens, but the main thing is we’re doing something, there’s action going on, and the talk is peripheral. When it comes time to lay the wood and make a fire, instead of pulling out a match, or lighter, one man brings out a bow-drill, and begins diligently with, silent prayers, to call a tiny smoldering coal out of the wood. First seeing the smoke and then the tinder ignite, if we’re lucky, a boy will say, “could I do that?” Quickly dousing the flame, the man begins to offer instruction. An hour or more later half the boys have attempted and maybe succeeded in calling a flame. At last the fragile bundle of burning tinder is pushed into the heart of the perfectly arranged tepee of kindling, and the fire climbs into its full glory. Something primal and sacred has happened—no words needed. Once the fire settles, at the right moment, another man says, “how ‘bout a story.” And then I give a story, with drum, voice, and heart. In the end when asked, “do you guys wanna do this again?” everyone agrees, “yes!”
A number of important things occurred here: first (because I’ve invoked Trickster) did we trick the boys? I say no. We were tricky, and we used cunning to make this happen, but we never lied or fooled them. Second, through the telling of myths, and later poems, we begin to develop an image laden group-language. After hearing many stories and many poems—as Robert Bly has it, “storing up the granary of images”—it is always amazing and delightful to listen to a young one speak of his life from his own heart, eloquently weaving threads of story and poem that have become land-marks in the vast territory of his soul’s life.
The third thing which occurred is something that runs invisibly through the background of the whole event: the boys experienced the authority of the men without anyone asserting it; this is the trickiest thing of all and must be explored at length.
In modern society young people have a long-learned inexpressible sense that grownups are not the same thing as adults. Many teenagers have lived all their lives without encountering an authentic adult. They know there’s something missing in the grownups, they don’t know what it is, and deep down they feel betrayed by the adult world for not showing up at that critical moment when genuine adult contact is needed.
This circumstance makes it very difficult for young people to enter deeply into situations where authority must be present. The gathering of boys described above is a first event, but what we hope for is to go deeper and eventually enter territories where boundaries must be held, and someone has to say “ok, stop! we’re not going that far." It may seem easier to just be pals—but if you’re doing initiation, or mentoring, just being pals will not work. If a grown up person is less psychologically mature than a young person, it is impossible for the young one to receive any real food from the older one. If we succumb to the temptation to earn approval from the young ones who we hope to reach we will fail. Hence, at both ends of the two way street each of us—grownup and teen, woman and girl, man and boy—separately face the same problem/opportunity.
In The Sibling Society Robert Bly describes the devastating effects of life in a culture that refuses adulthood and adult authority: “Adults regress toward adolescence; and adolescents—seeing that—have no desire to become adults.” Thus, the primary challenge to any opening between grownups and youths is mistrust of authority. Ironically, mistrust of authority is precisely what keeps grownups from becoming adults: we abdicate our own interior authority in favor of earning approval and at times we seize gratuitous authority—we all know it, many of us do it, and everyone hates it.
Mistrust of authority is a chronic illness overwhelming modern society. Yet, ultimately, earning approval as a substitute or diversion doesn’t work—it makes us sick. Soon enough we go off hunting for more—because approval is an addictive substance, and as such, it is a substitute satisfaction for (or what Caroline Casey would call the “toxic mimic” of) a natural desire to receive confirmation in and of the soul.
Whether trying to accept your own interior authority, or walk the ground of another’s, the best advice I know is this: before you look up, look down, look for the roots—that’s where authenticity comes from. False authority is a rootless tree looming over us with no connection to the earth—it’s not alive. To have authenticity we need deep roots reaching down to what Martín Prechtel calls “the indigenous soul.” The indigenous soul is not interested in mere approval; it will accept no substitute for the rooted ceremonies of confirmation bestowed upon the soul by elders who are looking eagerly to call forth and give praise to the strangely-beautiful-one-of-a-kind qualities of soul that come into the world as a gift only through this one unique individual person. We all long for this, and even if we never got it, we have to learn to give it to those who need it most: the boys and girls, the young men and young women in our village.
Long after that first event those boys, now young adults, are still in my life. I am deeply grateful for the many things they’ve taught me, grateful that each one once granted four men authority to guide them across that dark initiatory bridge, grateful because they know the authority of the old indigenous stories and grandfather fire, grateful for how well they live. Today they come for companionship, they come when there is trouble and when times are good—and yes, they still come for stories.
Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Michael Scott Brooks on -
That's beautiful Danny ... and absolutely spot on.
I'm encouraged by what you have to say about the relationship between young people and mentors. When I went out into the woods to work with the Journeys program, I always kept three things in mind 1) I am not here to be anyone's friend 2) The kids are not here for me; I am here for the kids and 3) To ally my self with their highest self, being ever watchful for the signs and portents of their own unique genius (not so ironically this last one occasionally put me at odds with their egos and the internalized/unquestioned expectations and beliefs that are a part of our cultural heritage).
I think that we must always remember that a part of our job description as adults is to be in service to young people, even and especially when it appears to pit us against them. I'm not talking about "tough love," which is often nothing more than a cloaking device for shoveling shame onto the next generation. Nor am I talking about an outside agenda for their lives. I'm talking about paying attention and being faithful to the essence of their being, even when it means quite the opposite of meeting with approval.
I like this phrase here:
"In modern society young people have a long-learned inexpressible sense that grownups are not the same thing as adults. Many teenagers have lived all their lives without encountering an authentic adult. They know there’s something missing in the grownups, they don’t know what it is, and deep down they feel betrayed by the adult world for not showing up at that critical moment when genuine adult contact is needed." ...
That pretty much sums up my experience growing up. Yes, the whole dynamic gives rise to a very deep distrust.
To me, the movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers, speaks most viscerally about the instinctual fear of assimilation by that which is not authentically alive. I remember thinking - no vowing - never to "become like them"... a kind of "adult" resistance movement took root in my body ... and I spent much of my late twenties and early thirties disarming from that Peter Pan build up. The damage of this intergenerational arms race is devastating, with one tragically karmic casualty being the abandonment of our elders, which eventually; like an unconscious boomerang loosed from our own hand, ultimately comes back to strike us in the head. In this, I see a connection between what you have posted here and the previous discussion about elders and olders. The bumper sticker "Be kind to your children ... They will choose your rest home" comes to mind as an expression of how this society has come to fear the next generation. Abandonment begets abandonment. Having lasted for several generations, this has become something of a tradition in our country. I sense a kind of extortion at work there ... a competition between generations, with the battle for approval playing a key role in the power struggle for The Sibling Society.
To me, this is where the hope lies:
"We all long for this (rooted ceremonies of confirmation) , and even if we never got it, we have to learn to give it to those who need it most: the boys and girls, the young men and young women in our village."
... The kids are not here for us; we are here for the kids. That does not mean that we can not learn from them. Far from it. My daughter has been one of my greatest teachers by far and I give thanks for that. It is said that we teach what we most need to learn in this life. By helping the young ones we ourselves are helped. Reciprocity happens.
Finally, I like this quote from Kahlil Gibran:
Your children are not your children
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
Which you can not visit, even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to
Make them like you,
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
As living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the
Infinite, and he bends you with his might, that
His arrows might go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies,
So to does he love the bow that is stable.
Shanti,
Scott
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Permalink Reply by Tembo Chinook on
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Scott, yes to points 1, 2, and 3 above and also to the uncloaking of the masquerade of "tough love." Regarding 3, above, I have been attempting to insert the education amoung the men that a job on the weekend, in that context, and perhaps the "make it or break it job" is exactly that point of finding, noticing, and blessing their unique genius.
Problems: many men do not have a clear idea of their own genius or of the concept of an accurate blessing which must "hit the mark" exactly.
Amelioration: The men wouldn't have survived to that point without having recieved some kind of blessings from somewhere - it is a latent ability, like the natural skill for ritual that emerges wildly when the initial framework is set up properly.
But it is also true that if things are left vague enough (to meet the very true condition that you cannot lie about what is in store), you can start right in with a serious gateway: what happens later does seem to be "sensitive-dependent-upon-initial-conditions" as the cyberneticians call it. It is a broad form of saying "how are you" and at the same time a little answer to Rumi's complaint: a gateway that is really a ritual gateway i suspect has a little of the question "How aren't you?" in it as well.
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Permalink Reply by Michael Scott Brooks on
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Personally, I like the idea of a wide gateway.
I think it allows people to step through at whatever level they are currently working on in their lives, much like the telling of a good story ... and let's face it; the situation we find ourselves in today is one in which men are operating on many different levels of consciousness simultaneously. Perhaps it has always been thus, but I think that at other times and places, there was at least a baseline village awareness going into the whole production.
When I think of this work that we are talking about, part of me is tempted to say, "Hey, this isn't brain surgery!" ... Yet the fact of the matter is that "brain surgery" is exactly what we're talking about in a very literal way. We don't need to bog ourselves down with a lot of complications, rules and "shoulds" (my teacher always said, "Never 'should' on yourself."), but as you say, there is a tension here that we need to be aware of. This work is neither this or that, one thing or the other; it is all of the above and every possible shade of gray. To approach it too carefully is to strangle it with safeguards. To be too relaxed is to invite the wrong kind of trouble. To plan every detail and stick to it dogmatically is to miss out on the curriculum of the moment ... and yet, having no reasonable plan, one may fail to create the curriculum of the moment all together. It's dicey and juicy stuff ... and you are right to suggest that many men are simply not ready to consciously recognize the genius in another, let alone in themselves ... and yet it does happen instinctively on a daily basis.
In many ways, I do not think that most contemporary males in our society can be fully initiated in the traditional indigenous time line, unless of course, they have been brought up in a more conscious environment to begin with. I think that some stages of preparation are required, followed by a system of support that allows the experience to be integrated while the brain heals and adjusts to it's new orientation.I know this has been the case for me. It takes time and patience. I can not swear by the science, but I imagine that if you conducted a brain scan pre and post initiation, you would see a marked difference. Does anyone know of a study to this effect? I'd be interested to hear about that.
Of course, there is also the idea that relying on the consciousness of the men might be the wrong place to focus. We are what we are (for the moment at least) and for better or worse, that's that; but it is the genius of the young ones which draws them like hummingbirds to the particular flower/mentor of their choice ... and it is on that instinct which we must rely. The student always chooses the teacher. Once they have made their move, the door is open, the mentor has permission and anything is possible.
When I led the three week trips, the first week was spent sorting these mentoring relationships out, with the young men doing the deciding and the mentors paying close attention to the decision that was being made for them. To my mind, it is very much like to the way a chick is impressed with the image of it's mother, be she a duck or a cow. Similarly, I think that a young man is impressed by the image of an older man. Who knows what he sees there ... but it is not for us to figure that out. It only need make sense to the young one.
OK ... I think I've blown enough hot air for one afternoon. Cheers mates!
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Great thoughts, Scott, I'm looking, listening, and learning! TC
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