The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 124
You can’t outsmart, outrun, or hide from the gods. But it is possible to confuse them. Temporarily. Until the time the wormhole opens, invites you to cross, and you lose them for good.
They live inside you, see? They’re REAL, not like those gods wearing togas, peering down upon you through water-filled urns in some Hercules movie. They are jealous, corrupt, and ruthless. But remember this: they are desperately uncomfortable existing in worlds without symbols, right angles and electricity,
and powerless without gravity.
So, in the art I made, I backed off any lean or link to storytelling or self reflection because, after all, I was host, no longer self. Alternatively I turned to a kind of organic, primitive style using only naked earth elements.
I dumped my Facebook and Ello accounts.
And returned to yoga.
The only music I listened to was ambient drone. Beat-less and unengaging.
Slept when it was dark, arose when it grew light.
And I stopped talking.
Six months, approximately.
Didn’t matter. There was a core paradox I could not untangle. And the gods knew it.
One day in February, 2017, they again intervened.