The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 55
There was something about the sequence of events the day Hank encountered coyote that shook up and realigned my perception of the universe.
I’d saved his life. Then ordered his death. But he cancelled that order. All within an extremely narrow time frame.
It was hard to process. It wasn’t that I was looking to reason things out or find meaning, clarity, wisdom hiding somewhere in those highly charged, conflicted moments, but, each time the memory surfaced, my brain flew off to an obscure exchange between the sorcerer’s apprentice—the author, Carlos Castaneda—and his benefactor, the old Yaqui shaman, Juan Matus.
The precise circumstances and subject matter of their conversation elude me, but essentially the shaman ends up saying this:
“While we believe we are the ones making the decisions, truth is they are made elsewhere, by unknown and uncontrollable forces. All we do, in the end, is acquiese.”
Go ahead. I dare you. Throw THAT into the analytic mix and see where it gets you. Throw it out and you’re left with absurdly speculative conclusions that will fall apart next time around. And there will be a next time. I promise you.
Something inside me popped as a result of that incident. There was more space, greater fluidity and light and hard, right angled behavioral patterns broke up and vaporized as if they’d never existed; erased equations on a chalkboard.
Then I remembered something: shock. Hank definitely showed signs of it the day after the attack, sitting on the low black futon in the living room, battered, caked in coyote saliva, a crazy and detached look in his eye. Was that it? Was I going through the same post trauma phase Shana went through after witnessing a multiple car crash unfold in slow motion in her rear view mirror, then hearing it, feeling the reality of high speed metal finally strike her car in real time? She said the week after it happened was dreamlike and blissful. Then she fell back to earth.
So, no. That’s not what was happening with me. It was now spring, 2006, and Candy and I were busy filming two scenes concocted to replace the one ruined due to tech failure. They couldn’t, of course. They’d take the film in another direction. It was an intersection of a nearly complete canvas meant for blue.
I was out of blue.
The flip side of how I moved across this strange new terrain went something like this:
One final scene with Greg as LaFong was necessary. He needed to confront himself. Greg listened patiently and intently, nodding his head affirmatively as I explained how this might work using mirrors, shadows, reflections, wardrobe, lighting…
“Or,” he finally said, “could it wait a month?”
“Because that’s when my identical twin brother comes to town.”