“The Trickster makes a lot of mistakes, and usually has a hard time learning from them. However, She keeps on keepin’ on. She doesn’t drown Herself in despair, doesn’t kill Herself in frustration. She survives. Trickster shows us how we trick OURSELVES. Her rampant curiosity backfires, but, then, something NEW is discovered (though usually not what She expected)! This is where creativity comes from—experiment, do something different, maybe even something forbidden, and voila! A breakthrough occurs! Ha! Ha! We are released! The world is created anew! Do something backwards, break your own traditions, the barrier breaks; destroy the world as you know it, let the new in… The power of the Void is the power of wombness in us all, the power of true creativity.” ~ Peggy Andreas
How deliciously apropos. She hit the nail (me) on the head (ouch!). It turns out that this old trickster has gone and tricked himself. Alas, my rampant curiosity has backfired. My supercharged soul-insurgence has usurped itself. I shot myself in the daredevil foot.
Something new is coming out of it, and it is definitely something I did not expect. I experimented in something “forbidden” and foolish and, like any good trickster clown, I tripped myself up into a new way of being in this world. A way of being that I never wanted to be, really. But, as I’ve always said, “There is more to being human than choice: there’s vicissitude.”
This is me being real. You know I’ve always been real, but this is me being really real. Non-fiction real. Autobiographical real. Real-life real. Full-frontal this-is-happening-to-me-right-now real. I’m writing this monologue as both catharsis for me and maybe entertainment for you, dear reader. Though you’ll probably just find it boring, it’s the only thing I know. And since my philosophy is my life, I’m living it.
And since my life is my canvas, I’m revealing it. And since I like to share, I’m sharing it. In all its excruciatingly delicious glory: the sacred and the profane. As Alan Cohen said, “The only thing more important than being good is being real. Authenticity is kinder than resignation without conviction. Truth leads to good faster than good leads to truth. Ultimately truth is good, but you have to live it from the inside out.”
Here’s to living it from the inside out. Which is also apropos, as you’ll see once I get to the point. But not yet. First I need to talk about the Clownish Function in society…
The Clownish Function
“The trickster/sacred-clown figure epitomizes an “on-the-road opportunistic sexuality” and a “procreative creativity,” which are both akin to masculine psychology. It is their way of being “active in passive mode” that accounts for the fact that tricksters and sacred clowns outwardly manifest an utter passivity with respect to what comes their way –such as objects of desire, opportunities for mischief, or psycho-spiritual impulses– but this apparent passivity is the modus operandi of a dazzling and zigzagging display of activity through feats, discoveries, voyages, and so on. In this sense, paraphrasing Lewis Hyde, it could be said that they actively “make the world” by being –passively– fooled by it.” ~ Patrick Laude, Divine Play, Sacred Laughter, and Spiritual Understanding
Wow! Ridiculously apropos. He pinned the tail (Truth) right on the donkey (me).
There’s a reason why I’ve written so much on this subject. The Path of the Sacred Clown discovered me, and I’ve been reeling in masochistic ecstasy ever since, trying to figure it out. Ever since my initiation by the Kauai Thunder Gods (in 2011, but really forever) into the Heyoka Order, onto the Path of the Sacred Clown, and into the depths of Trickster Energy, I’ve been riding the wave of being “active in passive mode.”
I’ve been an “on-the-road opportunistic” sexual agent par excellence. I’ve been outwardly manifesting utter passivity with respect to all things, just going with the cosmic flow, enjoying the ride, full of love and astonishment tantamount to existential jouissance. I have been in a heightened state of mind-body-soul ecstasy. But, as it turns out, paraphrasing Lewis Hyde, I’ve inadvertently “made the world” by being -passively- fooled by it. So it goes.
If you’ve read this far, you probably just want me to cut to the chase. To just get to the point already. Not yet. This is a delicate issue. And I want to be sincere. I want to be grossly authentic, and profanely genuine. And that requires a build-up, a crescendo effect, if you will.
Here’s some foreshadowing, if you haven’t gotten it already: It turns out my very own “bomb effect” has manifested the infinite onto the terrestrial level. Or, at least, it’s still cooking. It’s still simmering at just the right temperature, ready to come to fruition. As Barry McDonald said, “The Heyoka’s clown power is also associated with the regenerative and sexual. The Heyoka “bomb effect” has to do, on the psycho-spiritual level, with sexuality as the most intense repository of energy and the manifestation of the infinite on the terrestrial level.”
But first, let’s talk about Frenzy…
“If there is to be art, if there is to be any aesthetic doing and seeing, one physiological condition is indispensable: frenzy. Frenzy must first have enhanced the excitability of the whole machine; else there is no art. All kinds of frenzy, however diversely conditioned, have the strength to accomplish this: above all, the frenzy of sexual excitement, this most ancient and original form of frenzy.” ~ Nietzsche
Here’s the thing: I’m a polyamorist who practices compersion (trying to perfect the art, actually). I’m a force of nature first, a man second. I’ve said it often. I’m a wild man not a boyfriend, as some women have learned the hard way, despite my honesty. They love me for it at first, but eventually, sometimes, strangely, it’s precisely what they despise about me.
Not realizing that what we had, all the magic, all the deep soulcraft turned lovecraft, all the beautiful collisions, could not have happened otherwise. I love Agape-style, and people, me included, are often left staring agape in absolute astonishment at how powerful it is. Because when you tap into that kind of love it’s beyond any one individual. It’s beyond them. It’s beyond me. It grips the body. It stuns the mind. It tears the soul.
It’s infinite, as I wrote in Finite & Infinite Lovers. It’s unconditional, as I wrote in Loving Greatly. It’s triple-edged, as I wrote in The Romantic Trilemma. And it’s revolutionary, as I wrote in Insurgent Love.
But frenzy, frenzy is the thing by which all art becomes manifest. From the art of living & dying to the art of soul transmigration to the more common arts of painting, poetry, and photography. Above all, the art of creating life, the art of Mother Nature –of which we are all a part, no matter how much our divisive societies try to separate Cosmos from Psyche, Nature from the human soul– is the foremost art of primal creativity.
Frenzy is the Dionysian overthrow of the mundane. It’s the Promethean appropriation of passion despite the meager gods of men who vainly attempt to guard it. It’s a Nietzschean overcoming of all past-states into the existent free-state lest it become a future fixed-state.
It was precisely while in the throes of frenzy that this old trickster-clown shot himself in the daredevil foot and is now barrel-rolling into a new way of being human in the world. But, before I get into that, a little bit about why women are more powerful than men.
Great power, great responsibility
“Monogamy works well for some but not others. Social status, religion, race, sexual orientation, and political philosophy don’t matter. Honesty, openness, love, commitment, communication, patience, and egalitarianism do.” ~ Anita Wagner, Practical Polyamory
True power is the ability to create, and nothing creates more powerfully than the human animal. Women, all women, are beholders of this prolific power; the greatest power to have ever faced/defaced the planet: the power to procreate.
Sure, it takes a man to plant the seed (unless she gets that seed from a sperm bank), but it is the WOMAN’S choice whose seed it is, and it is HER choice to keep or abort that seed. Not the man’s. It is HER responsibility as a bearer of such power to teach men how to respect that power, and how both men and women can be more responsible with the consequences of such power.
You’ve probably figured it out by now. If not, here it is, down and dirty -que drum roll…
I’m going to be a father, but not by choice. Like I said before: there is more to being human than choice, there’s vicissitude. There’s being-in-fate. There’s Amor fati. There’s the juggernaut of the cosmic joke. Turns out life is less about getting what you want and more about dealing with what you get.
So there you have it: This Big Wolf is having a Little Wolf, and the future is wide open and uncertain. But you can be damned certain that I will make the best of it.
I never wanted to be a father, but years ago I decided to leave that part of my life up to fate. I thought it selfish to begrudge a woman wanting to have my child. Sound backwards? Sound contrarian? Sound like inverted logic? Sound conceited? Good! I danced my trickster/clown/heyoka dance well. I dare you to try and square that circle. No need though. I already have.
Anyway, I am torn, but getting used to the idea. No sense in crying over spilled milk, right? I don’t want to be a father, but I also don’t have a say. I’m 100% pro-choice. Most people think they are, but most people are idiots. Most people don’t understand the difference between freedom and tyranny. So it goes.
I’d be cool with adoption, but that’s not up to me either. She’s ecstatic about this baby. So either way you slice it, I’m stuck with having made the “mistake” of having sex with a complete stranger. Mistake? Screw that! Don’t forget frenzy. Don’t forget Passion. Don’t forget opportunistic sexuality. Don’t forget magic. As Rumi said, “Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy, absent minded. Someone sober will worry about events going badly. Let the lover be.”
Courage and Unwanted Fatherhood
“Courage is the power to let go of the familiar.” ~ Raymond Lindquist
So what does unwanted fatherhood look like for a Sacred Clown committed to surfing the wave of Trickster Energy without any regard to any outdated nonsense or parochial platitudes that get crushed beneath it? Only time will tell. But you can be sure of one thing: Fatherhood will give me more strength than ever.
I’ll be even more of a force to be reckoned with. This is not posturing. This is not pretense. This is not conceit. This is an absolute guarantee. As Schopenhauer humbly harangued, “If your abilities are only mediocre, modesty is mere honesty; but if you possess great talents, it is hypocrisy.” Okay, maybe it is conceit. So be it.
I’m a force that cannot be tamed. I will not be pigeonholed. I scoff at mediocrity, assail clichés, and laugh at saccharine romanticism and feeble sentimentality. I am the Dialectical Overman. I will continue to drop self-righteous halos into devil-may-care choke-chains. I will existentially crush out.
My tongue is meat and acid, pillory and hijacking. My voice is détournement and paradox, shatter-happy in its power to reroute all moments. I scorn trite banalities and resurrect absolute ambiguity.
And when it comes to being forced into fatherhood, it’s even more of an incentive. I will live by amoral example, pointing to that field that Rumi spoke of: “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” I dare anyone to meet me there.
But, and here’s the thing: I will honor the sacredness of fatherhood. I will be open to falling: into love, into adventure, into whatever authentic fatherhood (as opposed to state-controlled fatherhood or culturally-conditioned fatherhood) has to offer. As Khalil Gibran said, “Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh, and the greatness which does not bow before children.” Indeed.
I have and will cry. I am laughing, over and over again, at myself, at fate. And I will bow. My heart is open. My mind is open. My soul is open. But love does not imply pacifism, and I will draw any line in the sand that I feel must be drawn, and stand my ground with firm resolve and unquenchable courage. As Zig Ziglar said, “F-E-A-R has two meanings: ‘Forget Everything And Run’ or ‘Face Everything And Rise.’ The choice is yours.”
In short: my taking on the sacred role of fatherhood will not be pigeonholed by anyone. Not by culture. Not by the government. Not by the state. Not by the church. Not by God. Fuck even God if he-she-it-they tries to come between me and being the most authentic version of a father that I can be. Freedom is paramount, even before love. As William James said, “We are all ready to be savage in some cause. The difference between a good man and a bad one is the choice of the cause.” So it begins.
PS: Lakota Zade is due January 31st 2016.
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