This is Mythic Deviant with Sea Gabriel. Orpheus: do not look back.

Orpheus’s parentage is in debate. In any event, Apollo, who may or may not be his father (it happened then, it happens now), gave him a lyre. The muse of epic poetry, Calliope, who may or may not be his mother (I really can’t explain that one), taught him to write songs. In addition to his potential parentage, he’s also in good graces with Hecate, Goddess of lots of stuff, including magic and Demeter, Goddess of Growing Things.


As a young man, he went on a road trip with Jason as one of the Argonauts. His ability to play music louder and more enchanting than the Sirens is the what saves them from destruction.


But eventually Orpheus wants to settle down. He falls madly in love with a young woman named Eurydice. The plan a lovely wedding, at the end of which she is stalked by a rape-intending (as so many are) satyr. As she runs to get away, she falls into a nest of vipers and is fatally bitten.


Orpheus discovers her body and is horrified. He plays and sings songs so sad that all life weeps. He decides to travel to the underworld and where he moves the hearts and minds of Persephone and Hades who allow him to lead Eurydice back to life. But there is a condition: he must walk ahead of her and cannot look back until they have returned to the upper world.


He walks ahead of her and just at the entrance to the upper world he hears the call of his own monsters: fear and self-doubt. He turns around to make sure she is with him. And with that she sinks back into the underworld: lost forever.


Orpheus then wanders the world playing sad tunes and limiting his engagement in romantic pursuits to young men. This eventually angers a group of women who tear him to shreds, and send his head and lyre, still playing and singing songs of loss, floating down the river.

Neil Gaiman, in his poem Orphee says “But I’d look back, wouldn’t I? We all would. The ones who can’t look back, who can only stare into the sunrise ahead of them, stare into the glorious future, those people don’t get to visit Hell.”


I love the ‘get to visit Hell,’ because, to me, that’s exactly the case. Hell is the place of second chances, the place we go when we’ve lost too much and we can’t go on without some time to face our demons, alone, in the dark. Time to learn their voices so that we know not to listen when they call.


Only those of us who are willing to turn around once, to look at ourselves, get to go to hell. And only those of us who make peace with our demons, who can walk back into the sunlight again without turning around a second time, get to leave again.


Those of us who don’t look back at all, who can stare fixedly into the sunrise without looking at ourselves, are blinded by the illusion of light without shadow and will spend the rest of our days eternally pursued by the monsters we can, or will, never have the opportunity to face, to defeat.


Orpheus did not make it out. His body did. But his soul remained forever condemned to the underworld by his ego which never made peace with his loss. Rather than defeating his monsters, he brought them back with him.


He did make it to hell, but was so focused on his music, his light, that he forgot to make peace with his dark.


What are you willing to go back for? Which, of your own monsters, do you need to defeat so that they no longer have the power to call you back to hell? How will you know you’re ready to walk out without looking back a second time?


Happy New Year! this is Sea Gabriel with Mythic Deviant and today I’m going to  do a New Year’s Story: the match stick girl. 

The Matchstick Girl is more Fairy Tale than myth, but is still both foundational and illuminating.

She’s actually called the Little Matchstick Girl. Pay attention to things have little in the title. When it’s not ironic, it generally indicates that they will never be big.

I’ll just leap into the story. 

Once upon a time there was a little girl who was sent out on New Year’s Eve to sell matchsticks. She tried to sell them, but no one was buying. 

She was walking barefoot through the snow, having lost her mother’s shoes, which she had been wearing. One fell off when she ran across the road to get out of the way of traffic. And one was stolen by a boy who wanted to use it as a prop. 

She was afraid to go home without having made any sales. Her father would beat her for having failed. Besides, she thought, it was almost as cold there.

Her hands were becoming numb from the cold. And she did have two bundles of matchsticks. So she light a match, warming her hands over the flame.  And when she did she imagine that she was in front of a big, warm, stove. But when the match went out the stove vanished.

So she lit another. And then she could see clearly into the warm room, and smell the New Year’s dinner that was roasting in the oven. She was about to take a bite of the delicious food on the table when the match went out and it vanished.

So she lit another and a beautiful scene of warmth and candles appeared in the room with the feast and stove. The light from the candles rose higher and higher until they were stars and one of them turned into a shooting star.

“Someone is dying,” she thought, remembering the first time she’d seen one, when her Grandmother, who loved her more than anyone, told her that it was a soul going to heaven. 

So she struck another match, and there was her Grandmother, holding out her arms and full of love, so she light match after match igniting the sky until her Grandmother gathered her in her arms and flew off with her. 

And the sun rose on New Year’s morning over her frozen corpse, smiling, huddled between two houses.

The Little Matchstick Girl is trying to reach into the past to find the comfort she once had: the comfort she lost.

Right now, the majority of people in the US, at least, are trying to reach into the past to find the comfort we once had: the comfort we lost. Some are reaching back 50 years, and some are reaching back five months. But most of us are reaching back.

And it’s true that Grandma was awesome. But it’s also true that Grandma is dead. And the only place she can lead us now is into a grave.

Going home to be beaten isn’t the solution. Nor is deluding ourselves with lies about how we can bring the dead back to life. 

But there are a thousand doors we didn’t try. Or we can face the fact that we’d rather freeze to death in the street admit we’ve left ourselves in the cold.

Some of those houses have warmth, fun, and really great food. It may be time to start knocking . . . because freezing to death between two houses is kind of a stupid way to die.


This is Mythic Deviant with Sea Gabriel. yes, yes, it is.

Today our third segment on the Trickster: the Trickster as Sacred Monster. Go Monsters!
You may have noticed that I missed an episode last week. That’s because I’m putting it off—

Lucifer. Lucifer is not Satan. He’s different.

Lucifer’s name means “light bringer” and he is the original Abrahamic trickster. Like all trickster’s, he’s the smart one, and therefore rather endearing (for some).  He is an archangel, like Michael, protector Gabriel, messenger, Uriel, muse, and Rafael, healer. Lucifer is (yes is, not was) God’s Left-Hand Man.

Lucifer loves God. And he expects God to reciprocate. After all, he is pretty awesome. He’s got some ego-struggles going on.

One day when he’s feeling particularly proud (he’d just invented dopamine), he decides that he should go tell God, so God can say ‘good job’.

But God is not in. Apparently, he’s down on the Earth playing with his new toys: the humans. They are stupid, comparatively powerless, and self obsessed. They don’t even know the difference between good and evil. But God thinks they are so cool. And he’s spending all his time there.

Lucifer has created several super great things: silly putty, enchiladas, and non-toxic neon hair dye, but God has been too busy playing with his morons to even notice.

So Lucifer gets impatient and crawls up onto God’s throne to see where he is so he can time his return and pretend to be in the middle of something awesome when God gets back, winning the Lord of Host’s affections.

“Oh, sorry, God, I didn’t see you there. I was busy inventing orgasms.”

He puts his plan into action, but Is stunned when God shows up like “Lucifer, WTF, you left butt prints! You know you’re not supposed to be on my throne!”

Lucifer is hurt. “But I just wanted to know when you’d be home. I love you and I made you all this great stuff!” But God doesn’t care. He’s really tired. He had a hard day with Adam and Eve, who each apparently believe that the other is food. He’s just spent the 18 hours trying to convince them to procreate rather than barbecuing each other.

Sometimes God thinks the whole ‘protect them from the knowledge of good and evil’ thing is BS. Understanding does convey choice, but it also conveys the ability to make better choices. But he’s already set the rule. What to do . . .

God turns to Lucifer, knowing he’s the smartest of the group. “Tell you what Lucifer, you can make it up to me, just bow down before all human kind, admit that they’re the smartest game in town, and I’ll forgive you.”

Lucifer looks at God uncomprehendingly. “I’m the trickster, but you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking” God says. On your knees. God knows this is never happening. He and Lucifer have been hanging for eternity. Lucifer is an archangel with integrity, even if his love of ridiculous miscommunications often gets the better of all involved.

Lucifer thinks about it. He knows that, at the end of the day, all things are interdependent: Good cannot exist without evil. Smart cannot exist without stupid. Arrogance cannot exist without humility. And he knows that each of these things, these divine qualities, exist because they contribute to the diversity required to create and interesting and worthwhile world. He’s a smart angel.

And he realizes that all qualities must be acknowledged, appreciated, and celebrated, so that we have the courage and wisdom to learn from all our experiences. Lucifer is all about learning He’s all about fun. He’s all about equality. Really, he thinks, arrogance needs to be celebrated just as much as humility. That’s God’s real point. All things must be bowed to, even arrogance.

Meanwhile, other angels have become a background chorus of ‘Stand, Lucifer, Stand, Lucifer . . . “ and it’s wearing on God’s patience.

So Lucifer, emboldened by the chorus, turns to God and says “I’ll bow down to their ignorance if they bow down to my wisdom.” It’s at this point that God has a dramatic meltdown to impress the nearby saints. “Why can’t anyone just obey me? I’m God, damn it. Why am I spending all my time cajoling my theoretical servants into doing what I ask?”

So God grabs Lucifer by his robe, gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek, and tosses his butt out of heaven, drop kicking the cheering angels after him, who, frankly had really gotten on his almost eternally patient nerves.

Lucifer falls with a great and painful thud and, running with the improv scene, flips God the bird. “Your newest creations are idiots who think cannibalism is a good idea!” he shouts up to the Heavenly Hosts.

“Yes,” God agrees, “that’s why they need you down there! Do something. I need you on the ground! I can’t take it anymore!” and with that he stomps off to the spa for a long mugwort bath and looftah scour. He has secured Lucifer as the second in his Confidence Job and knows he’ll come through.

Lucifer thinks. He’s good at that. He knows that God sometimes loses his patience, but didn’t think he’d resort to needless violence. Poor dude really did have a hard day. Maybe he should have been more receptive. Maybe he should have had a nice drink and a hot bath ready for God when he got home. But too late now. God needs his help, and, apparently, is entrusting the naive imbeciles to him. So be it.

So, Lucifer brainstorms. How can he help God? Immediately, he has it. He can help with the cannibalistic infants! God just needs a little assistance getting around the rules. No one can spend all day everyday trying to convince people who don’t know good from evil that they should do good.

They need to know the difference so that they will do good things and God can finally relax and get some much needed rest. Maybe he can even have an orgasm. Lucifer has recently heard there is a cutie coming up in a few centuries . . .  just God’s type.

So Lucifer shapeshifts into a snake, grabs an apple from the tree of good and evil, and slithers up to Eve. Surely she can save their race, even if her overly controlling cannibal of a partner does want to eat her. And so, as a snake, as the trickster he is, he bows: both to God and to man. He puts aside his ego and does what needs to be done.

The real lesson in this story is the importance of recognizing the sacred in everything: in foolishness and brilliance, in obedience and disobedience, in humility and in arrogance. We must all bow: to that which we are and to that which we are not. If not we will fall. Humanity, like Lucifer, has come to believe that we are Gods, that we control, or should control, this world. The story of Lucifer demonstrates that we do not, and should not. That our place is to one-of, not one-over.

And this is an important lesson these days, in particular. We have gotten into the habit of persecuting groups of all kinds: gender non-binary individuals, blacks, and illegal aliens (whatever that means) are all under attack above our cultural radar. And that’s not all right. Black lives do matter. Non-gender binary lives do matter.

The killing of women, which happens three times as often as black men and seven times as often as gender non-binary individuals, is not a hate crime. Few are even aware that men are the primary cause of death for young to middle aged heterosexual women. Female lives also matter, but that is not my point.

My point is that if we take the time to defend people one quality at a time we may all be dead before any of us are safe (except, of course the select few who won the genetic lottery—and it’s not their fault either. They, too, were born into this system—and we all need to repair it).

This is where Lucifer, the light-bringer, shines. He teaches us to bow down: to all creation. He shows us that evil is not outside, but in our choice, that trajectory is not set, but malleable, that we each have the ability to save ourselves and each other if only we will put aside our egos and bow.[ Sea Gabriel, 01/08/16 19:04] down before all creation, even when it makes us look like snakes.


his is Mythic Deviant with Sea Gabriel. Hi!

This week, we’re on the Trickster as hero. The trickster, again, is an archetype that operates obliquely to create unexpected meaning, or accomplish unexpected tasks. And sometimes that great for us.

The first story is a native american story. As such, it is told in many ways in many groups, and each reflects the heritage of that group. This is an amalgamation of the story, and, as far as I know, is not considered sacred by any group. I could be wrong here. Just please let’s not pretend that we know other people’s spirituality. It understandably offends.

This is a story of Raven and the Sun. Raven is a trickster character in many tribes, particularly in the Pacific Northwest (where we’ve got many, and they are tricky).

Once upon a time there was a Shaman who was profoundly frustrated with humanity. So he took the sun and hid it. Maybe he wanted to teach them to appreciate it, maybe he wanted to inspire them to discover electricity and invent the lightbulb. We do not know his motives.

In any event, many animals (potentially including human) tried to find it but couldn’t. Raven, a snow white bird, decided that this was a job for her. She flew to the Shaman’s house and watched for a day or two. She noticed that his daughter had tea every night before bed, so she shapeshifted into a pine needle and crept into the young woman’s tea.

This miraculously impregnated the daughter, who gave birth to a bouncing baby bird, I mean boy. It was Raven herself, hidden in the body of the infant. The family loved and cared for the baby, who eventually became a young boy.

One day, the boy went to his grandfather, the Shaman. He looked up with big eyes and asked his Grandpa where the sun was. And, of course, the Shaman showed his beloved grandson where he hid the life-giving force.

The next day the boy was gone. Raven, concerned that the light might draw attention, grabbed the sun hid it inside a reed. Then she flew like the wind . . . or on the wind. It was quite a long way. Eventually the reed began to smoke. And Raven flew faster.

When she was almost there,  the sun burnt through the reed, falling out and dropping to the ground sending sparks into the sky that became the moon and stars. Raven, always quick, dove down and grabbed the sun in her beak for the rest of the journey. But she paid for the journey: the fire scorched her. She spent many days and night attending to her wounds. In time, she healed and she ever remained a black bird.

Our second story is from the Bible: the story of Esau and Jacob.

Isaac and Rebekah were thrilled to have a baby on the way. And even more thrilled when the baby-lump began to move violently, indicating that they had not only one baby but two infants wresting in Rebekah’s womb. Esau was born several minutes before Jacob. As they grew, each of the parents came to favor one of the boys. Isaac like Esau because he appreciated a fine, meaty, meal. Rebekah preferred Jacob because he was fun.

One day, Esau was out doing what hunting, when he stumbled toward home starving and exhausted. He was genuinely afraid he would not make it. He fell into Jacob’s camp where his brother was making lentil stew, a nice meatless dish.

“Please,” Esau said, “I need food”

“Only if you give me your birthright,” his trickster-of-a-brother replied.

I presume that Esau looked hurt. It would be appropriate. Finally he said “whatever, I’ll die if I don’t.” And, thus, Esau lost his right-to-his-birthright.

Isaac, their dad, was not so onboard with this, however, and just lectured his boys on playing nice, Reminding them that he was the passer-oner of the birthright, and it would still go to Esau. Jacob found this unfair, but Esau liked it.

Later, as Isaac lay, near blind, on his deathbed, he called for his son, Esau. He told him to go hunting, then prepare a meal for his father before he died. Esau took off. And Rebekah called Jacob. Together, they prepared a meal. Then Jacob put on Esau’s clothing, and tied some goat fur to his arm, in case his dad touched him and noticed his smooth kissable arm. Finally, he took the food to Isaac, doing his best impersonation of Esau.

Isaac asked Jacob how he found the goat so quickly. Jacob replied that God had helped (and God had helped, through Rebekah). He encouraged his father to eat and drink, which he did, fondling Jacob’s goat-furred arm in the process. Then Isaac did, in fact, confer the blessing onto Jacob rather than Esau.

Later that night, Esau returned, made his dad, dinner, and experienced extreme disappointment when he learned that his brother had already taken off with his blessing, effectively reinstating the birthright deal. That is a heroic biblical trickster.

In both today’s stories, the tricksters are acting on behalf of humanity: they are thought of as heroic (if you’re human).

It is more evident in the Raven story, where she stole the sun back to ensure our survival. Kind of a no-brainer.

It’s slightly more difficult, at least for me, in the Jacob story. This story always bothered me. There’s so much manifest destiny implied in it.

Jacob was simply more deserving because he was Jacob. But, really, he was. Jacob was smart, and worldly. Jacob knew how to think things through, how to get things done. And that does make him a better leader. Plus, he was vegan.

No matter how good or competent Esau was at being Esau, he was not a leader. He was a fantastic hunter, but he could not live up to the responsibilities of his birthright. He had two wives. It’s a questionable choice for a farmer, but strictly out of bounds for most leaders.

We love tricksters when they’re tricking others on our behalf. Tricksters gets things done because they doesn’t give up, they just get clever.

But how do we know when to let things go and when to get tricky?

Are we being clever to prove we’re clever? To get something we personally want? Or to better our world?

How do we know when a trick has gone too far?

How do we forgive a trick that has been played on us?

What happens when we fail to perceive it as fun?

Next time, the trickster as monster. Until then, author responsibly.


Sea Gabriel. Mythic Deviant. Welcome.


Today the archetype of the trickster. You may notice that I’m starting with comparatively dis-ed members of the archetypal family. That is because they are what we need most.


Tricksters are surprising. Devious. Clever. Tricksters are creatures who communicate mythically rather than literally. They are: charade players not mimes; poets, not journalists; storytellers, not scribes. Tricksters are fun.


Tricksters are often the only ones who can get us out of trouble . . . and often the ones who go us in. Because tricksters like little more than to poke at reality. They tend to get bored.


Many traditions see tricksters as our way to access the divine. The oracle speaks a prophecy. It is poetic and either beautiful or scary. In any case, it’s obfuscated. We try to figure it out and act according to our theories on what it might actually mean. We are then surprised by what it means and see the way that the original was true but in a missing-important-information kind of way.
Remember in 2012 there was all the weirdness around the end of the Aztec calendar.
The Aztec calendar did and did not say the world would end. It said the current world would end. The Aztecs believed that a total change in orientation was a different world. They put forth the prediction that in 2012 the world would change from being materialistically to orienting around something immaterial. And that could look like the entire material world being destroyed, which some people believed. (the solstice thing was a completely arbitrary date some people threw in to make it scarier. That is the storyteller, not the trickster. They’re different).


This orientation change could also look like Trader Joe's, Costco, or farming and building technologies that allow us to access the resource we need to survive without orienting our entire lives around that quest. This frees us up for other endeavors. Enter the other world. Right now it looks like we’re orienting around information, but some of us are vying for connection and the votes aren’t all in. We can’t actually change worlds in one night, no matter how powerful the solstice is.
Today I’m going to look at innocuous tricksters. ‘cause they make life interesting.


Our first story is Greek. One of Zeus’s many affairs is with Maia, a beautiful titan. In Greek Myth, titans are the prior set of gods. Prior Gods aren’t old: they’re immortal. But they’re connected to the power of nature. Current Gods, like Zeus himself, are connected to power of humanity.


Maia has a bouncing baby god who she names Hermes. Later that afternoon, when she wakes up from her post-delivery nap, she finds him playing a Lyre, which puts her right back to sleep. Childbirth takes a lot of energy. And largely removes her from the story.


Hermes, finding himself incarnated, is bored. So he goes out to see what he can see. And what he sees is a herd of red cattle. When babies are born, they see only black, white, and red, so the cows are by far the most beautiful thing he has ever encountered. He wants them.
But he does not want to get busted. He surveys the scene and notices that where he treads there are human foot shaped prints, while the cow’s hoof prints are rather different. So he makes them all shoes, straps them on the animals, and walks them out. He found an awesome super secret hiding place on the way to the field.


He takes two of the cows and slaughters them. The real mystery here is who gave the 4 hour old a knife.


He kills the cattle, offers sacrifices, harvests an additional passing turtle, and creates the lyre, before rushing home to sing his napping mom back to sleep. He’s that good.


Meanwhile, his big brother, Apollo, the Sun God, has noticed that his cows seem to have been abducting by aliens. So he inquires, largely asking the satyrs and birds who people tend not to take very seriously, and who, therefore actually know what’s going on. They report that the kid took them, and point him to the cave. Birthing suites were not yet a thing.


Apollo bursts in and glares at the newborn placidly playing the lyre. His anger turns to admiration. What is that? he asks. A lyre, baby Hermes announces. ‘want to play?’ And Apollo does. Making him the world’s first rockstar, and God of Music.


‘Forget the cows, can I have this?’ Apollo asks and Hermes agrees. The next day Apollo stops by with the world’s first drummer and finds Hermes playing another instrument, this one made out of reeds. ‘Hey,’ he says ‘I’ll give you my staff for that. You can be lord of the cows. I’ve moved on.’ he says as he winks at the lovely and talented woman by his side.


“deal’ squeals the infant. Zeus, who’s been watching his sons work it out, steps in to chat with his new son.


“You just stole his stuff and made him love you for it then give you more. I want you on my side. Want to be messenger: God of Communication?”


“Bring it on” the baby announces, and quickly attains his rank as the 12th Olympian: Messenger God who lords over communication, thieves, trade, and travelers herdsman, bards, and other folk who wander when not lost.


That is the neutral trickster in story. And here’s one in life. This is actually a true story that I have performed on stage.


When I was a kid I was a compulsive liar. I lied about absolutely everything. If I’d gone to QFC, I’d say I went to Safeway. If I went to the beach, I’d report the mall. I was protecting myself from my family.


Shortly after I left home, at 15, I did something I didn’t want to admit to. The funny thing is, I can’t actually remember what. In any event, I was quizzed about it and I lied. But over time my lie had to get more and more complex, and I had to remember it over a prolonged period of time and a couple months later I vowed to myself that from that time on I would never again do something I wouldn’t admit to. I was safe from my family and just didn’t want to have to remember pointless crap.


Now, one would think that this would make me stop before doing stupid things. Fear not, I was not so self limiting. Instead, as I did my stupid things, I thought about how I’d spin them. Well, I’d think, I can admit to eating a pint of ice cream if I just explain that I hadn’t eaten in three days because I wanted to lose weight, but then I got so hungry that I thought I’d pass out but that day I had to walk along a ledge with a 12 foot overhang, and I was afraid I’d fall to my death, Obviously, eating a pint of ice cream was the only responsible thing to do.
As I got better at honestly talking about what I did I also got better at honestly seeing why I did things. After a while I saw my mistakes as lessons and learned to see my nasty habit of cussing people out when they woke me up as self protection, which allowed me to actually find ways to protect myself without slandering my friends. I can’t remember a single thing I did not do because of my self-imposed no-lying rule. Instead, I learned to talk about absolutely anything.


One day in college I was sitting at a table with a group of my classmates and we were all asked to take an anonymous survey on our sex lives. We agreed and each sat with our arms out protecting our papers. I got to the question ‘how many times per week do you engage in sexual behaviors?’ ‘5’ I accurately wrote. Then ‘how many partners do you have?’ ‘0’ was my honest reply. And then I just started cracking up. I announced my answers to the table. They all laughed too.


And in the next week everyone else there came to me later, one by one, to talk about their sex lives. They each admitted lying on the survey and confided the differences between what was actually going on and what they wished for. They asked me for guidance. Because I was the person who was willing to talk about humiliating stuff.


And when one of my friends was diagnosed with a mental illness she came to me. Because she knew I could help her spin it. Together we brainstormed how this was  helping her: where the gift was in this particular package. Sometimes beautiful gifts are wrapped in ugly paper.
I’ve had a career in communication. And now I clearly see the spins, the ways people find evidence for almost anything they want to believe about the world so that they can feel in control. I love walking down the street and seeing everyone, each wrapped up in their own cacoon of story, each spinning that world in a different way to serve their own purposes: true or false, helpful or destructive. I find our human propensity to harness our world into self-serving stories so awesome: powerful and beautiful.


I only wish we would restrain ourselves to using it for good: keep to the truth and refrain from pretending we can see into other people. The truth is that we are largely blind to their thoughts, their motives, and their actions. As people, we only notice what we understand, and as much as we might wish to tell ourselves otherwise, we don’t actually understand each other.


I once drove a couple of developmentally disabled adults across town. At one point they were each trying to convey their opinion. I could clearly see that neither one had any idea what the other was talking about. After a while I saw them each decide that the other secretly agreed with them. They smiled at each other in an ‘I like you’ kind of way. And I thought that’s exactly what we’re all doing all the time. We don’t really get where the other person’s coming from, but we decide if they are friend or foe and proceed from there. I wish we would pick friend significantly more often.


While understanding breeds compassion, it isn’t actually necessary. Maybe we could be kind because we would all be happier, healthier, and safer and that would be good. Maybe there’s no such thing as ‘deserving something’. Maybe there’s only being someone. And maybe that’s enough.


And that is the trickster in real life: the artist whose base material is truth and final creation is understanding . . . or misunderstanding . . . depending on how deep we are willing to look. Misunderstanding is easy, it allows us to stand in shallow waters and gaze at our own reflection mistaking it for something outside of ourselves. Understanding is difficult, it requires diving into our unknown depths and confronting what we may not want to know about ourselves so that we can subtract our reflections from the pictures we see.
Next time, the Monster Trickster. Author responsibly.

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