Here I am in an apartment cozier than a cave full of hibernating teddy bears and I’ve been trying to untangle the path that lead here. My fortune cookie: "The sidewalk banana of fate gives you an unexpected glimpse of the sky."
You have to sympathize with the Trickster figures that shows up in most religions. Coyote Brother, Brer Rabbit, Judas; each a Trickster and crafty architect of their Hero's labyrinth. The trickster in my pantheon has always been my intuition; the undeniable urge to act, before reason ever has time to fill out his triplicate forms and get them notorized. (My intuition just suggested that the next time I go through airport security, I say "I have a trickster in my pantheon")
You just can’t find a new place without getting lost. If you subtract risk from freedom, you end up with something akin to lite beer, decaf coffee, and getting a nice haircut; a widely accepted substitute for the act of living.
Back when the sun used to hang out here, Tiff and I were hanging around the trailer brainstorming a solution to the approaching rainy season. We found some tipis online and immediately agreed that this was surely the best way to get some more indoor space for the upcoming winter. No real discussion involved, just a mutually reflected spark in the eyes. We decided to move to Oregon by the same method one bored afternoon and similarly made the decision to live in a 23-foot trailer soon thereafter. Our drive across the country was a successful affair because it was planned only as far ahead as the next moment or two. So it’s not that we’re without successful precedents as far as intuition fueled impulsiveness goes, but I was a bit surprised to find out that I really don't like hanging out in a drafty tipi, just waiting around for summer to come back.
The day we moved into the apartment, Tiffany and I both sighed with pleasure at having hot water for washing dishes and faces. I stood fully upright in the shower and managed to dry off without looking like contortionist losing a wresting match with a towel. We opened the full-size refrigerator and smiled the way the milk jug looked soooo small. We brushed out teeth together for the first time in eight months. There are places in the apartment we can stand where we actually can't see one another. And for these very joys I hereby renew my faith in our combined intuition. We needed a tipi to trickster our priorities into place.
Here I am in an apartment cozier than a cave full of hibernating teddy bears and I’ve been trying to untangle the path that lead here. My fortune cookie: "The sidewalk banana of fate gives you an unexpected glimpse of the sky."
You have to sympathize with the Trickster figures that shows up in most religions. Coyote Brother, Brer Rabbit, Judas; each a Trickster and crafty architect of their Hero's labyrinth. The trickster in my pantheon has always been my intuition; the undeniable urge to act, before reason ever has time to fill out his triplicate forms and get them notorized. (My intuition just suggested that the next time I go through airport security, I say "I have a trickster in my pantheon")
You just can’t find a new place without getting lost. If you subtract risk from freedom, you end up with something akin to lite beer, decaf coffee, and getting a nice haircut; a widely accepted substitute for the act of living.
Back when the sun used to hang out here, Tiff and I were hanging around the trailer brainstorming a solution to the approaching rainy season. We found some tipis online and immediately agreed that this was surely the best way to get some more indoor space for the upcoming winter. No real discussion involved, just a mutually reflected spark in the eyes. We decided to move to Oregon by the same method one bored afternoon and similarly made the decision to live in a 23-foot trailer soon thereafter. Our drive across the country was a successful affair because it was planned only as far ahead as the next moment or two. So it’s not that we’re without successful precedents as far as intuition fueled impulsiveness goes, but I was a bit surprised to find out that I really don't like hanging out in a drafty tipi, just waiting around for summer to come back.
The day we moved into the apartment, Tiffany and I both sighed with pleasure at having hot water for washing dishes and faces. I stood fully upright in the shower and managed to dry off without looking like contortionist losing a wresting match with a towel. We opened the full-size refrigerator and smiled the way the milk jug looked soooo small. We brushed out teeth together for the first time in eight months. There are places in the apartment we can stand where we actually can't see one another. And for these very joys I hereby renew my faith in our combined intuition. We needed a tipi to trickster our priorities into place.
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