The Heyoka
Living Life Backwards
By
Todd
F. Eklof
“Why did
it all turn out for me like this?” George asks, after an
afternoon of self-reflection at the beach. “I had so
much promise. I was personable, I was bright. Oh,
maybe not academically speaking, but ... I was
perceptive. I always know when someone's uncomfortable
at a party. It all became very clear to me sitting out
there today, that every decision I've ever made, in my
entire life, has been wrong. My life is the complete
opposite of everything I want it to be. Every instinct
I have, in every aspect of life, be it something to
wear, something to eat ... It's all been wrong.”
Just then
a waitress arrives to take his order. At first he asks
for the usual, tuna on toast, coleslaw and a cup of
coffee. But then, in a moment of inspiration, he
changes his mind. “Wait a minute,” he says, “I always
have tuna on toast. Nothing’s ever worked out for me
with tuna on toast. I want the complete opposite of tuna
on toast. Chicken salad, on rye, untoasted ... and a
cup of tea.” Although Jerry argues that salmon is
actually the opposite of tuna since salmon swims against
the current and tuna swims with it, George’s new lunch
choice marks a bold step toward transforming his life.
A few
moments later he sees a beautiful woman at a table
across the room. His friends encourage him to go talk
to her, but he argues that she’s way out of his league.
“Well here's your chance to try the opposite,” Jerry
argues, “Instead of tuna salad and being intimidated by
women, chicken salad and going right up to them.”
“Yes, I
will do the opposite.” George responds, “I used to sit
here and do nothing, and regret it for the rest of the
day, so now I will do the opposite, and I will do
something!” He approaches the woman and says, “Excuse
me, I couldn't help but notice that you were looking in
my direction.”
“Oh, yes
I was,” she replies, “you just ordered the same lunch as
me.”
George
takes a deep breath and continues with the opposite of
his usual approach, “My name is George. I’m unemployed
and live with my parents.”
The woman
smiles, “I’m Victoria. Hi.”
As the
story progresses, Victoria’s uncle helps George land a
job with the New York Yankees. “This has been the dream
of my life ever since I was a child,” he says, “and it's
all happening because I'm completely ignoring every urge
towards common sense and good judgment I've ever had.
This is no longer just some crazy notion… this is my
religion!”
Though
George’s spiritual epiphany is only a storyline in a
comedic sitcom, his experience may be worth taking
seriously. Is there wisdom in sometimes doing the
opposite of what we’ve been doing? If we consider, for
example, that the number of people killed in warfare has
increased almost exponentially during the past five
centuries, including more than a hundred million during
the 20th century, and untold thousands
already during the first five years of this century,
perhaps it’s time we begin doing the opposite. In light
of the fact that our polar ice cap has melted 30 percent
during the last three decades, we’re experiencing an
increasing number of apocalyptic hurricanes and other
natural disasters, and energy consumption has tripled
since 1950, even in light of global warming, maybe we
should try the opposite. In our age of unprecedented
globalization, during which the most powerful nation in
history has become increasingly nationalistic and
supportive of an elitist economy, further frustrating
and antagonizing much of the rest of the world while
trying to fight terrorism, let’s try the opposite. At a
time when our bad environmental habits obliterate 130
species a day, let’s go with the opposite. In the most
affluent country on Earth, in which a majority of people
have been more concerned with forcing their personal
religious views on everyone else, especially concerning
freedom of choice and marriage equality, leading to an
ineffective government that can no longer cope with the
devastating impact of national disasters, and has
squandered our children’s future on an unnecessary war,
for God’s sake, let’s do the opposite! Yes, it does
seem we should begin taking opposition most seriously.
In Lakota
mythology, one who lives in opposition is called a
heyoka. And just as George Costanza describes his
experience as religious, one becomes a heyoka only after
a divine encounter. Indeed, the heyoka is associated
with the great Thunderbird who defies any logical
description. In most traditions it is without form and
its body billows like clouds. It has claws but no feet,
beaks but no head, wings but no shoulders, and a voice
like thunder but no throat. In order to remain
invisible, Thunderbird covers itself in robes that are
as shapeless as itself; some large, some small; some
black, some white. Thunderbird also lives in an
anti-clockwise dimension and cannot be understood by
ordinary people because it speaks backwards. It is
said, therefore, that if one does encounter Thunderbird,
one becomes heyoka, and also begins speaking and
acting in an anti-natural manner. As James R. Walker
explains in his work, Lakota Myth, “When one sees
the Winged One, he is heyoka and ever after when
he speaks, he says the opposite of that he would say and
when he does, he does the opposite of that he would do.”
In one
story, Eya, the West Wind, son of Tate, the
breath of life encounters the terrifying and
indescribable Thunderbird. After staring at the
creature for a moment, Eya begins laughing and standing
on his head and walking on his hands. He then begins
shouting and taunting Thunderbird, even though the more
natural thing to do would be to quietly cower and hide.
“You pitiful thing,” Eya says, “your small voice
frightens no one. Your weak eye can hurt nothing. Your
beak and your teeth are good for nothing. Your wings
are only tattered rags. Your talons are nothing but
blades of grass. I would be ashamed to be your
companion. I do not fear you and want none of your
aid.”
-
Naturally we might think Thunderbird, who can devour
entire whales in a single gulp, and destroy anybody
with the lightning bolts that shoot from its single
eye, would become enraged over such insult, but
because it lives in a backward dimension, it’s
response is opposite of what we might expect. “You
have pleased me,” Thunderbird tells Eya, “for thus I
would always be addressed in terms the opposite of
intention of one supplicating me.”
Thunderbird then invites Eya to place his tipi
beside Thunderbird’s lodge on Thunderbird Mountain.
“Together with you, I will purify the world from all
filthy things. We will sweep it and wash it and
water the ground. We will cause all that grows from
the ground to flourish and bear leaves, flowers and
fruits. We will give nourishment to all that
breathes and cause their growth. We will combat the
Unktehi the monsters that defile the waters;
the Mini Watu that cause things to stink; and
Gnaski the demon who delights in filth. This
has been my province from the beginning and now you
will aid me and all that breathes will be grateful
to us.”
The message here is clear, that if we are to join forces
with the divine Creator and purify our air and water and
heal our poisoned land, we must become heyoka, we
must do the opposite of what we’ve been learning from
our larger culture, from those who make our water, air
and earth toxic through their greed and
shortsightedness. “For the wisdom of this world is
foolishness with God,”
wrote the Apostle Paul, and if we are to tap into divine
wisdom, we must become fools to everyone else, living
contrary and in opposition to what the larger culture
says makes sense.
Like
Thunderbird, the God of the Abrahamic religions—Judaism,
Christianity and Islam—is without form and cannot be
described. The Kabalah says, “Every
definition of God leads to heresy; definition is
spiritual idolatry.”
In Jewish mythology, furthermore, Moses is only allowed
to see God’s “backside” because it’s considered
impossible for any individual to fully comprehend the
fullness of God. And when God leads the children of
Israel through the wilderness, “the Lord went before
them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the
way; and by night in a pillar of fire, to give them
light.”
A cloud, to sound redundant, is a very nebulous image,
and fire is the element Heraclites chose to symbolize
his philosophy of constant change (i.e., “You can’t
bathe in the same river twice”). Cloudy, ever-changing,
nameless—these are the divine attributes that give
context to Moses’ peculiar encounter with God as a
burning bush—a God who answers, “I Am Who I Am,”
when asked its name. This term, ehyeh-asher-ehyeh,
is itself rather nebulous in that its precise meaning is
unclear. Some scholars suggest it would be more
accurately translated, “I will be what I will be,” or “I
exist,” or “I am present,” or “I will be with you.”
Erich Fromm translates it as “I-am-becoming,” meaning,
“God is not finite, not a person, not a ‘being.’ The
most adequate translation of the sentence would be: tell
them that ‘my name is nameless.”
Hence, though it may
seem backward to those who foolishly try to define God,
and force their definitions on the rest of us, a genuine
encounter with the Divine defies all definitions. The
first step in becoming a heyoka, then, is to let
go of all our ideas and explanations about what is God
and what is Good. Tapping into Divine wisdom means
letting go of what we’ve been taught makes sense and
begin questioning our paradigms—those patterns and
habits that lead us blindly into destructive folly.
Becoming a heyoka means admitting we are fools,
we don’t know, we don’t have all the answers, and we
need to keep questioning and looking for even better
answers, just as, in the Tarot, the Fool is represented
as the beginning of wisdom.
In his book on the
Tarot, The Hanged Man, psychotherapist Sheldon
Kopp shares the writing of one of his patients who began
to understand the importance of facing her shadow, that
is, her opposite self.
I know I’m better because
I feel worse.
The nicer you are, the
harder it gets.
The stronger I grow, the
weaker I feel.
You can’t give it to me
because I already have it.
I can’t be littler
because you’re not bigger.
The more lost I become,
the clearer it gets.
I’m feeling confused, I
must be in the right place.
I move furthest when I am
stuck.
The worst part is knowing
that I can make it.
The safest places are the
most dangerous.
The more I cry, the
harder I laugh.
The more I love, the more
I hate.
The more I fight, the
more friends I have.
I can’t make you love me,
you already do.
I can’t be special,
everyone/no one is.
Given permission to rest,
I work harder.
When I rest
you call it work; When I play you call it work; When I
call it work you call it work. I can’t mess up.
Since I
can’t please or displease you, guess I’ll just have to
do what I want.
I don’t get to win, but I
don’t have to lose.
There is no winning or
losing, but I get to keep what I have.
Erich
Fromm referred to this sort of insight as the
paradoxical logic that exists in Taoist, Hindu and
Socratic philosophy alike, and is contrary to our
western Aristotelian logic that rejects the possibility
of opposites. In western logic, A cannot be both A and
not-A—there is no room for contradiction. Yet the Tao
tells us, “To know and yet [think] we do not know is the
highest [attainment]; not to know [and yet think] we do
know is a disease.”
Yet, in paradoxical logic, in the backward-speak of the
heyoka, opposition makes complete sense. It is not
conflicting and dualistic, as in western reasoning, but
is completely harmonious.
Becoming a heyoka, then,
is crazy wisdom and divine wisdom at the same time. It
is backwards in that it begins with answers and ends
with questions. And if we, as a species, are going to
heal our Earth and our Communities, which seem to have
strayed so far from the harmony of the Universe, doing
the opposite seems like just the place we must begin,
and, as George Costanza put it, it must no longer be
just some crazy notion, if must become the basis of our
religion.
