If a Fool would but follow his folly, he would become wise. - William Blake
I once saw a guy with an ‘ANARCHY’ tattoo, waiting in line.
Now all jokes aside, here is the reason I play the Fool:
Like many in their twenties, I had a very idealistic, serious time of things, searching for black-and-white, frustrated when that simplicity was denied me. Now with ample time having past, my capacity for more shady hues of nuance has led me back to levity and light-heartedness.
There is this classic image (above) from the Major Arcana which depicts a young man, dog nipping at his heels, walking head-aloft over the edge of a cliff. He carries a small pack of his effects, and a flower in the bloom of its life.
Who could be so foolish, throwing their life away with such carelessness?
This is the whole point to me: that that which seems careless, crazy and catastrophic to some is precisely the persistence needed to change one’s life. It seems to be a bit quixotic to think that walking one’s own path leads to a fall. Still, it reminds me of a Buddhist maxim:
The bad news is you’re falling through the air with no parachute.
The good news is there’s no ground below you.
Embarking upon a fool’s errand usually attracts a fair amount of derision or dismissal. The things so patently misguided that they elicit people’s scorn is often (but not always) indicative of a promising path.
“Errand” almost sounds like “error” - there is a built-in base of missing, of being distracted and unlikely to complete the mission. (The singular Bobby Riggs - competitor in the infamous Battle of the Sexes with Billie Jean King - was remembered for his production of Err-Tight Tennis, which is that cleanly dirty type of tennis that does not allow for poor mistakes.)
A fool’s errand sounds doubly wasteful, as it suggests that success is not on offer for the pursuit. Granted, most of us succeed at our daily errands, our obligations that claim our time and resources. So I wonder then: what if we approached our personal pursuits with similar commitment, no matter how it could be received by those who do not share our purpose? There’s a subtle sense of abandon when the duty takes on this form, the feeling of “I must do this — no matter what!”
Building in a time of destruction appears to be such a Fool’s Errand. Imbued with the defeatist and nihilist mentality that many of us were raised on, the mantra “why bother?” has never been so rampant, including among those who profess to be Freedom Fighters and Truth Tellers. I’ve been ensnared for too long by the seductions of such hopelessness, mostly because it resigns my role to that of bystander, participant, someone laughing half-heartedly at the drama unfolding around me. It relieves me of agency and action — an acrimonious allure that has roots even to the myth of Jesus (“Father! If it is possible, let this cup be taken away from me!”).
The genuinely overwhelming state of affairs is - I believe - is constructed with the aim of intimidating people into defeat before the match even begins. Well-acquainted as I am with that reaction, I see latent within it that it comes from a juxtaposition of fear, someone or some entity not wishing to be pushed and challenged so that it can have its way without earning it. My gratitude for the events of 2020 and beyond is that they demanded I clarify my values, my Wills and Will-Nots, so that I could begin the building process with deeper intention.
And build I am, and build we shall… parachutes be damned!
Can't is the word that is foe to ambition,
An enemy ambushed to shatter your will;
Its prey is forever the man with a mission
And bows but to courage and patience and skill.
Hate it, with hatred that's deep and undying,
For once it is welcomed 'twill break any man;
Whatever the goal you are seeking, keep trying
And answer this demon by saying: "I can."
(from“Can’t” by Edgar Guest; taken from a book titled “Heap O’ Livin”, 1916)
There is a calamitous casuistry with which our brain insists on employing “can’t” in places it has no business rearing its ugly head. I find myself in awe of that instinct toward negative reinforcement, a reaction so immediate and habitual that I am reluctant to inculpate parental or societal conditioning.
From my own experience, some of that inner-talk veers toward the declaration that the errand is “not worth it”. With the benefit of hard-earned wisdom, I can now ask that voice: Who determines the worth/value? Not worth it to whom? for what? Is success or riches the only measure?
Is the writing of a book truly a failed effort if no one reads it? Is the singing of a song without value if it is not met with applause? Is the completion of a painting destined for the dust bin if it does not sell?
Long have we been reminded that the abilities to sing, dance and create art are inherent talents we all possess by dint of being born; they are not skills that can only be sharpened to a point of profit through schooling and grading and judgment. I can feel how we lose our essential Fool’s nature by relinquishing our rights to these pursuits, because that thief named Comparison stole our sense of unique expression.
There is the creative aspect of our lives that only Fools can pursue with reckless abandon, devoid of any expectation that their toils be rewarded by praise and power; these are anathema to a bonafide Fool. The innocence that is integral in doing-for-doing’s-sake acts as a magical ingredient, inspiring action in the face of much imagined resistance. We conjure up critics to count us out before we count ourselves in, especially in this era where we are confronted by scores of people already diluting the waters of creation with another podcast, another YouTube channel, another Substack, another, another, another …
We are a river unto ourselves, unobstructed and powerful if we choose to let it flow. As someone who has dammed his creative instincts and outlets for too long, I know the feeling of stagnation does not promote more flow. As the inimitable Neville Goddard once conveyed: it’s not about forcing the river to run, it’s about jumping into its current.
I have lost many battles with my inner-voice before the war even began, because I gave into a projection of resistance that took on the shape of impersonal spectres, multitudes of mediocrity that told me I would be wasting my time to write, to record, to challenge, to think, to listen and to do differently.
It appears - as friend and builder Topher Gardner (BioCharisma) recently reminded me - that this is indeed an opportune time to build.
What shall we build then, as there are institutions, beliefs, relationships and egos falling into ruin around us? Replacements (and improvements) will be needed and appreciated, as simply patching and repairing will not suffice if we are to create a more beautiful world our hearts know to be possible. That is the invitation of our time: to go beyond criticism into creation.
I am so immensely grateful to the surfeit of role models in my sphere of influence who refuse to rest on the problems and are actively seeking remedies and responses to the many ills of this epoch. This requires, as I have seen, stepping outside of the consciousness that created the conditions for dis-ease and receiving the inspiration for entirely new solutions.
A certain vision is called forth, one that refuses to look at what is as the end-all, be-all, and don a new lens of possibility.
It is a vision that looks beyond the cliff’s edge, head up high, fleet afoot, proclaiming: “Adventure awaits beyond what those mountains conceal … Let me seek and find.”
Seeking, and finding. That is the challenge we face, to not only wander aimlessly, missing the mark and erring in the process. With a clear aim - specific and personal to each of us - we can erect our own targets, and hit a bullseye with a precision that surprises even ourselves…
As long as you don’t take your Self too seriously, you marvelous Fool.
Yours truly,
Tom Foolery