November 29th, as queasy schoolchildren eating too much candy and overstuffed with reading assignments, we try to escape the “shoulds” by running behind the schoolhouse into the enchanted barn of curiosity. Not everything is as it seems in there either, though—just as our appetite for goodies was insatiable before a bellyache, the hunger for knowledge of the secrets to our daily living gives us an existential ache. Though the air smells of the most promising library books, the barn is full of little doll faces of headmasters & strict teachers staring into our eyes. In fact, we’ve made these dolls, it seems: at first, we mocked and prank-called those gatekeepers who told us the way the quest for knowledge and life purpose “should” happen, then we sentimentalized & honored them, and now we find ourselves questioning yet again.
An earthquake suddenly shatters all those dolls to pieces. Centuries-old occult rebels in wigs carrying parchment invite us to drink with them in a den, and carrying a sack of the broken doll faces, we’re shown the first step in breaking ties with a vocabulary that dogmatically constricts the way we conceive of life purpose. Drinking moonshine, holding a Constitution, dancing rudely on the table, these lodgers say, “shred it!”—the document, the words of your life story that must be rethought, regenerated, rewritten in a new language.
Past the table of rowdy constitution-shredders, we see fire in a mirror reflecting the true nature of our minds back to us, asking for all those smashed pieces of old educators, and your own face in a wrinkly caricature, too, to be thrown into that flame. “Your fears, gossip and mockery—distorted echoes of curiosity—become burned in the awareness of your burning inner purpose.”
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