The Importance of the Trickster by Trixie
I
was sitting under a cool and drizzly October sky when a man dressed in a red mask with a huge penis flopping over the top of his head came straight over to me from the center of the courtyard. As he skipped over, the giant ribbed wooden dick on his belt swayed like a bright pink pendulum. The white yak wool spraying from the tip of the phallus caught the breeze, flowing back and forth with the rhythm of his steps. Maybe he chose me because I was the only foreigner on that entire side of the plaza. Maybe it was because he could sense that one reason I had come was to receive his blessing. Into his hands, I put three tiny penises—talismans from the famous ‘penis monastery’ Chime Lhakhang. ‘Sooooo small’ he said in broken English, ‘tiny, tiny, tiny’, he laughed. ‘Mine BIG’ he swaggered…’you soo, sooo tiny’. A similarly costumed friend had joined him by this time— and he laughed with him, joking in their own language.. And, gently, he handed me my tiny penises back. I was at Thimpu Teschu, three days of ritual Buddhist dances and plays in the royal palace grounds of the largest city in Bhutan. Over the hours, spectacularly costumed monks spun and leaped in ethereal religious dances. Elegant silk-costumed men and women joined and separated in beautiful choreographed routines. Masked players retold some of the great magical stories and parables of local Buddhism. But always, alongside them were these atsara, mocking the moves of the beautiful women, thrusting their huge dicks at the swirling monks, teasing and taunting. At one point, they ran into the audience and took up red monks’ robes. Then,
in the center of the plaza, under the gaze of the most important Lama in Bhutan, they mocked every aspect of monks’ temple blessings—from mooning the high lama in mock prostrations to a
water fight using the silver-spouted teapot used for dispensing holy water at sacred shrines. Throughout the day, myriad dancers and players came and went, but the atsara were always there—tirelessly playing their important role. They were the bridge between the audience and the performers, between the sacred and profane,
(untitled, from My Turn to Wear the Horns), by Michael Starkman.
RFD 180 Winter 2019 35
