Thank me, for I will not put that one sentence from Hegel here. Oy. Yoda would be proud, or at least could understand the sentence construction or lack thereof.
But here, from the intro to Trickster Makes This World, by Lewis Hyde:
[This book] is, among other things, a description and invocation of the kind of imagination that stirs to life at the beginning of a journey. It is about trickster figures– Coyote, Hermes, Mercury, and more – and all tricksters are “on the road”. They are the lords of in-between. A trickster does not live near the hearth; he does not live in the halls of justice, the soldier’s tent, the shaman’s hut, the monastery. He passes through each of these when there is a moment of silence, and he enlivens each with mischief, but he is not their guiding spirit. He is the spirit of the doorway leading out, and of the crossroad at the edge of town (the one where a little market springs up). He is the spirit of the road at dusk, the one that runs from one town to another and belongs to neither. There are strangers on that road, and thieves, and in the underbrush a sly beast whose stomach has not heard about your letters of safe passage. Travelers used to mark such roads with cairns, each adding a stone to the pile in passing. The name Hermes once meant “he of the stone heap”, which tells us that the cairn is more than a trail marker – it is an altar to the forces that govern these spaces of heightened uncertainty, and to the intelligence needed to negotiate them. Hitchhikers who make it safely home have somewhere paid homage to Hermes.
I am so ready to curl up in this book. This is what this time of year feels like to me, those dry twitching winds at night, and the moon running in and out of the clouds. Maybe I should build a pile of rock by the doors, and Trickster will pass me by.