The black bird cocked its head to one side, and then said, in a voice like stones being struck, 'You shadow man.'I'm Shadow,' said Shadow. The bird hopped up onto the fawn's rump, raised its head, ruffled its crown and neck feathers. It was enormous and its eyes were black beads. There was something intimidating about a bird that size, this close. Says he will see you in Kay-ro.' tokked the raven. Shadow wondered which of Odin's ravens this was: Huginn or Munnin, Memory or Thought. Kay-ro?' he asked. In Egypt.'How am I going to go to Egypt?'Follow Mississippi. Go south. Find Jackal.'Look,' said Shadow, 'I don't want to seem like I'm-- Jesus, look..' he paused. Regrouped. He was cold, standing in a wood, talking to a big black bird who was currently brunching on Bambi. 'Okay. What I'm trying to say is I don't want mysteries.'Mysteries,' agreed the bird helpfully. What I want is explanations. Jackal in Kay-ro. This does not help me. It's a line from a bad spy thriller.
One describes a tale best by telling the tale. You see? The way one describes a story, to oneself or to the world, is by telling the story. It is a balancing act and it is a dream. The more accurate the map, the more it resembles the territory. The most accurate map possible would be the territory, and thus would be perfectly accurate and perfectly useless. The tale is the map that is the territory. You must remember this.