Coyóte Sez
by Tomás

The coyote comes in many forms, for people of the Northwest it is the raven, in the western occult tradition it is the first card of the Tarot deck, the fool. Coyote is the archetypal trickster. The one who gets you to believe things are one way, then, just when you pick up your foot to walk forward based on your belief, the coyote pulls away the proverbial rug and you fall into empty space, or a stewpot, or on your butt, or who knows where?! But one thing is for certain, what you thought was, isn't, and that loud and obnoxous cackle you hear is coyote off behind a boulder having a great laugh.

Let me give you a most recent example Coyote appeared just as I started to write this article. How? Well, I awoke the other day with inspiration for a poem about senor coyóte. I sat down at my computer and wrote down the poem. At that precise moment of completion, the power went off in the house. No wind, no storm, no nothing, except of course. el coyóte. Result? The whole poem was lost, kaput, and I was left with a blank screen when a few minutes later the electricity came back into the house. I hadn't done a thing, just sat there. Oh yeah, and had to endure an old familiar laugh.

Coyote isn't bad, just a trickster, who makes us look at the maya, or illusionary nature of our self-referenced creation of what we call reality. Coyote busts arrogance. Coyote busts thinking that we have our ontological shit all together in a neat little pile. Coyote disslolves, sometimes obliterates, sometimes dumps on our paltry notions of what we think is true and opens us up to the essential nature of reality--ongoing, unfolding mystery, great mystery. Mr. Coyóte sez, "it's a far richer happening here my friend , then you can even imagine. Don't get too stuck in what yer thinking because you know, I will just come along and blow it away. And if yer holding on too tight, well, who knows where yer going to end up when I'm through".

On my annual vision quest in the Cathedral Range of Yosemite, this time celebrating 25 years of questing to this same site, coyote made a number of appearances, and being a shape-shifter, it wasn't always in its' recognizable form. First off, as the ten of us questors gathered together at 9am on a quiet and sleepy labor day in the driveway of my office in Mill Valley, we got into a circle to do a beginning prayer thanking the Deer Spirit and asking for its help with a safe and fruitful journey. Just then a large buck with a big rack of antlers comes out of nowhere and bounds, with a pronounced limp, across the street and right past us. Ummmmmm.

The next day while making our way up a steep, narrow and trecherous ravine that leads from the lower world to the heights of the upper world over a mountain that separates us from the valley of our destination, a big storm from comes in while we are in the middle of our climb. We are in boulder-strewn terrain seeking our way through cliffs and drop-offs. Scouts go out in front of our main body, report back and then we follow with great effort, for the route is demanding and we are at high altitude -- approaching 11,000 feet, straining under the weight of full backpacks. Clear vision is of the utmost importance, both for seeing the route ahead and staying on course, as well as for placing each footstep because a mistep can mean a serious fall.

So given all of this, what happens? A storm hits, bringing cold and wet howling winds, but we can deal with that. What is more challenging and in fact, stops us in our tracks, is a field of energy combined of fog and cloud, plus a little coyóte medicine, that produces a white-out. The view before you fades into a haze of whiteness where you can't see a flaming thing except your hand in front of you, and that is only if you have short arms. Result? We can't see where we are going and have no choice but to stop where we are. We huddle against a rock face as the rain and wind pelts us incessantly. This is hypothermia weather and some of the folks are already shivering. We look desperately for a few flat spots amongst the boulders and cliffs to pitch our tents and fortunately, find enough to put up just enough tents where everyone by doubling up gets into some dry shelter to wait out the storm. It goes on all afternoon, all through the night and finally lifts the next morning. Seems like senor cotote wanted folks to just be with their being for awhile, only one of the hardest things for us westerners to do--be with our being without distractions, schedule, program, and no place to run or hide. Just close, wet, cold, cramped quarters with your tentmate for almost 24 hours.

Finally when we have been "cooked" enough, coyote takes its foot off the pedal and we are able to continue on our way down into the beautiful valley which is the site of our quest. Several days later, when everyone is out at the site of power that called them, and we are all in solitude to enact our quests, I notice in the morning upon awakening from a night of powerful dreams, that my pen has run out of ink. Its' muerto, dead. "Damn", I say to myself, "I think that is the only one I have and I really want to write down these dreams so I don't forget them". I look hopefully through all the nooks and crannies of my backpact but to no avail. There is no other pen to be found.

"Well, that's it then. Face it, accept what is, let go of attachment and surrender into mystery working for the greatest good", I reminded myself. "I'm just going to have to trust my memory-muscles to carry this load and help me remember those dreams until people come back from quest in another two days and I can borrow a pen from one of them to write them down". I resolved to do this and went on into my daily routine of prayers to the directions, then some yoga and t'ai chi work in a small meadow near my quest site. An hour or so later when I finished I lay down on my back in the meadow and released into the beauty of the deep blue sky above me and the dance of the wind in the surrounding high granite peaks glistening in the sunlight radiating down from the heavens.

I don't know how long I lay there. Time was only measured in the movement of clouds passing bye, the sun traveling across the sky and the changing temperature when the wind picked up, the buzz of a circling bee, the call of a red-tail soaring above me. I drifted into the dream time again and traveled through time and space for what seemed like a long while. At one point my eyes opened and my body said, "time to get up and stretch". So I slowly got my body, somewhat tired from fasting and the exertions of getting to this remote spot, to pick itself up and stand erect. As I stood up I noticed something shinning in the grass out of the corner of my eye. It was right next to me the whole time but I hadn't seen it. I bent over to see what it was and wouldn't you know it, it was a pen!

I couldn't believe it. What were the chances of finding a pen out in the wilderness, and right next to me when I needed it?! I was flush with excitement for a few joyous moments, but then "reality" hit. Thoughts rushed into my mind--"Yeah, but look at it, its' old, dirty, who knows how long its been out here covered by snow in the winter and pelted by rain and freezing temperatures. What are the chances that it will actually write? Probably nil", I said to myself.

Then another voice spoke, "Be careful you don't limit what is possible with your rational mind. Don't you be the one that tells the Great Spirit what is possible!" . "OK, that's good input. I'll work with that." I resolved. I walked slowly back to my campsite and took out my journal. I put my newfound pen to the paper and scribled back and forth. Nothing. "Ah, just what I expected". But I kept trying anyway and lo and behold, after a few more passes the "new" pen actually started to work. I couldn't believe it. The synchronicity of it all--my old pen "dying", letting go and surrending, then going to the precise spot to do my yoga where a pen, unbeknownst to my first atttention, lay there awaiting my discovery at the right time. "Who writes the script for this stuff?" I said out loud. "It's too much!".

With great thankfulness I went on to write down my dreams and then, just for the heck of it, took out my old pen to give it a try. Of course it wrote like a charm! Resurrenction in Yosemite. The coyote lives. Just to make sure it had gotten its point across, our last night in the mountains as we stood on some boulders overlooking the valley, who comes bopping up the cliff, the master himself, senor coyóte. Fullgrown, looking good and stepping lightly, he almost walked right into us before he stopped, checked us out, then bounded away and across the wide meadows beneath us to the far side of the valley melting from sight before our very eyes.

Whew, I finished this writing and the power didn't go out. Hallelujah! But hey, maybe the coyote left my house and came over to yours'. Watch out, watch in, watch all over. And, oh yeah, keep yer ears open for a cackling laugh. Be prepared to laugh at yourself, but remember, coyote always laughs last.