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COYOTE SPIRIT
The Third Journal
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Come to the chaos New life awaits Roll your mind around The salt water taffy Old men chew Sweet juice dribbling Down stubbled chins Faint glows of yesterday Shining through clouded eyes Piercing truth As only a Shaman Could provide.
Find the place, the trickster taught me, where the sun rises in the West and animals breathe water for air where whales once again become great spaceships and magic is the order of the day.
it had been a long while since Coyote left me sitting on my dock pondering all that he had showed me the mermaids still appeared now and then moving through walls, windows, the ceiling and floors of my home, playfully living life with the abandon that these magical beings are known for occasionally they would tell me Coyote wished me well or he had recently inquired about me other than that there was no notice at all until one day, after several seasons had passed by i heard a familiar voice call out to me as i was tending to my wood pile “hello there!” the familiar voice called out “your wood pile has grown favorably!”
there was no doubt at all as to whom the voice belonged to; it was the trickster, bushy tail and all “you were gone for such a long while,” i called out “i thought you might never return” “is that so?” he answered in his typical fashion “i hadn’t really noticed” “might i trouble you for a cup of that fabulous tea you brew?” Coyote headed towards my house with a somewhat slower pace than i recalled “tell me,” he gleefully inquired, “have the mermaids kept you informed during my absence? they did look in on you, didn’t they?” i assured him they had done exactly that. in fact, they were due for an appearance any time “they will be away for a while,” he offered without explanation other than that they would return again before he left “some sort of ‘secret’ mission?” i asked “something like that,” he replied, his bushy tail twitching in agitation i set my teapot on the wood stove and set about preparing the tea “i recently harvested these mushrooms,” i called out. “they are of an excellent variety that i have been developing since you’ve left” Coyote had settled in next to the fire, warming himself i brought in two steaming cups of mushroom tea on an ornate silver tray with two pieces of lemon rind and a small jar of honey for taste Coyote looked peacefully at the fire. the night had a chill and a dampness to it that spoke of colder times to come. the fire, peacefully burning in my old stove, brought a welcomed warmth to its hearth “in the beginning,” Coyote suddenly announced, “there was only space. nothingness and emptiness without form, without direction” his abrupt statement caught me unawares as i sat gazing into the hypnotic dance of the fire “this was the realm from which the Creator began forming magic. life, if you will, if that makes it easier to grasp, but magic nonetheless” he motioned me to stir the fire, sending a torrent of sparks and flame upwards through the chimney “in much the same way this fire spread life upon being stirred, so too did the Creator bring life out of the darkness, the emptiness, that we now call space. but back then it had no name at all, for there was nothing that existed that would be able to identify it as such. this, then, was the beginning of magic. the beginning of life. many people have attempted to name this period of time as the ‘‘First World’, with the First People becoming the ‘Council Of The First World’. this is incorrect for there was no ‘World’ to council. only dreams that had yet to be seen” we sat quiet after this, gently drinking our tea. Coyote deep in thought and i trying to decipher what, exactly, the wily trickster was up to
“did you finish the journal i left with you?” i told my friend i had finished the journal some time ago and rose to get it for him “no,” he exclaimed, “no need for that. sit and finish your tea” we sat again in silence as we finished our tea, peacefully watching the flames of the fire ebb and flow, not unlike tides of the ocean i could feel my breathing becoming shallow, and erratic “it is a fine day to commune with Shamans,” Coyote offered. “your tea is taking hold quicker than i remember. of course, the Jimson Weed i added when you were not paying attention might have something to do with that” i went to reply but in a moment there became a universe spiraling within a torrent of light. i saw past my naive expectations and marveled at the simplicity which lay before me. understanding my needs, a great wind lifted me and carried me to a place of golden light. Coyote sat there within a lotus flower, beckoning me to enter. he glowed with such intensity that i could not directly look upon him, but rather felt, both his presence in my mind, and in my soul “i cured the Jimson Weed for many weeks in anticipation of this reunion. it will help you to understand the nature of panspermia; the sounds of life falling from space. the sounds are all around you. can you hear them? no? the Jimson Weed will help. it just needs more time. so, tell me, what is it that you took away from reading through my journal? there’s a lot going on in there” i struggled to vocalize what i thought the journal meant most to me, but all that emanated from my mouth were streams of colors; reds, blues, yellows, greens, purples, all the colors there were and in various shades, even transparencies “yes,” Coyote nodded in agreement, “it is a very complex work. you have summarized it nicely.”
i slept till morning, when a particularly bright sunbeam landed directly upon my waking eyes life seemed to move as if i was in a dream i was not certain if Coyote had really returned or if it was all simply a fantastical dream i sensed that Coyote was tired more so than i had ever see him “i’ve made a quick meal for us,” Coyote called from the kitchen, “would you like some tea as well, or perhaps some ale?” so much for dreaming i replied quickly and with a zeal that took me by surprise. “Yes, some ale would be splendid.” Coyote brought our meal, and ale, into the study where the fire remained burning with an ever present sense of comfort the meal was nothing fancy, a few pieces of cheese, some apple slices and some rye bread that was just this side of stale “i feel i must re-explore some of the more basic concepts of life, or rather, the universe with you.” Coyote took hold of several apple slices as he paused “i read through your journal many times while you were gone,” i began to explain, but Coyote quickly motioned me to silence “yes, i understand that. and you did well. that was not an easy task to perform. but there are key elements that i must know you are able to fully understand and grasp before we can move on further.” i will admit that i felt a bit as a child being chided for not understanding a basic problem of arithmetic, or perhaps not able to grasp the eloquence of cursive writing “no, Coyote waved his paw and flipped his tail,” as if he was reading my mind, “it’s nothing at all such as that” i bit into a sharp piece of cheddar and stared into the fire “i have taught you to understand that everything is not as solid as it appears, and it is we who make it so, correct?” my mouth filled with cheese, i simply nodded “but it is much more than that. far more. all matter, essentially, is crystallized light slowed by thoughts, our thoughts. everything around us, from rocks to animals to human bodies, everything, is composed of light patterns, shaped by consciousness. it is the nature of the universe” this caught me quite unawares and i began choking a bit on the cheese “i agree,” the trickster continued, “it is a difficult concept to grasp but a concept, none the less, that you need to master. you see”
he continued on as he moved closer to me, so close i could feel his breath upon me as he spoke “the universe, if you will, is mental, not material. everything in the universe, everything, moves in cycles, rhythmic cycles, expanding and contracting in a never ending cycle of life. just like breathing. always in, and always out, and back in again” “so there is not an end to this, then?” i had managed to understand what Coyote was saying, but it was still an illusive concept to master “see,” he chuckled, “there’s that time thing again. an ending, a beginning. that is not time. time is not linear, but a spiral where past, present, and future coexist with each other” “there must be some sort of time,” i meekly asked. “what about when we die? is that not the ‘end’ of our time?” Coyote had moved back into the great easy chair and was lighting his pipe. the house was very warm, the fire inviting. our meal had filled us both and even though his teachings were abstract i felt a great sense of understanding i had not felt before “so you are talking of a deeper knowledge, a deeper understanding?” i could hear my words being spoken but it did not seem as if i was speaking “ yes, this is what I have been saying; knowledge can be communicated, yes, but not wisdom. One can find wisdom, live with wisdom, be sustained by wisdom, even do wondrous things in life through wisdom, but one cannot communicate and teach it. It is simply not possible. Wisdom must come to us not from textbooks or some genetic predisposition. No, not at all. It must come from the self realization that life as a reality is an illusion. A simple magic trick with which to entertain eager children warming to the notion that everything is possible, if only you believe.” “death,” he let out slowly with a fine wreath of smoke, “is not an end. not at all. it is the release of compressed light, the light we have captured and compressed during our time on this plane that we have come to call our own. upon our ‘death’ we release this light back to its source where it joins and merges with the great light that is all of us, past, present, and future. it is the one light. it is the universe” morning had given way to early noon and i felt myself drained “if so many cultures throughout time,” i asked Coyote, “predicted the end of the universe, wouldn’t it have happened by now? How do you account for that?” “perhaps it did end and nobody noticed,” he replied “that’s absurd,” i exclaimed. “How could they have not noticed?” “maybe the universe did end and a new universe unfolded, enveloping the old into the new.” Coyote sat in his chair, comfortably smoking “so that would mean there would be multiple universes,” i said, “all wrapped up within each other. it doesn’t make sense.” the conversation was irritating and pointless and i told Coyote as much “you readily dismiss that which you don’t understand,” he replied with a grin. “perhaps that is what makes sense.” “When you look into your lake,” he asked, “do you see your reflection, or have you really been in the lake all along and you’re just now seeing a reflection of yourself, out of the lake?”
“how could i live in the lake?” i retorted. “it’s ridiculous.” “why? why is it not possible? because it is ridiculous, or is it because you do not have the capacity to understand?” Coyote looked peacefully at the fire burning in my wood stove. he seemed ethereal. here, but somewhere else as well “i suppose that would explain a great many things,” i offered Coyote’s tail swished lightly in the air. “i suppose it would.” for the next few days Coyote spent his time reading through his journal, speaking with the local birds, squirrels, and visiting, of course, with the big koi in my lake at one point he told me he had some business across the valley and packed lightly for his stay there he directed me to continue on in my studies and when he returned he promised that much more would be revealed to me with that, he grabbed his walking stick and headed off, though once again i noticed his gait was not as crisp, as bright, as it used to be — an entire moon had passed since Coyote left, and i was anxious to know what new adventures he had taken on i eagerly looked towards the forest path each morning until the morning appeared that had him humming to himself walking straight for my house “nothing grand,” he replied to my question, “nothing grand at all. do you remember my cousin, the blind Coyote that danced?”
“the one from South America? how could i forget?” “yes,” he replied while looking straight at me. “how could you forget?” A long silence ensued where i grew even more anxious wondering if Coyote was going to continue on with the conversation, or perhaps he was lost in deep meditation. “i asked the mermaids to escort him up here several moons ago. they will be arriving soon.” “any special reason for the journey,” i asked? “there is a particular ceremony he will conduct that i would like you to participate in. it is an ancient ceremony, handed down by the great Huehuecoyotl, the ancient Aztec Coyote god of music, dance, and storytelling.” Coyote had involved me in many of his rituals, usually accompanied with hallucinogenic experiences that opened me to far deeper understandings to the universe than i believed possible. what more could there be to understand? “it is true, you have shown great advancement,” he said, as if reading my mind, “but there is yet another experience you need to master in order to go forward.” a gentle wind ran through the trees leaving traces of cottonwood blooms dancing in the air. for the briefest of moments i heard dancing and music riding alongside the cottonwood blooms “yes, i hear it as well,” Coyote stated matter of fact. then, with his trickster grin; “my cousin will be arriving any time now. we must prepare.” Striding in front of me, Coyote handed me my rucksack and headed off deeper into the forest path. Sighing heavily as he spoke with purposeful over exasperation. “indigenous people throughout the world, for thousands of years, have used natural plants and minerals to create psychedelic experiences so that their cultures might come to know a greater consciousness. did you hear me? thousands of years!” i had heard this story played out a handful of times in the past, but never with this much righteous madness. truly, it was as if he had become possessed with a fervor i had not seen before “natural substances! given freely by Earth Mother to ALL of her children. then came ‘civilization’. then came the church. then the conquerors, which, arguably were one in the same. then the monarchies. until finally, politicians outright banned and made marijuana illegal, followed by more and more moral outrage against Earth Mother’s gifts, leading up to the ‘war on drugs’, which led to the imprisonment of thousands of souls merely because they sought to expand their consciousness so as to understand the nature, the universe, they found themselves in. i ask you, in all earnestness; what is wrong with your supposed ‘civilization’?” we had stopped along the path in front of a grouping of large, immensely large, redwood trees that had left a deep layer of humus and debris on the forest floor Coyote had taught me the many different varieties of forest mushrooms and i set upon collecting those specimens that would produce the most wonderful and magical effects i had come to enjoy “capitalism,” Coyote shouted, as i bent to retrieve a dozen beautiful specimens
“what about it” i asked as i reached for a dozen more “if there was ever one major downfall to society, one practice so inhumane and grievous that I shudder recounting its many perverse desires, it would have to be capitalism.” “capitalism?” “yes. the entire concept is based on never ending growth in order to survive. the moment it stops growing it withers away to a shadow of itself, causing panic, hysteria, and a general malaise of the soul that can only be described as wretched” “all hope is lost; whatever shall we do? that sort of thing?” i asked Coyote stared at me intently for a moment before replying, “a little melodramatic, don’t you think? but yes, capitalism is the great evil” “i’m not sure if i would agree. what about politics?” “politics?” Coyote practically shouted the word in my face, “you mean as in which political party is good, which is bad, that sort of thing?” “i believe it is a fair question to ask” this time, i was going to hold my ground “the question you should be asking is not which political party is better than the others, or which country is more advanced than the others. no, these are not the questions that should concern you. neither should you concern yourself with how you deal with homelessness or whether everyone should be equal in a just world. these, too, are only arguments of confusion designed to encourage lesser minds to continue forward with their unfair arguments with existence. the real question you should be asking yourself is, what do birds dream? do they sing in their dreams? do they have nightmares of not being able to fly and only being able to walk? or do they believe in soaring ever higher to the heavens, flying past the night sky and onto distant stars? for it is only when man fully concerns themselves with nature will their true evolution be revealed.” with our baskets full we began our journey back through the forest Coyote moving slower than usual his gait measured, deliberate as though each step required consideration
IV the afternoon light slanted through the redwoods casting long shadows that stretched before us like fingers pointing the way home “how long,” i asked, “until your cousin arrives?” Coyote paused to catch his breath leaning against a moss-covered boulder “the mermaids have already begun their work swimming through dimensions to fetch him he should arrive when the moon is full again three nights from now, perhaps four” i adjusted the basket on my hip the mushrooms inside giving off their earthy scent “what should i expect from this ceremony? is it like the sweat?” “nothing like the sweat,” Coyote said a strange smile crossing his weathered face “my cousin does not work with fire and steam he works with sound and darkness with the ancient rhythms that predate language itself Huehuecoyotl’s gift to those who would listen” we walked on in silence the forest seeming to hold its breath around us even the birds had grown quiet as though they too sensed something approaching “you will need to fast,” Coyote continued “for two days before the ceremony drink only water and the tea i will prepare for you your body must be empty, your mind must be clear there can be no interference from the material world” i nodded, though uncertainty crept through me “and what will happen during the ceremony itself?” Coyote stopped walking entirely turning to face me with those sharp eyes “my cousin will dance, though he cannot see he will sing, though the words are not in any language you know and you will sit in complete darkness listening to the sound of the universe breathing” a red-tailed hawk cried out overhead circling once, twice, three times before disappearing beyond the canopy “that’s the first sign,” Coyote said quietly “the messengers are gathering they know what’s coming” as we emerged from the deep forest onto the path leading back to my home
i noticed the lake in the distance its surface perfectly still reflecting the sky like polished obsidian and there, just visible on my dock two figures sat waiting their forms shimmering slightly in the afternoon light “the mermaids,” i whispered “yes,” Coyote replied “they’ve returned from their journey which means my cousin is already on his way perhaps sooner than i thought” he shifted his basket to his other arm wincing slightly with the effort “we have much to prepare and very little time to do so come, let us see what news they bring” we quickened our pace toward home the weight of the mushrooms in our baskets nothing compared to the weight of what was coming V as we approached the dock i watched Coyote’s gait more carefully the way he favored his left side how he paused every dozen steps to catch his breath the mermaids rose as we drew near their usual playful demeanor replaced by something i had never seen in them before; a profound sadness that made the air heavy one of them reached out touching Coyote’s weathered face her fingers trailing along his muzzle as tears formed in her luminous eyes “he arrives tomorrow at dusk,” she said softly “he has traveled far and moves swiftly the forest itself parts before him” Coyote nodded slowly setting down his basket with visible relief “good,” he said, his voice rougher than usual “that gives us tonight to prepare”
i stood there holding my own basket watching this exchange feeling something cold settle inside me a realization i had been avoiding “Coyote,” i began but he raised a paw to silence me “let’s get these mushrooms inside first then we’ll talk about what you’ve been too afraid to ask” we walked to my home in silence the mermaids following at a distance their presence a gentle escort as though guarding something precious inside, Coyote collapsed into his usual chair with none of his typical theatrical flair just the honest exhaustion of an ancient body finally admitting its limits i set water to boil my hands moving through familiar motions while my mind raced with questions i wasn’t sure i wanted answered “you’re dying,” i finally said not a question but a statement the words falling like stones into still water Coyote’s laugh was soft, almost tender “dying? my friend, i’ve been dying since the moment i was born we all are, constantly, every moment dying but, yes, this particular essence of dying is reaching its inevitable conclusion” he reached for his enchanted pipe fumbling slightly with the matches until i moved to help him our eyes meeting in that small gesture “how long have you known?” i asked “that i was dying? always. that my time was nearly finished? since before i brought you the journal, perhaps even before i met you” he drew deeply from the pipe the smoke curling around his head like a halo, or, perhaps, a shroud “the gods told me, you see, that you would be my last student the final human i would teach before returning to the earth” outside, i could hear animals gathering the soft sounds of paws and hooves dozens of them, perhaps hundreds coming to bear witness “but your teaching isn’t complete,” i protested “there’s still so much i don’t understand about the journal, about time, about—”
“about everything,” Coyote finished “yes, i know. and that’s precisely why my cousin must come” he leaned forward, his sharp eyes still bright despite his body’s failing “i have shown you the door, my friend i have taught you to see through the veil to recognize the inter-connectedness of all things but there are rooms beyond rooms chambers i cannot guide you through” “why not?” i asked, though i feared the answer “because i am a trickster,” he said simply “i work with illusion and revelation with the breaking down of false barriers but my cousin—he has walked in darkness for three hundred years he has seen with Huehuecoyotl’s eyes the eyes that perceive what lies beneath, beneath matter, beneath light beneath consciousness itself” one of the mermaids appeared through the ceiling settling beside Coyote’s chair her hand resting gently on his shoulder “he will teach you what i cannot,” Coyote continued “he will show you the sound that shapes reality the rhythm that preceded light the dance that dreamed the universe into being” he paused, coughing slightly and i saw how thin he had become how his once-vibrant fur had dulled “i have loved teaching you,” he said quietly “watching you struggle and resist then finally, beautifully, surrendering you have the gift, my friend the rare ability to hold paradox to be both skeptic and mystic both rational and ecstatic” “but you’re not finished with me,” i said hearing the desperation in my voice “no,” Coyote agreed, his trickster smile returning “but my cousin will be he will take you to the places where even tricksters fear to tread where sound becomes light and light becomes consciousness and consciousness becomes—” he stopped, shaking his head “but i’m getting ahead of myself or perhaps behind myself time is funny that way” through the window, i could see the forest had grown darker though sunset was still hours away as though the trees themselves were drawing closer, listening
“he’s near,” Coyote whispered “my cousin moves through the forest and the forest recognizes him, it bends to accommodate his passage” the mermaids began to hum softly a sound like distant bells or water over ancient stones “tomorrow at dusk,” Coyote said “we will meet him at the forest’s edge and i will pass to him what i have carried for so long” he looked at me then with such affection and pride that i had to look away “you will understand, eventually why this had to be why one teacher must fall so another can rise why the trickster must step aside for the dancer in darkness to complete the task” outside, a coyote howled answered by another, then another until the forest rang with their voices a chorus of farewell and welcome and the eternal turning of all things toward their completion VI the next day we sat together on the dock as morning light stretched long across the water Coyote in the old stuffed chair i had brought out for him me on the weathered planks beside him the lake had gone mirror-still reflecting clouds that moved like slow thoughts across the surface of the sky “he’s close now,” Coyote said quietly not looking at me but out toward the tree line “i can feel him in my bones the way you feel thunder before it arrives” i wanted to ask how much time we had left but the question felt obscene like asking a sunset to explain its colors instead, i watched a great blue heron wade through the shallows near the shore its movements deliberate and ancient as though it had been doing this since before humans learned to speak
“there’s something you need to understand,” Coyote said, his voice softer than i’d ever heard it “about what comes next” he paused, gathering his thoughts or perhaps gathering his strength “my cousin will not teach you the way i have with stories and tricks and laughter he works with sound, with rhythm with the vibrations that existed before light learned to shine” the mermaids rose from the water then three of them, their faces solemn they climbed onto the dock without speaking and began arranging something i couldn’t quite see small stones, perhaps, or shells in a pattern that seemed to pulse with meaning “you will need to trust him completely,” Coyote continued “even when—especially when— you cannot see what he is doing even when the darkness feels absolute” i nodded, though fear moved through me like cold water through reeds the sun had dropped lower now painting the western sky in shades of copper and rust and i noticed how Coyote’s fur seemed almost translucent in this light as though he were already beginning to fade “i’m afraid,” i admitted the words coming out before i could stop them “good,” Coyote said, and his trickster smile returned just for a moment “fear means you’re paying attention it means you understand the stakes” he reached out then placing one weathered paw on my shoulder and i felt the weight of everything he’d taught me settling into my bones “remember this,” he said “when you cannot see the path when the darkness is complete and you think you’ve lost your way— that’s when you’re closest to understanding, that’s when the real teaching begins” from the forest came a sound not quite music, not quite voice a rhythmic pulse that seemed to emanate from the earth itself the mermaids stopped their work turning toward the tree line their humming growing louder harmonizing with the approaching sound Coyote stood slowly every movement deliberate as though his body had become
something precious and breakable “he’s here,” he whispered and i saw him then or rather, i saw the forest part saw the trees lean back as though making way for something sacred a figure emerged from the shadows moving with absolute certainty despite the blindness Coyote had described his steps fell in perfect rhythm with the pulse that filled the air the blind cousin had arrived and the lake itself seemed to hold its breath waiting for what would come next
VII he walked onto the dock without hesitation his paws finding each weathered plank as though he’d crossed this threshold a thousand times before his fur was darker than Coyote’s nearly black in the fading light with silver streaks running through it like rivers of starlight his eyes were clouded white yet somehow they seemed to see everything looking through the surface of things into their essential nature the rhythmic pulse grew stronger and i realized it came from him from his breathing, his heartbeat from the ancient song he carried in his bones he stopped a few feet from where we stood tilted his head slightly and a smile played across his muzzle
“that’s an odd sort of chair to have sitting on a dock,” he said, his voice rich and warm carrying traces of distant jungles and forgotten temples “but then again, you are an odd sort of a Coyote, aren’t you?” Coyote laughed a sound both joyful and heartbroken and moved forward to embrace his cousin they held each other for a long moment two ancient beings recognizing what words could not express the mermaids rose higher from the water their faces radiant with something like reverence and began to sing in a language older than human speech when the cousins finally separated the blind one turned toward me those white eyes seeming to pierce straight through to my center “how can you see us if you are blind?” i asked the question escaping before i could stop it he chuckled, a sound like distant thunder “one does not need sight to see,” he said, moving closer “or did you forget when we met before?” the words struck me like a physical blow and suddenly i was falling backward through memory through the sweat ceremony through the descent into darkness with the mermaids through dreams i’d forgotten upon waking i saw him there in the cave’s deepest chamber standing in shadows beyond the fire’s reach watching as i learned to fly as i became the hawk as i split into two selves he’d been there all along a presence i’d sensed but never quite seen a rhythm beneath the ceremony’s rhythm a song beneath Mescalito’s song “you were in the cave,” i whispered “i am always in the cave,” he replied simply “just as i am always here always in the darkness where sight fails and true seeing begins” Coyote sank back into the stuffed chair his body seeming to deflate slightly as though he’d been holding himself together through sheer will waiting for this moment “he has come far,” Coyote said to his cousin “farther than most humans ever travel
but there are chambers i cannot show him songs i cannot sing” the blind cousin nodded slowly “you have done well, primo,” he said, using a term of endearment that carried centuries of affection “you have opened the doors shown him the journal’s light taught him to see with more than eyes now i will teach him to hear with more than ears” he turned back to me and i felt the weight of his attention like standing before an ancient mountain that has witnessed the birth and death of countless civilizations “the ceremony begins tomorrow at dusk,” he said, his voice carrying absolute authority “you will fast until then drink only water from the sacred spring with small sips of the mushroom tea my cousin has prepared for you and you will prepare yourself for darkness deeper than any you have known” the mermaids descended back into the water their song fading to a gentle hum and the sun finally slipped below the horizon leaving us in twilight’s uncertain grace Coyote reached out one paw toward his cousin who took it gently in his own and i understood i was witnessing something profound and final the passing of a torch the completion of one teaching and the beginning of another “rest now,” the blind cousin said to me “tomorrow you will learn what sound was before light what rhythm was before form what the universe sang when it first dreamed itself into being” and with that he turned walking back toward the forest his steps still perfectly certain still falling in rhythm with the pulse that seemed to come from the earth’s own heart
VIII when the blind cousin’s footsteps faded into the forest’s breathing darkness Coyote and i sat alone together on the weathered dock the stuffed chair creaked beneath him as he settled deeper into its embrace and i sat cross-legged on the planks watching stars emerge one by one like ancient eyes opening the lake had gone perfectly still a mirror of obsidian and silver reflecting the first constellations and somewhere in the reeds a heron called once then fell silent “so,” Coyote said softly his voice carrying none of its usual mischief “we have come to this” i wanted to speak to say something profound something worthy of all he had shown me but my throat closed around the words he reached out a paw and i took it in both my hands feeling the warmth there the pulse still strong despite everything the rough pads worn smooth by countless journeys across countless seasons “do you remember,” he said “that day you found me tangled in superglue and leaves?” i laughed despite the tears that had begun to blur the stars “you were so serious,” he continued “so determined to rescue me as though i needed rescuing” “didn’t you?” i asked his eyes caught the starlight and for a moment they blazed with all the ancient fire that had guided me through visions through ceremonies through the breaking down of every wall i’d built around my heart “perhaps,” he said
“or perhaps i was rescuing you and simply made it look like an accident” the trickster’s smile played across his muzzle but gentler now softer “everything i have shown you,” he said “the journal, the ancestors, the mermaids the sweat ceremony, the flight as a hawk ...all of it was real and none of it was real in the way you once thought real meant” he paused his breathing slower now more deliberate “my cousin will show you deeper chambers older songs rhythms that existed before the first light broke across the first morning” “but he is not you,” i whispered “no,” Coyote agreed “he is not me he is something older, wiser something that remembers what i have forgotten just as i remembered what humans forgot” a mermaid surfaced near the dock her face luminous in the starlight and she began to sing a melody so ancient and so pure it seemed to come from the lake itself from the water’s first dreaming another mermaid joined her then another the lake was filled with their voices weaving harmonies that spoke of endings and beginnings and the eternal spiral between Coyote closed his eyes listening “they sing for you,” i said “they sing for all of us,” he replied “for every teacher who has passed the torch for every student who has opened their eyes for the great turning of the wheel that brings us all home” he opened his eyes again and looked at me with such tenderness such complete acceptance that i felt something break open inside my heart “i am not afraid,” he said “death is only light returning to light consciousness releasing its grip on this particular form to dance in other forms in other dreams”
“but i will miss you,” i said the words barely audible “you will miss this,” he said gesturing to his body “this fur, these paws, this voice but i am not this any more than you are the body you wear” he leaned forward and touched his forehead to mine and in that moment i felt everything we had shared every vision, every teaching every moment of laughter and confusion flow between us like water like light like the breath we shared “you are ready,” he whispered “more ready than you know my cousin will take you further into chambers where even i could not follow” he pulled back and slowly rose from the chair his movements careful deliberate the mermaids’ song grew softer more distant as though they were descending back into the lake’s great heart “one last thing,” Coyote said and that familiar mischief flickered in his eyes “what?” i asked “the dock,” he said looking down at the weathered planks “really does need a new coat of paint” and despite everything despite the weight of farewell despite the tears streaming down my face i laughed he laughed too that wild, joyous sound that had accompanied so many revelations so many impossible moments then he turned and walked slowly down the dock toward the shore toward the forest his silhouette growing smaller more translucent as though he were already becoming part of the twilight itself at the edge of the trees he paused, and looked back
“remember,” he called his voice carrying across the water “everything is connected everything is one and you are never ever alone” then he stepped into the shadows and was gone i sat on the dock as night deepened around me the stars multiplying overhead the mermaids silent now the lake breathing softly and i understood with a clarity that needed no words that this was not an ending it was a doorway tomorrow at dusk i would step through it into darkness deeper than any i had known guided by the blind cousin’s ancient wisdom carrying everything Coyote had given me into chambers where new songs waited but tonight i would sit here and let the grief move through me let the gratitude fill me let the love we had shared settle into my bones like starlight like memory like the eternal promise that nothing truly ends only transforms the stuffed chair sat empty beside me still holding the shape of the teacher who had changed everything and somewhere in the forest a coyote howled once long and clear a sound of completion a sound of release a sound of joy
IX dawn came slowly as though the sun itself was reluctant to begin this day i woke on the dock still wrapped in the quilt i had pulled around myself in the deepest hours of night the stuffed chair beside me empty it was Coyote’s chair i could not bring myself to sit in it the lake was perfectly still a mirror of pearl and rose reflecting clouds that had not yet decided whether to hold rain or release it i rose stiffly my body aching from the wooden planks and walked to the shore where the sacred spring water bubbled up through stones i knelt cupped my hands and drank the water tasted of minerals of earth’s deep places of something older than memory this would be my only sustenance until the ceremony began at dusk this, and Coyote’s mushroom tea i returned to the dock sat cross-legged on the weathered wood and watched the sun climb above the eastern treeline the blind cousin had said “fast, drink only water and my cousins tea prepare yourself for darkness deeper than any you have known” i closed my eyes and began
the morning stretched out in a silence so complete i could hear my own heartbeat echoing in my ears no birds sang no wind stirred the water even the insects seemed to have withdrawn into some hidden place i sat and breathed and let the emptiness begin memories rose unbidden like fish surfacing in still water Coyote laughing his sharp nose dripping tears as he explained the absurdity of trying to control the journal Coyote’s paw in my hands warm and rough as we said goodbye the journal glowing on my kitchen table pouring forth images of temples of evolution of the universe forming from a single point of light the ancestors in the cave Grandfather Bear’s massive presence Great-Great Grandmother Turtle’s ancient eyes Grandfather Coyote’s knowing smile the sweat ceremony ascending through the chimney descending into dahlias the mermaids guiding me through darkness Mescalito’s voice welcoming me flying as the hawk feeling wind beneath wings that were somehow mine and not mine all of it flowing through me like water like light like the breath i drew and released and drew again i opened my eyes and the sun had climbed higher midday approached and with it came a strange heaviness my stomach had stopped complaining about the absence of food but my mind had begun to circle and question what was i doing here?
what made me think i was worthy of these teachings of ceremonies conducted by ancient beings of wisdom that predated human civilization? i was just a man sitting on a dock that needed painting the doubt settled over me like fog rolling in from the lake and then i heard it singing soft at first then growing clearer i looked up and saw them rising from the lake’s depths the mermaids three of them, in unity their faces luminous their tails catching sunlight and scattering it like diamonds they circled the dock their song wordless but somehow speaking directly to the doubt in my chest one of them surfaced close her eyes meeting mine “you are ready,” she said her voice like water over stones “you have always been ready you simply needed to remember” “but i don’t know what’s coming,” i said “i don’t know what he’ll show me what he’ll ask of me” “no one ever knows,” another mermaid said surfacing on the other side of the dock “that is the nature of initiation you step into darkness trusting that the darkness itself will teach you” “Coyote prepared you well,” the third said “he broke down your walls showed you the inter-connectedness of everything taught you that reality is not what you were programmed to believe it was” “now his cousin will take you deeper,” the first continued “into places where even Coyote could not follow into the sound that existed before light was born”
they began to descend back into the lake their song fading but before they disappeared completely the first mermaid looked back “we will be there,” she said “in the darkness we will be there we are always there” then they were gone and the lake was still again i sat feeling the doubt dissolve like mist in sunlight the afternoon came and with it a strange quality of light as i sipped mushroom tea the sun seemed to hang suspended neither rising nor falling just existing in a perpetual present the lake became a perfect mirror reflecting not just the sky but something beyond the sky i could see clouds and between the clouds spaces that seemed to open into other dimensions time began to feel elastic stretching and compressing moments lasting hours hours passing in heartbeats i drank more tea, and more water from the spring and each time i did i felt lighter, more transparent as though my body itself was becoming less solid more permeable to whatever was approaching i thought about the blind cousin’s words “darkness deeper than any you have known” what did that mean? in the sweat ceremony i had experienced profound darkness descending through the dahlia into chambers where only Mescalito’s voice provided any orientation but the blind cousin spoke of something deeper still and “what sound was before light” how could there be sound before light?
didn’t they emerge together in the first moment of creation? but then i remembered Coyote’s teaching about the universe being mental not material consciousness first then light then matter but what came before consciousness? what was the sound that called consciousness into being? i sat with these questions not trying to answer them just letting them exist like ripples on water the sun began its descent and the light changed again golden now thick and honey-slow pouring across the lake turning everything it touched into something sacred i felt my heart begin to quicken not with fear but with anticipation dusk was approaching the ceremony would begin soon i stood stretched my stiff limbs and walked once more to the spring i drank deeply feeling the water fill me cleanse me prepare me when i returned to the dock the stuffed chair sat waiting still holding the ghost of Coyote’s presence i did not sit in it that was his place and would always be his place instead i sat on the planks facing the forest where the blind cousin would emerge the sun touched the western horizon and the sky began to burn orange and crimson violet and gold
colors so intense they seemed to vibrate with their own frequency the lake caught fire with reflection and for a moment everything was aflame with dying light i breathed and felt myself empty completely empty a vessel waiting to be filled no thoughts no expectations no resistance just openness just readiness just the simple presence of a student waiting for his teacher the sun slipped below the trees and twilight came that liminal time between day and night when the world holds its breath and then i heard it; footsteps slow and certain moving through the forest toward the dock the blind cousin was coming i remained seated my hands resting on my knees my breath steady my heart open the footsteps grew closer and i understood with a clarity that needed no words that everything Coyote had shown me every vision, every teaching every moment of confusion and breakthrough he had been preparing me for was for this for whatever lay beyond the threshold i was about to cross i knew it was a darkness deeper than any i had known and i was ready
X he emerged from the treeline carrying a clay vessel cradled against his chest something infinitely precious his blind eyes fixed on nothing yet seeing everything his feet found each plank with absolute certainty no hesitation no searching he moved as though the dock itself rose up to meet him as though the wood remembered every footfall he had ever made across tens of thousands of years he wore simple clothes undyed cotton a woven belt and around his neck a necklace of seeds and bones that clicked softly with each step the clay vessel steamed slightly in the cooling air and i could smell it bitter earthy ancient like soil after rain like roots pulled from deep places like something that had been brewing since the world was young he stopped three paces from where i sat and set the vessel down on the weathered planks then he began to move not walking but circling his hands tracing patterns in the air his voice rising in a language i had never heard yet somehow understood the mermaids surfaced
all three of them forming a triangle around the dock their faces solemn their eyes reflecting not the dying light but something older something that burned before the sun was born the blind Coyote’s voice grew stronger and i realized he was singing calling something forth from the lake from the forest from the earth beneath us the wind died completely the water became glass the insects fell silent the world itself was listening he knelt before the vessel and his hands moved over it blessing it, or perhaps asking its permission when he spoke his voice was no longer just his own “you have walked through fire and emerged you have descended into earth and risen you have flown as the hawk and returned” “but tonight you will go deeper into the place before places into the sound before sound into the darkness that dreamed the first light” he lifted the vessel and held it toward the four directions east, south, west, north then up to the sky then down to the earth the mermaids began to hum a frequency so low i felt it in my bones in my teeth in the base of my skull “Huehuecóyotl walks tonight the old, old Coyote the one who sang the stars into being the one who taught the first humans how to dream” “he comes through me
as he has come through countless others across time’s great spiral” “and he will show you what cannot be shown teach you what cannot be taught give you what you already possess but have forgotten” he brought the vessel to his own lips and drank his throat working his face showing nothing then he held it out to me “drink and remember what you were before you were born” i took the vessel feeling its warmth its weight its terrible significance the liquid inside was dark almost black with a reddish tinge like old blood like rust like the earth’s own medicine i brought it to my lips the smell overwhelmed me bitter beyond bitter a taste that wanted to be refused that the body recognized as something powerful something dangerous something sacred i drank and then i drank more it coated my throat thick and viscous tasting of vines and bark of roots that had never seen light of leaves that had drunk a thousand rains i drank again and again until the vessel was empty the blind Coyote took it from my hands and set it aside “now we wait for the medicine to open you for the doors to appear for Huehuecóyotl to begin his dance”
he sat across from me cross-legged his blind eyes fixed on the space between us the mermaids continued their humming and i realized it was not one note but many layered and complex harmonics within harmonics a sound that seemed to come from inside my own heart time began to stretch the twilight deepened but did not become night it hung there suspended neither light nor dark but something between the dock beneath me felt less solid not unstable but permeable as though i could sink through it if i stopped paying attention my hands on my knees looked strange too detailed every line and whorl standing out with impossible clarity i could see the blood moving beneath my skin could feel my heartbeat not just in my chest but everywhere in my fingertips in my scalp in the soles of my feet the blind Coyote’s presence began to change he was sitting there still and silent but he seemed larger somehow or perhaps more dense as though he contained more space than his body should hold his face began to shift not changing shape but revealing layers i saw him as he was an old Coyote blind and weathered but beneath that
i saw other faces hundreds of them thousands all the shamans and medicine carriers who had ever channeled this ancient presence and beneath those faces something else something that was not human not animal but older than both a consciousness that had watched the first cells divide the first creatures crawl from water the first humans stand upright and wonder at the stars Huehuecóyotl the old, original Coyote the trickster god the one who danced before dancing had a name he was waking i could feel it like a great wheel beginning to turn like a door opening in the fabric of reality itself the mermaids’ voices changed no longer humming but singing in that language before language that sound that was not sound but pure vibration pure meaning and i understood them they were singing the world into being or perhaps singing it out of being so it could become whole once more they were holding the space between creation and dissolution between form and formlessness the dock began to pulse or perhaps i was pulsing and the dock was still i could no longer tell where i ended and the world began my body felt distant like something i was wearing rather than something i was
the blind Coyote spoke his voice coming from everywhere from the lake from the trees from inside my own skull “the medicine is opening you can you feel it? the walls coming down the doors appearing the darkness welcoming you home” i tried to answer but my voice was gone or perhaps i had already answered and forgotten time was no longer linear i was sitting on the dock as i had always been sitting on the dock as i would always be sitting on the dock past, present, future collapsed into a single moment that stretched into infinity the blind Coyote stood but he was no longer the blind Coyote he was Huehuecóyotl himself ancient and terrible and beautiful his body seemed to contain galaxies his movements creating ripples in the fabric of space he began to dance slowly at first then faster his feet striking the dock in rhythms that predated music and with each step the world changed the lake became a mirror reflecting not the sky but other worlds other dimensions other possibilities the forest became transparent and i could see through the trees to the bones of the earth to the rivers of magma to the core of fire the mermaids rose from the water
their tails becoming legs their bodies becoming light their voices becoming sound itself the sound before sound the vibration that called the universe into being and i was falling not down but in into darkness yes but a darkness that was alive that was conscious that was singing a darkness that held all light within it waiting to be born i tried to hold on to the dock to my body to my name but they were already gone i was dissolving becoming the darkness itself and Huehuecóyotl’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere “let go let go let go” “this is what you came for this is what you have always been seeking” “the place before birth the sound before light the darkness that dreams all things” and i let go completely and fell into the infinite into the eternal into the sound that was singing me into existence
XI then the darkness opened and i saw the journal Coyote’s ancient leather tome floating before me massive now the size of continents the size of worlds its pages turning not with wind but with breath with intention with the pulse of creation itself and the images i had seen before static and glowing were no longer still they were alive moving breathing the Great Pyramid of Giza rising stone by stone thousands of hands pulling thousands of backs breaking the sun beating down as the monument climbed toward heaven i could hear their songs the workers singing in a language i had never learned yet understood completely songs of effort songs of devotion songs of belief that this would matter that this would last that this would touch eternity and it did and it didn’t because even as i watched it rise i watched it crumble not in sequence but simultaneously
the pyramid being built and the pyramid weathering and the pyramid buried in sand and the pyramid excavated and the pyramid standing in a world of tourists and cameras all at once all the same moment all equally real Chichen Itza appeared beside it El Castillo climbing its perfect geometry its astronomical precision the Mayan architects calculating the equinox the shadow of the serpent descending the steps and i watched them build it watched them worship there watched the Spanish arrive watched the jungle reclaim it watched archaeologists uncover it watched it stand empty beneath a moon that had witnessed ten thousand such cycles Angkor Wat bloomed like a flower its towers reaching its galleries filling with monks with incense with prayers that rose like smoke toward heaven and i saw it abandoned roots breaking through stone trees growing from rooftops the jungle patient the jungle inevitable the jungle reclaiming what had always been hers Göbekli Tepe emerged older than all of them older than agriculture older than cities older than the very concept of civilization i watched hunter-gatherers carve those massive stones drag them into circles create the first temple before they even knew what a temple was and i watched them bury it deliberately carefully covering their sacred site with earth and time preserving it for a future they could not imagine
all of human history unspooling before me not as a line but as a tapestry every thread visible every moment present Babylon rising Rome expanding Constantinople glowing Tenochtitlan floating on its lake of dreams and all of them falling all of them crumbling all of them becoming dust and memory and archaeological sites and tourist destinations the cosmic movie played on and i saw deeper past the temples past the cities past humanity itself i saw the first humans standing upright looking at their hands as though seeing them for the first time i saw them discover fire not by accident but by watching by learning by understanding that they could hold the sun’s power in their palms i saw them paint on cave walls in Lascaux in Altamira in Chauvet not primitive scrawls but art sophisticated and intentional capturing movement capturing life capturing the sacred relationship between hunter and hunted i saw them bury their dead with flowers with tools with care the first humans to understand that death was not an ending but a transformation
and before them i saw the animals the great mammals the dire wolves the saber-toothed cats the mammoths walking across ice bridges across continents that no longer exist i saw the dinosaurs massive and impossible their world so different from ours yet the same earth the same sun the same moon watching i saw the first creatures crawl from the ocean gasping struggling learning to breathe air instead of water i saw the oceans themselves forming as the earth cooled as water fell from the sky for the first time and then i heard it the sound not a sound i heard with ears but a sound i felt in every cell in every atom in the space between atoms the first breath the first vibration the creation of wind it began as nothing as potential as the possibility of movement and then consciousness stirred not thought not yet but awareness the universe becoming aware of itself
and in that awareness came desire the desire to know itself to experience itself to move and that desire became breath became wind became the first vibration that rippled through the fabric of space and that vibration created sound and that sound created light and that light created matter and that matter created worlds i understood it then not intellectually not as theory but as direct knowing wind was not a meteorological phenomenon wind was consciousness itself breathing moving through dimensions moving through time moving through space the breath of the universe inhaling and exhaling creating and dissolving forming and reforming and i could see it the wind moving not just through our world but through all worlds through all dimensions i saw these worlds these dimensions laid out like sheets of glass stacked infinitely each one a complete reality each one as real as the others
and the wind moved through them all connecting them uniting them making them one i saw my own life played out across dimensions in one i had never met Coyote had never opened the journal had lived and died never knowing what i was missing in another i had refused the peyote had walked away from the cave had chosen safety over transformation in another i had died young before any of this began in another i was not human at all but something else something that flew or swam or burrowed deep in the earth and all of these versions were real all of them happening simultaneously all of them me and not me all of them held together by the same wind the same breath the same consciousness experiencing itself in infinite variations past, present, future collapsed into now the Big Bang still happening the heat death of the universe already complete my birth my death this moment on the dock all occurring in the same eternal instant and i saw the pattern
the terrible, beautiful pattern humanity rising humanity falling over and over over and over i saw civilizations more ancient than Göbekli Tepe civilizations that left no trace because they were so thoroughly destroyed i saw them build with such hope such vision such certainty that they had finally figured it out that they were different from those who came before that they would not fall to the same arrogance the same greed the same refusal to listen as their ancestors and i watched them fall every time i saw the Atlanteans building towers that touched the clouds harnessing energies we have long forgotten i saw them destroy themselves in a single day in a single night i saw civilizations in places now underwater now desert now ice i saw them rise with such beauty such art such wisdom and i saw them collapse always the same way always forgetting that they were part of nature not separate from it always believing they were superior to the animals to the plants to the earth herself
always taking more than they needed always building higher than they should always reaching for power instead of balance and the earth patient as always would wait and then reclaim with flood with fire with earthquake with ice not as punishment but as correction not as vengeance but as restoration the earth shaking off the infection of arrogance and beginning again and again and i saw our own civilization our current moment playing out the same pattern the same arc the same inevitable fall and i felt such sorrow such overwhelming grief for all the beauty we create knowing it will crumble for all the effort we expend knowing it will be forgotten for all the love we pour into monuments and cities and systems and structures that cannot last and in that moment of complete understanding of total surrender to the futility and beauty of human striving something opened a door i didn’t know existed a space beyond the cosmic movie
beyond the wind beyond the dimensions a silence not the absence of sound but the presence of something deeper and into that silence came the song low at first so low i felt it more than heard it a vibration that moved through water through time through the very fabric of existence the whales singing their voices ancient beyond ancient older than humanity older than land mammals older than the first creatures that crawled from the sea the whales who returned to the ocean who chose the deep over the shallow who remembered what we forgot their songs carried everything the memory of the earth before humans the memory of the earth after humans the memory of all the cycles all the risings all the falling they sang of the first waters and the last waters they sang of the ice ages and the warming periods they sang of the continents drifting like dreams they sang of the moon pulling the tides for billions of years
they sang of their own kind swimming through eons carrying the songs from generation to generation never writing them down never needing to because the songs were alive were passed breath to breath mother to child elder to youth the songs that held the planet together the songs that reminded the earth of what she was the songs that wove the dimensions into one i heard them all simultaneously the humpback’s complex melodies shifting and evolving across decades the blue whale’s deep pulses traveling thousands of miles through ocean darkness the orca’s dialects each pod speaking its own language its own history the sperm whale’s clicks echolocating not just through space but through time and i understood the whales were not just mammals of the oceans they were the keepers the holders of wisdom that transcended human cycles they had watched us rise and fall and rise again they had sung through our extinctions and our rebirths they had carried the knowledge
of what we were before we forgot and what we could be if we remembered i saw them travel through space through time through dimensions landing in our developing seas where they sang their songs for others who traveled with them calling to them, reassuring them this was a safe home singing their songs that held no judgment only witnessing only truth only the vast, patient knowing that all things pass and all things return and all things are held in the great breathing of the universe i wept not with sorrow now but with recognition with homecoming with the understanding that i had heard these songs before before i was born before i was human before i was anything these were the songs that sang me into being the songs that would sing me out of being the songs that would continue long after humanity’s final fall the songs that would welcome whatever came next and i knew
with absolute certainty that this was what Coyote had been preparing me for not to save humanity not to prevent the fall not to break the cycle but to hear the songs to remember that we are not separate from the pattern we are the pattern rising and falling like breath like wind like waves and the whales sing on holding it all holding us all in their ancient patient eternal song XII the songs began to fade not suddenly but like tide receding each wave pulling back a little further than the last the whales’ voices still present but distant now moving through deeper waters beyond the reach of human hearing the cosmic movie that had played across infinite dimensions began to slow
the temples stopped rising and falling the civilizations held still in their moment of glory or collapse the journal’s pages no longer turning the images settling becoming fixed again becoming memory instead of living presence i felt weight returning the weight of my body which i had forgotten for how long? hours? days? lifetimes? my legs beneath me solid again heavy rooted to the dock’s weathered planks my hands in my lap no longer dissolving into light but flesh and bone and the particular arrangement of atoms that made them mine the air grew cooler or perhaps i simply felt it again the lake breeze moving across my skin raising goosebumps reminding me that i had skin that i had boundaries that i was separate even as i knew i was not the dock beneath me became solid no longer pulsing with the heartbeat of creation just wood old wood that needed paint the chair
that old stuffed chair that had held me through whatever journey i had taken felt real again its springs pressing into my back its arms worn smooth by years of use when had i sat in the chair? i opened my eyes not knowing when i had closed them the lake spread before me still and silver in what light? dawn light but which dawn? the sun was rising painting the water with soft pink and gold and i understood with a shock that felt almost physical that this was not the same dawn i had watched before the ceremony began the blind Coyote sat across from me patient unmoving his sightless eyes somehow seeing everything and beside him Coyote my Coyote but so faint now so translucent i could see through him to the trees beyond his form wavering like heat shimmer like something barely holding on the mermaids floated in the air above the dock
three of them a trinity their faces solemn their eyes holding both sorrow and celebration they had been here the entire time watching witnessing holding space for what was unfolding “three days,” the blind Coyote said his voice gentle but certain “you have sat here for three days and three nights drinking nothing eating nothing moving nothing but traveling oh, how you have traveled” three days i tried to comprehend it but the number felt meaningless what were days compared to what i had seen? what was time when i had witnessed all time simultaneously? the blind Coyote turned toward where Coyote sat though he could not see him he knew exactly where he was “cousin,” he said and his voice carried such tenderness such ancient affection “you have succeeded the task you were given so many turnings ago the task you have attempted with so many humans across so many ages this one has heard this one has seen
this one has understood” Coyote’s faint form seemed to brighten just slightly and i saw him smile that trickster smile i had come to love but there was no mischief in it now only peace only completion “he is ready,” the blind Coyote continued “to carry what must be carried to speak what must be spoken to teach what must be taught” then he turned to me and though his eyes could not see i felt them looking into me through me seeing everything i had become “you have been given a great gift,” he said “not the gift of special knowledge not the gift of power over others but the gift of remembering you have remembered what humans forgot that you are not separate from the web of life you are the web of life you are the whale song and the wind you are the temple rising and the temple falling you are the first breath and the last you are consciousness experiencing itself and now having remembered
you must teach” the weight of his words settled over me not as burden but as calling not as obligation but as purpose “go forth,” he said and his voice was no longer just his voice it was Huehuecóyotl speaking the ancient one the eternal one the god who dances through all time “go forth and find those who are ready to hear they will not be many they will not be the powerful or the famous or the certain they will be the ones who have begun to suspect that everything they were taught was a beautiful lie they will be the ones who hear the whale songs in their dreams they will be the ones who feel the wind and know it is consciousness breathing find them teach them not with doctrine not with dogma not with rules or structures or hierarchies but with stories with visions with the direct transmission of what you have experienced remind them that they are not separate remind them
that the animals are their teachers remind them that the earth is not a resource but their mother remind them that death is not an ending but a transformation remind them that they have heard the whale songs before and they will hear them again” he paused and in that pause i felt the full weight of what he was asking not asking not commanding commissioning “this is your work now,” he said “the work that Coyote began in you the work that i have deepened the work that will continue long after your body returns to the earth you will not save humanity that is not your task humanity will rise and fall as it always has but you will plant seeds seeds of remembering and some of those seeds will take root and some of those roots will grow and some of those growths will flower and those flowers will scatter their own seeds
and the remembering will continue even through the next fall even through the next rising the remembering will continue” i wanted to speak to ask questions to protest that i was not ready not worthy not capable but no words came because i knew with the same certainty that i had known the whale songs were true that this was true this was my purpose this was why Coyote had found me why the journal had opened for me why the ancestors had welcomed me why the mermaids had guided me why the blind cousin had come i looked at Coyote his form so faint now barely visible in the morning light and i understood that he was leaving not just leaving the dock but leaving this world that i called home his task complete his student finally ready he met my eyes and in that look was everything we had shared
all the laughter all the teachings all the frustration all the breakthroughs all the love “thank you,” i whispered though i knew the words were inadequate he nodded once and then like morning mist burning off in the rising sun he was gone the mermaids descended their hands touching my face my shoulders my heart “he is proud of you,” one whispered “he always knew,” said another “and we will stay,” said the third “we will always be here when you need us” then they too faded not gone but returning to whatever realm they inhabited leaving me and the blind Coyote alone on the dock he stood moving with that same impossible certainty “i will return to the south,” he said “but you know how to find me you know how to find all of us the teachers are always present for those who have learned to see” he walked off the dock his footsteps certain
his path clear and i sat in the old stuffed chair watching the sun climb higher feeling the weight of what i carried the whale songs still echoing in the deepest part of my being the visions still burning behind my eyes the knowledge that i was both infinitely small and infinitely vast and i understood my journey with Coyote was complete but my larger work my true work had only just begun but where to begin? a mermaid popped back in “perhaps you should write a book?”
before he left for the south the blind cousin placed his hand on my shoulder “sit with what your Coyote last taught you,” he said “the word that was spoken that made him leave in disappointment reflect on it now with everything you have seen and you will understand why he returned” so i sit now in the old stuffed chair returned from the dock to its place by the fire the flames dance casting golden light across the room’s familiar walls
the same walls that have held me through all these transformations but nothing is the same the fire pops and hisses an oak log splitting releasing its stored sunlight back into the room and i remember panspermia the word that broke everything that day so long ago when i tried to contain Coyote’s revelation in scientific terminology when i reduced the vision of life showering down like rain from space to a Greek philosopher’s theory from the 5th century BC Anaxagoras i can still see Coyote’s face falling the way his joy collapsed into sorrow the way he gathered his journal and left me to contemplate my immense arrogance but he came back and now after three days on the dock after the ayahuasca opened every door i didn’t know existed after the whale songs taught me what the universe remembers after witnessing the journal’s visions made living cinema across all dimensions i understood panspermia is not a reduction it is not intellectual betrayal
it is both the scientific fact and the sacred mystery it is the word that holds everything the fire crackles and i see it again life falling from space like rain not metaphor not poetry not theory but actual literal truth consciousness crystallized into form showering down upon the earth the first bacteria riding comets the first amino acids forming in the void the first spark of what would become everything falling always falling like rain and i remembered what Coyote said in that moment before i ruined it with my knowing he said he could hear it the sound of life falling like rain on leaves like rain on stone like rain on water a sound that never stops and now after the ceremony after the whale songs i could hear it too
not with my ears but with whatever part of me learned to listen in the darkness the sound of life continuously arriving from space from other dimensions from the eternal source falling into form falling into being falling into this moment right here right now the fire shifts and i see in its dancing light that this is what the whales were singing this is what they have always sung the memory of that first falling the memory of consciousness choosing form the memory of the universe deciding to experience itself through bacteria through fish through dinosaurs through mammals through humans through everything panspermia the word contains both the science and the sacred it says life comes from elsewhere it says we are all travelers nothing here originated here we are made of elements from the stars
consciousness precedes form the universe is mental not material we are the universe experiencing itself all of this in one word the Greeks knew but they knew it as philosophy the scientists know, too but they know it as hypothesis Coyote knew it as lived truth and now i also know it as truth the fire burns lower and i add another log watching the flames climb and dance thinking about how to teach this how to help others understand that the word is not the enemy of the mystery that science is not the opposite of sacred that panspermia is both the falling rain and the eternal song both the measurable fact and the immeasurable truth i think of those people the blind Coyote said would be ready to hear the ones who suspect that everything they were taught was a beautiful lie the ones who hear whale songs in their dreams
the ones who feel the wind and know it is consciousness breathing how do i find them? how do i speak to them that which cannot be spoken? how do i teach what can only be experienced? and then i remember the journal how it taught me not through words but through visions how it broke down barriers not through argument but through direct transmission how it showed me rather than told me and i understand instantly i will tell stories i will share visions i will speak of Coyote and his blind cousin of mermaids and whale songs of ayahuasca darkness and cosmic light of the journal’s infinite pages and somewhere in the telling those who are ready will hear not the words but what lives beneath the words not the story but what the story points toward like rain remembers
that they too are travelers that they too fell from space there is an understanding of something more something crucial the doors that opened in the sweat ceremony in the ayahuasca darkness those doors do not close they remain open the peyote showed me how to see the ayahuasca showed me what to see but the doors themselves remain open always i can feel them now even here by the fire the threshold between worlds no longer locked and i realize with sudden clarity that sounds can open them wider music can open them wider words can open them wider a phrase a rhythm a story told right can trigger the same expansion the same vision without the medicine this is the mechanism this is how the teaching spreads not through sacrament alone but through resonance through the vibration of language itself when i speak of Coyote
his blind cousin when i describe the mermaids rising from lake depths when i tell of the journal’s golden light and the whale songs i am not just recounting events i am creating triggers sonic keys that unlock the doors in others the ones who are ready will hear a word a phrase a rhythm and suddenly they will be there in the vision in the knowing in the direct experience without ever touching peyote or ayahuasca without ever drinking mushroom tea because the doors once opened in me can open in them through story through song through the careful arrangement of sound this is why the blind cousin lives as Huehuecóyotl god of music god of dance god of storytelling because story is the medicine that needs no preparation story is the trigger that travels that they are both infinitely small and infinitely vast the fire burned down to glowing coals
i will speak of Coyote and his blind cousin i will speak of Huehuecóyotle outside the lake is still the stars are bright somewhere in the forest Coyote is resting his task complete his student finally understanding that panspermia is not a word that diminishes magic it defines it i will help people feel the doors opening so they might step through and see within this is why telling the story matters not to inform but to transmit not to explain but to trigger not to convince but to open doors that remain forever open waiting only for the right sound the right word the right story to swing them open wide people will hear the sound of life falling the falling and the song that life brings the science and the sacred
the rain and the remembering all at once i close my eyes and hear it the whale songs still echoing the sound of life falling the sound of the universe breathing the sound of everything returning home and i know this is where i begin and then a mermaid’s face appears above me in the ceiling where there is no ceiling her smile is radiant her eyes full of knowing and she giggles a sound like water like starlight like the universe remembering how to play i laugh with her and the image dissolves into sound the crackle of the fire the hum of the coals the soft pop of a log settling the sound of life continuing the sound of breath moving through wood through air through time the sound of the lake outside listening the sound of stars burning in their patient way
and beneath it all there is a sound i cannot name but recognize as truth as home as the beginning that never ends.
d ave (Bodhi) Boles operates at the intersection where ink meets impulse, where the page becomes a launching pad rather than a landing strip. As a Publisher, Editor, Writer, and Designer, he’s built a body of work that refuses to sit still—ap pearing in publications both national and international, leaving fingerprints on the literary landscape like a benevolent vandal with impeccable taste and a doctorate in divine mischief. His journey began in the early 80’s with Primal Urge, a magazine that func tioned less as periodical and more as detonation device. From that initial explo sion bloomed three publishing houses—Neural Impulse Publications, Cold River Press, and Bodhidharma Publishing—each one a different frequency on the same wild radio dial, each one proof that one good idea, properly nurtured and suffi ciently unhinged, can spawn entire ecosystems. Devoting these last two decades to Cold River Press, Dave has published many and numerous poets and writers, some known, some not, but all with words, with stories, that needed to be told. For the past fifteen years he has also published VOICES, an eclectic anthology of poetry, prose, photography and art, contributions sent from around the globe. His chapbooks and books read like transmissions from a parallel dimension where humor and profundity share the same zip code: Media Dissertation Of A Balding Man contemplates follicular and media suspicion with the philosophy and Other works by dave boles: Do Aluminum Chickens Eat Metal Feed? Media Dissertation Of A Balding Man A Small Answer To A Large Question ALIVE IN AMERICA: Politics, Psychedelics & An Illuminated Monkey CABO DAYS 4th Floor: Paranoia, Depression & Other States Of Mind Confessions Of A Black Ink Junkie 15 Days To Slow The Curve - One Mans Journey Into The Heartland Of Absurdity Jonny Vee: Psychedelic Detective And The Gringo Shaman A Journey Through Diverse Mysteries About The Wedding Coyote Magic Coyote Vision Coyote Spirit OFFERINGS Homage To A Word Visions Of A Merciful Land WAR
gravitas it deserves; A Small Answer To A Large Question does exactly what it prom ises taking a sideways lookk at Beat poetry with characteristic sleight-of-hand; Do Aluminum Chickens Eat Metal Feed? asks the questions others are too timid to pose; and Confessions Of A Black Ink Junkie wears its addiction proudly on its sleeve. His full-length works—OFFERINGS, ALIVE IN AMERICA, 15 DAYS TO SLOW THE CURVE, COYOTE MAGIC, COYOTE VISION, and COYOTE SPIRIT— map a territory where the personal becomes mythic and the mythic expands to include the everyday. Beginning as protégé to the acclaimed poet and alternative publisher Ben L. Hiatt, Dave inherited Hiatt’s mantle of Okie Surrealism, that peculiar strain of American vision that sees the desert bloom with impossible flowers and finds the sacred hiding in the profane. He carried Hiatt’s torch into the digital age, pon dering how a philosophy born of dust and distance translates to fiber optics and infinite scroll, how the old magic adapts when the world itself moves at the speed of light. Then came D.R. Wagner, who taught Dave to see the magick that was already there—not as metaphor or literary device, but as a living presence woven through the fabric of the everyday. Where Hiatt gave him the language and lineage, Wagner gave him the eyes and heart to perceive and the hands to document what most people walk past without noticing. Between these two mentors, Dave learned that the task is not only about writing the world as it appears, but about revealing the world as it actually is; stranger, more luminous, and infinitely more generous than consensus reality would have us believe. Dave’s job résumé reads like a game of career roulette played by someone who keeps betting on whatever number feels right in the moment. Small press journal ist, Printer, High Tower Rigger, Long Haul Trucker, Radio Talk Show Host, Re naissance Faire Magician, Costume and Bodice Merchant, and yes, there was that brief, ill-fated stint as a Life Insurance salesman—a chapter that ended, as he’ll tell you, “rather poorly.” He’s also an eclectic traveler known to drift in changing direc tions at the drop of a hat, which is less character flaw and more operating system, less wandering as much as following the scent of whatever’s calling next. His body is a gallery of tattoos, each one a permanent commitment in a life oth erwise devoted to beautiful impermanence. A lifelong gearhead and self-proclaimed speed freak, Dave customizes cars, trucks, and motorcycles with the same attention he brings to a sentence—understanding that both are about finding the perfect bal ance between form and function, between what looks right and what moves fast. Somewhere along the way, he earned a Doctorate in Divinity and founded The Church of The Illuminated Monkey, where he holds the position of Gringo Shaman. This is not performance art. This is not irony eating its own tail. This is a man who understands that the sacred doesn’t require solemnity, that enlightenment might ar rive riding a joke, and that the divine has always had a sense of humor about itself. Though traveling and living widely, these days, Dave resides at Lake House with his wife, Mrs. America, and a collection of animals who’ve found their way to what he calls “The Illuminated Monkey’s Home For Wayward Poets And Socially Bereft Humans.” His lifelong friend Mescalito still keeps watch, sending a Red Hawk to check in from time to time—because even shamans need someone looking out for them, even poets and publishers need reminding that the world is stranger and more generous than any story they could write about it. Lake House stands as sanctuary and laboratory, a place where the lost find themselves and the found lose themselves just enough to remember why they start ed searching in the first place. It’s where Dave continues to publish, to write, to design, to drift—always moving, always making, always listening for the next im pulse, primal or otherwise, that will carry him toward whatever comes next.