COYOTE

     Back in the early seventies, when I first began to wander, I traveled from my home base in Berkeley to the East Coast. On my way back, almost a year later, I stopped for the night in the Joshua Tree National Monument, in the Southern California desert.

     Relaxing in my van, as the day's light began to fade, I looked up and there was a large male coyote staring at me, only yards away. I had the distinct impression that he wanted me to go walking with him.

     Feeling his powerful and magical energy, I followed him out into the desert. He and I soon found a rhythm. Whenever I would hesitate or fall behind, he would stop and wait for me. Then, when I'd get to within a few yards of him, he would take off again, leading me ever further into the gathering darkness. We kept this up for well over an hour, until we were deep within the night.

     Finally, when I could no longer see to go on, I sat down and smoked a bowl with him. He sat quietly across from me then, only several yards away, and watched me intently, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. We talked for a long while then, although no words were ever spoken.

     He wanted me to continue wandering with him, wanted me to leave my old life behind. I told him that I wasn't ready, that I still needed to be in and of the world of men. As soon as I thought this, he stood up and quietly disappeared into the darkness of the night, while I turned and sadly made my way back to my now diminished life.


     Several years later, I was in the desert again, this time in southern Arizona, traveling with some friends. In the evening, I wandered off alone, looking in the western sky for the comet Kohoutek, when suddenly Coyote appeared before me again. He told me that the comet wasn't the real reason that I was there, that he had called me home to ask me once again to follow him into the wilderness of our common soul.

     My wife was pregnant then, and I told Coyote this, told him that I couldn't abandon my wife or the little girl who was coming, that I intended to stay in the world of men to raise her. He understood, although he was sad for me, sad that I wouldn't be able to run free and follow my true path. He told me though, that there would come again a time, a last time, when I would hear his song once more, when I would be asked again to join my life with his.


     It's been almost thirty years now since that night, and lately I've been hearing Coyote's song again. And at the library, just the other day, Frank Dobie's book, Coyote, literally jumped off the shelf and landed at my feet. I took it home with me then and read it straight through, remembering again who I truly am.


     I am alone and lost in the world of men, hurriedly running through the halls of this large and impersonal building that most people call reality, calling out to all the startled people as I run by - "Hanta Yo, out of my way." I am Coyote myself now, desperate to be free and out in the natural world once again. Finally bursting through a last door, I find myself outside on a beautiful fall evening, much like that evening in Joshua Tree so long ago. I run across the lawn, only a solitary gate now between me and the real world. At this very moment, my old friend Coyote suddenly appears once again and, running alongside me, finally leads me home.

     From Wanderer's Notebook