Shadow

With the nights still darker than most, Coyote muses loudly on the wonder of the shadow.

"The shadow only exists out of shakey legged fear. Cowards deign only the good, the bright worthy of a glance. Your crazy, your madness, your anger, your spit, your shit, your fire, your finery broken into pieces because you threw them in a moment of disaster. These all exist you stupid ones. Your shadow exists because you feel the need to live in it. I embrace my lousiness. I love my vanity. I am all of me because I can be. Because who the fuck cares what you think. Because I am the trickster and that is a good enough excuse for most.

But you people are scared of what you mean. Scared of who you are. Scared of diving deep into the loneliness the crowns the pit of most stomachs. Because, oh poor me…what will it say about who I am. It will say you are the same as all human souls and brave enough to share with the sun who you are. What does it mean to be you. It means that you are nothing. You are everything. Including the icky sticky.

So this shadow you run from is made by you. You eclipse the sun. There is not evil outside blocking. Live who you are. No I am no stupid little trickster. I know my reputation. I know how people don't know how to look at me…crazy, wild, genius, dangerous, just tired. They, that grand mythical They…more mythical then even me…will look to you like you are more than they can handle. And I say to you that you are. You are now more of yourself. What you are, you can create and control. What you hide festers in dirty swamps desperately trying to get a view…to be see…to see…to scream in blood until magic happens and they are released and spill poison into your waters. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

So who you are is your choice…are you brave enough to be."

Coyote become distracted by the nature show on TV. Animals eat each other without apologies. There is no shame in who they are. He likes that and puffs up with his membership in the four legged and hairy club.

Solstice

Coyote is partial to the winter solstice. As am I actually, but for different reasons. I like knowing that the days are due to be brightening up rapidly. He, however, prefers the dark. He likes the moment just before the rebirth of the world begins. The rapid descent and plunging into epic long evenings.
“I can sneak in the dark. Sneak around canyons and corners. Pounce on the unknowing and unwitting.” He throws his head back and laughs. “The solstice crackles with new possibility. In that blackness that carries so long, you can form anything. You silly creatures hide in fear in the blackness. You forget or deny that magic needs no explaining or no witness at night. It can just be…out of sight and far from reason. Don’t get me started on your need to reason away the time and the world. Tonight I dance in the shadows because it is almost all we have. And I was tired all morning anyway.

The dark is where you get your power, your prayers. It is where the day enters from and hides away in. It is the cover of your fears and yet the most provoking thing of all. Such ludicrous babies. Bad, as you folks call it, happens all times. In all ways. Dark doesn’t make it easier…it just makes your senses more heightened. And on this day, in this moment…you are never clearer. You are never more aware of the vast nothingness that exists at all times. It is your moment to shine and yet you all hide away, bemoaning the shadowy darkness that enters. Tomorrow it starts to lighten again. Tomorrow the cycle starts fresh. What are you throwing out…throwing up. What is your newness…or are you too chicken shit?”
Coyote slinks out of room…out the window…into the solstice air for whatever party he is creating.

Procrastionation

He doesn’t understand my procrastination. He just doesn’t get my need to put off and put off…the waiting to shut the TV off, to sit down and do what makes me happy. Not that he doesn’t engage in all amounts of frivolity. It’s just never at the expense of anything else. He will stare into the void all day, all time, but only because he wants to. Hours will be spent in the goofing off of it all, but there is no other objective. Single focus. And when it switches, he switches. My personal torture, he doesn’t get.

“You all are so deadly and serious in your pursuit of nothingness. You do and do and no fun is had because you are so busy worrying about all the other crap. Now I get you have the dreaded “R” word. Responsibilities and bills to pay. I, in my measly little head, get that. But you fucking fools have no fun in the mean time. I mean bills takes seconds with your clicking around on your computers. You, girl, love to write. That is why you can do this so easily…you have been listening to the muses for years and channeling them with divine loopty loops. But you wait…you act like it is too hard to carve out the time. You watch the stupid box with stupid people mixing and mingling inside. You search antiquities on the internet hoping for something. Or not. What a waste to want so much and get so little…you want nothing because you focus on scattered bullshit. You want nothing because you get nothing from boring little dalliances. Now waste your time, please. All time is meant for is to be wasted in the pursuit of ecstatic ramblings of egos and gods. But for fuck’s sake, enjoy it. Moments you waste with trying to move away from yourself is sad. You, and you, and you are all mysteries…like eternal kinder eggs popping out wacky prized with each crack. Yet you sit and do shit you don’t even like, you don’t even “have” to do and don’t do anything. No sparkly treasure for you.
When I watch you, I become you. I become the earth bound deity. I become the pleasure and senses of the human species. I become your sloth. And oh how you judge that sloth. Nothing is judged. Lazy and I are friends. I do that without exclusion…sunning on the warm ground, napping in the highlands. Yet you do that and worry about the other crap you want to do, you have to do. You sit thinking about the book you are going to write, struggling to find time for the words to spill out. For you who need it more plainly said, If you are thinking about something else, do that something else. Until you no longer have that desire.

Silly human…silly person indeed. You need to forget all else and do what you can that pleases you. Savoring up your naps and e-mails does not allow you to cash them in at some heavenly bank for returns and dividends. Express yourself when you can and scream out your name in rage or joy or passion. But fucking scream it. Do it. Do what you love without rules. Without pity. And without any other nonsense. You will ponder greatness and wonder how it will take away from your rest. Conquer that bullshit. Model yourself in my image. Shake off the crap of other’s views. My naps are legendary. My lays magnificent. And oh, the art of my outlaw blood is shimmering in the lands. All what I love. All of who I am. Be you…splendidly. Every minute. Every cell. God is with you…use it.”

Lust

For Laurel...because he had more to say on the matter.


Coyote speaks of love and lust often. He is a fan of both, though it is lust that makes his hair stand on end. It has a bad rap and therefore excites him.

“Desire is written in the stars and yet so many of you…people…stuff it down in your guts, hiding it away from forever. And yes, I know a thing or two about heaven and the stars. Not banned from them alright. I just choose you to dwell amongst. Mostly because there lust is passing whimsy, where here it wraps around your waste pulling you powerfully into its lap as you beg it kiss you. Here you get to balance the deliciousness of never with the power of now…the perfection of wanting and getting simultaneously and sometimes eons a part. Oh, I love it so you silly beasts.

Lust is the wildness rising up from between your legs and the great, grand mother earth. It is the aching for return to oneness and the desire for separation. It is a demand for satisfaction and the running away from it at the same time, because the pull of the magnets calls for it to be so. Lust is the gift god breathes into you as life surges through the new born soul. It is good…very.

I demand…as if you listen…that you cultivate lust. Grow it in your Mary, Mary quite contrary gardens. Jo Anna is censoring me telling you what I would do to the delicious Mary, but be certain lust would turn to satisfaction and right round back again. Look for those things you want, place them on a pedestal and climb the heights to reach them. Slip back down again. Touch your skin and revel in the shock of who you are. Turn quickly to look in the mirror to find your reflection naturally caught up in the ecstatic pulse of lustiness…it craving union and delighting in autonomy.”

Coyote feels enough of the 5 dollar words for today. He lusts after the night…and is gone into it.

Coyote’s Side of Things

Coyote would like to tell you how it all started. He wants it so much so he wishes I would shut up and get out of the way. He is creature who gets is way often enough. And, to be honest, I would like to hear his side of things…
“When I say how it started I don’t mean how the whole world shebang came into being. I mean simpler times…a time when I curled up on a car seat next to a certain girl who now does my typing. A time when my existence in her being came to be, per say. I like to say per say. Per say, per say, per say.
I came because she asked. So simple. Of course I don’t care to remember the actual fucking request. Just that for once my ears perked and I parked in next to her. Not me specific when she asked. Just something and figured, guys I can take this one for a change. She finds it all so mystical and that is just her dreamy girl nature as ridiculous as it is. For me, I just continued my nap closer to her; closer to what I felt could be something worth my bidding. No magic here. She wanted help and I can, on occasion be helpful.
She would tell you this tale of asking, as I said. And then the rest of the universe came into being around that asking. She asked and saw me sitting next her, curled up and cartoon like. I liked the story she was listening to, it made me stay past all her “what does it mean” bullshit. The story was about me, so how could it not draw my attention. It drew hers, the coincidences piled up and made her believe. The mushiness of it makes me want to hurl.
But I stayed…years now for her. In the shadows. No biggy, really as I needed my beauty rest. Oh I gallivant around, stir up the world. But I think we have finally figured out how to use each other. And I think she is finally ready for the Trickster. Are you?”

Barely a beginning

The reed…the flute…inside of me shines with the light through its holes into the parts of me that need it…into the coil of energy awaiting the call to arms.

Coyote. Etymology, from the Spanish American from the Aztec word cóyotl.

And when I ask him if that is where he comes from, he laughs like he always does. “ ‘Come from’ means that was a time when I wasn’t…and I was always. As least as I can recall it…and how I can recall it is how it is. But those people were nice enough to give the old dog a name and I was nice enough to take it.”

“But you want to know who I am? Beyond what those who could stand me have passed down…beyond the traditions of just-so and what-is. You care to ask me why I am here. True enough as you have waded with me through tough waters and you do most certainly deserve the cool, crisp dignity of my response. But what you want to know is who I am for you, as you know who I have been. Those letters were long written upon the stone of the mind.

“So who I am is who you are…a figment of immersable importance. Who I am for you is your answer silly thing. As if I were wild enough to stuff words in your mouth. Who I am for me is who I am. And who I am for the world is how they stick me in what ever tales they can remember and how that twists and turns for the importance. Be clear I have no care of distortion. I prefer it, as long as they twist me so my good side shows.”

I am just one of many that hear his howl. I appreciate the break in the noise of mind and appreciate when I get a glimpse of his hide, as if to show me beyond my thoughts there is a real and honest Coyote waiting.

Coyote finds it funny that people may care what he thinks of the way in the mortal realm. The realm in which we are and I am but he only dances through in his invisible and mischievous ways. I ask though, over and over for him to be near and I feel his rustling near my legs or a nose poking at me gently. I want to know that thoughts of the Trickster who for many is the chaos point of destruction but for me he is a Luciferian candle shining boldly upfront, reminding me that rules are but sticks in the road and plans are his for the torturing. Be here and present and resourceful and loving and he is here with me. Be rigid and righteous and he is here with me too…to eat my keys and turn my mind upside down so that I can somehow remember who I really am. For me he is a muse of the forever sort, one I dare not cross as his wrath is is famous for it’s humor that despite my love of the belly laugh I would prefer not that sort…though my preference is just the sort of motivation needed to knock me on my ass. I am humble with him. And bold too. For with him is the dichotomy. And though I may blame him for the chaotic whoops it is much mine as anything else…as if it is not all mine. And yet he most has a knack for the unexpected, the wild and never know what to know times.

And so He showed up one morning on the seat next to me when I asked for help and has been here ever since. And apparently, he has much to say.