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.