Coyote

Growing up in the Southwest, we talked about our history as something including Native American culture. Perhaps it was an easy way to paint a pretty picture or to make penance, but I think it was also perhaps an attempt to accept that "white culture" was not the primary way the Southwest was understood. Anyway, as a child, I was obsessed with Coyote myths--stories about coyotes and their place in Native culture. Coyote has generally been understood as a trickster always fooling his friends and even himself. What I find most intriguing about Coyote, though, is that he is also the animal most often called upon to do "brave deeds" such as to steal fire from the FireBeings to share with all the other animals, so that they are not cold.

As well, in a Navajo creation myth, Coyote is the one that prophesies that we must all die. When he says so, everyone gets angry, but he responds, " 'If we all go on living, and if all the women keep having babies, there will be too many people. There won't be any room. Nobody will be able to move around. There will be no space to plant corn.

'Isn't it better that each one of us should live here for just a while, until old age slows us down? ... Then we ought to move on. Leave everything behind for the young. Make room for the new generation.'
When the people heard what Mq'ii the Coyote had to say, they recognized the wisdom of his words. Grudgingly they agreed that he was right. And one by one they grew silent."

Even while Coyote is a jokester and someone to be cautious of, he still represents and communicates great wisdom humbly. Coyote, for me, is a powerful symbol of how one can live their life, and I believe Coyote is my spirit animal.

My favorite story about Coyote involves how he got to be the dusty color he is. Remember, the filter through which I recall it is twelves years after I was told the story in Chaco Canyon, New Mexico. My sixth grade class and I prepared a program about Native American legends. We told a tale, which is likely from the Cherokee tradition. I will paraphrase the story for you and only speak of the parts that I think are pertinent to my life right now (if you want a more complete idea, here is a good link).

One day, Green Coyote, hidden in the grass, spotted beautiful Blue Bird. He asked Blue Bird how he got to be so beautiful and blue. Blue Bird said that he had spent four days singing a little song and diving into the deep blue water. Then all his feathers fell off and on the fifth day they grew back in a brilliant blue. Green Coyote decided he wanted to be a beautiful blue color, too. So, he did exactly as Blue Bird had said, song and all. On the fifth day, Green Coyote became Blue Coyote! Now, this was a sight to see. Coyote loved the color of his coat and decided to run and show it off. As he ran, he looked from side to side to see if people noticed how beautiful and blue his coat was. Since he was running and looking from side to side, he did not notice a large stump. Bam! Coyote ran right into the stump and fell onto the dirt. When Coyote rose, he found that his coat had turned to a dingy, dusty color. And, this is why Coyote looks the way he does today.

Ace is a chow lab mix, so he has a lot of the darker pigment that Chow Chow's do (he also has a good deal of their personality, too. For instance, he generally loves to poke his head out the window and keep an eye on the neighborhood rather than socialize with new guests). This gives his tongue that blue, black quality you might have noticed. Less noticeable, but ever present, is the blue pigment that runs across his skin under his black coat. I have had many a Vet comment that it's hard to gauge different vital signs because of his dark skin (I'll have to default to someone more medicinally gifted to explain why). If you rub his coat backwards (gently!), you will see a blueish tint where the hair enters the skin.

Recently, I've realized that Ace is a blue coyote, still blue, happy and free. And, I feel so lucky to live with him.

Missing the Southwest

I've been eating Jalapeños and wearing turquoise, a sure sign that I miss the Southwest. I wrote down a few things that spoke to me of home. I'm going to share them, raw as they may still be.

Drought


My father philosophizes,
recounting a childhood of episodic happenings,
ice-covered street lights in New York,
seven sibling summers spent sharing
less than I had to myself in a day,
fourteen year olds' championship basketball games,
And I still have the trophy to prove who won.
"Remember to drink a lot of water.
That's people's problem. Too much coffee.
It dehydrates you. You already start behind."

As if a little more water would solve everything.
And maybe it could,
raising daughters under the speckled desert sky it made sense.
Water.
And now, as he ages it must ring truer still.
Water.
Red embers of Celtic whorls and temper
cooling as if they were a doused campfire
crackling as we drifted off
accompanied by coyote songs.

A humbled Saul,
turning to his Christ.


Roaming Home

We are of star dust,
heavenly suspended dirt,
wholly clay and wholly light.

We are the conversations between ancient gods,
spoken into being,
but called into life.

We are agents and creators of our lives
leaving what remains
to larger hands.

We roam
between sky and earth scenes
Seeking now one home, finding then another.

In ever-widening circle patterns
of wolves and owls calling in the desert
we find our center.

Even Clever Coyote
Had a place among the stars.

I just can't be thoughtful on such hot days

The heat is really getting to me. It finally cooled down last night, but here's a little something I wrote because I just don't think anyone can be serious when everyone is covered in sweat.

Ode to my A/C

I love you. Simply put.

I have never before truly cherished the blessing of your presence.

On hellish, humid days, you make life bearable.

You transform me from a panting demon to a loving companion.

Recirculated, cool, fresh--I embrace your mystery, giving thanks for your creation.

Your gentle hum pacifies my expiring temper 

and gentle as an afternoon in mountain air, you breathe new life into me.

Oh to stay with you forever, hidden from the torture of the heat, rising off the pavement.

Alas, I cannot.

And, somehow, I am grateful for even these hot days, knowing colder ones wait just around the corner.

As you flick on and off throughout my day, regulating each degree, i remember to be humble and thankful.

Awed by my A/C.

I was warned.

In college, my favorite professor once recalled an anecdote to a classroom of would-be-religion-scholars, "Cocktail parties are not always very fun if you're a religion professor. I spend most of my conversations trying not to talk about religion because as soon as someone finds out you are a religion professor, you get an earful. I try to tend to keep the conversation away from my work, or tell them that I teach ethics. Trust me, people have a lot to say about religion." We all laughed at his story, imagining this kind man avoiding the topic he loves more than anything.

I witnessed this very scenario later that year at Graduation. A classmate's uncle had cornered my professor and I could overhear him saying, "You know, it's the Muslims that are ruining America." I could discern a look of mild amusement mixed with concern and a desire to seem respectful on my professor's face. Arms crossed, he tilted his head to the side in a listening posture. As I sauntered off, I giggled to myself, thinking, "So, that's what he was talking about."

Flash forward two years. Here I am, starting Divinity School. Let me describe to you a typical conversation upon meeting someone new:
New Person (NP): Why did you move to Boston?
Me: I'm starting grad school this fall.
NP: Oh where?
Me: Harvard Divinity School.
NP: So are you going into ministry?
Me: No. That's not really the goal.
NP: So, what are your religious beliefs?

Four questions into knowing someone and they have asked me one of the most personal questions I can imagine. I'm an open person, so it doesn't really bother me. However, struggling to explain my faith to a stranger is always a delicate balance between honesty and over-exposure.

Then there are days like today. I worked my first full shift at work and within an hour of meeting two new co-workers, one said to me, "I'm probably one of the only anti-religious people you will meet who isn't bothered by pentecostals." I tried to hold back a cringe. "Do you define yourself as anti-religious or a-religious?" I asked, trying to understand what he could have meant.

"Well, I think that all religions are institutionally based and cause people to do bad things. I think religion is just a block to the way people experience spirituality. I mean, I'm a Zen Buddhist, which is like a mystical version of Buddhism. So, I know I don't practice what I espouse, but I still believe it."

I took a breath and slowly began, "Well, I don't know that it's that simple to talk about all religions as the same. I guess I think of religion and spirituality in the same way that I think of language and communication. We cannot communicate with one another without language, although we accept that the words we use fall short of what we really mean. In the same way, I think that religious institutions and practices help us facilitate whatever connection we have with the divine. I don't think that's a bad thing." I stopped myself short of divulging my own personal belief and looked up at him.

"I like that," he said. "Religion and language. That's good." And then we were off to serving iced coffee and tea to the many haggard customers seeking refuge from the heat.

So, despite my professor's warning and my desire to stay under the radar when possible, my religious thoughts are still standing front and center in most of my conversations. It seems like it will be an interesting year, comprised of awkward conversations and me learning how to negotiate a path between truth and saying too much.

This same professor has a book that will be released on July 19. I recommend it for anyone who is interested in religion, how faith works, or how divine intervention (ie: miracles) operates across traditions. He is an incredibly clear and interesting writer. Enjoy!