For twelve years, before I got sick, we lived in the home where my children grew up. It was a great place, tucked away at the end of a gravel road, with nothing behind us but desert. Construction workers had pushed some dirt into a mound that ran parallel to our back fence, and every once in a while we would see coyotes running along it. Other visitors I regularly noticed were bird friends: hawks, quail, robins and mourning doves, always outside my bedroom window, calling their sad ‘hoo-hoooo, hoo-hoooo.’ And lots of bunnies, cottontails and jackrabbits, which Max never tired of chasing.
One day I heard a bunch of coyote yips and went to the sliding door that led to the deck. I stepped outside because on the mound were seven coyotes in a row, an adult on each end and five pups (bigger than the ones in the above picture) between them. They were all looking at me, or at least at the house, and yipping like crazy. They stayed for several minutes, looking in my direction and yipping. My incomplete understanding of the coyote back then was that they were known as tricksters and were very intelligent. What are you trying to tell me? I asked them via a thought. I wasn’t open to understand the answer though, because I still wanted what I wanted. Just in case you ever have seven coyotes looking at you and yipping for five minutes, their message is: “Stop! See the truth. You are tricking yourself, lying to yourself. If you continue on this path, the way will become very difficult.”
I still desperately held onto the hope that the man in my life could be a friend and mate to me and a parent to my children, especially teaching my sons the guy stuff he was so good at. What’s really strange about this story is a friend of mine had a dream about him coming into my life and how happy we were together. Hah! The trickstering even wound up in a friend’s dream to bolster my false hopes. (That’s either an amazingly far-and-wide talent for setting myself up, or fate does play a role in our lives.) Other friends questioned his nature and his motives, some gently and some not-so-gently, but there are a lot of ‘love’ songs written that go something like, “You’re wrong, he’s my man, get out of my song.”
The only way to have avoided this experience, and the crushing disappointment in life and myself that became the straw that broke my camel’s back, triggering my health problems, would have been to abandon myself to God’s Will, the High Road, the Plan of the Universe—by whatever name you would call it—and to stop picturing how I wanted things to be. Had I not been lying to myself, but instead been guided by my Higher Self (and even Mother Nature!), maybe these last twelve years would have been completely different. I cannot tell you how lonely it is to be separated from life, how I have yearned to be productive, and even for little things like being able to go grocery shopping without being physically wiped out. For years I believed I would be healed and get back into the rhythm of life. I recently read on Rays of Wisdom that being born on an eleventh day indicates, among other things, financial setbacks and health problems. They say we choose our lives before we are born, and the older I get, the more I believe they’re right.
It turns out, however, that saving up these many years of creative energy and prayers for meaning in my life led me here, to this writing. It’s not easy to write every day, because I’m basically a mixed-up person with problems, while something higher tries to express itself through me. I know the friends I’ve made who visit “Notes” regularly see the mixed-up me, and that’s okay, because that’s me. I may not like being ‘exposed,’ yet here I am. This writing experience, above all, has grown my faith in the Great Mystery and myself, and in the good in all of us, and there aren’t many things more important than this.
Related Post: Choose Your Path Wholeheartedly