DreamTimeLine

And she heard the soft flapping of crow’s wings, and the touch of fur to wake her. They were in a field.

“Why here, Coyote?”

“This is where you look for your food. Winter is almost here.”

Her heart began to pound.

“Girls like me don’t have initiation.”

“Think of it as a game. An easy game. It is always a game with me.”

“I know you are too clever for me, and will kill me, Coyote.”

His forehead softened. “You are here for a reason.”

She closed her eyes, and got down on all fours in the grass. Clods, pebbles, mounds. Maybe fire ants. No fear, anyhow.

“Good girl.”

Hours passed. Or perhaps minutes. Then she heard her call. Rattler.

‘Hello, Rattler.”

“My child. Have you come to warm my scales with your hands?”

“Yes, Mother Rattlesnake.” She knew what to do. The energy was powerful. Mother Rattler was warm and happy. Better Mother Rattlesnake than Papa Rattler.

“What wish granted, little one, young one?”

“Food.”

“Food for you and yours, little one. But I must take away your homes.”

‘No!” she cried. But it was too late.

“All in time, my child. And all in Love.”

With no eyes, she shiveringly made the food’s way into her mouth. She knew there was no turning back. She kept crawling in the field. She kept her eyes closed. Soon darkness came, and it was night. She grew sleepy.

She said “I am sleepy, I need to rest,” and laid her head. Suddenly Crow came, and blanketed her body.

“Never fear,” Crow whispered. “Only rest.” And in Crow’s blanket, she began to suffocate.

Suddenly there was light on the field. Coyote sat as Old Man, smoking his pipe.

“Why am I here again?” she asked.

“You died, and the game started over.”

Rattler came again, and Rat.

“Mother Rattler. Did I not love you?”

“But you failed to share your food.”

“I was starving.”

Then Rat spoke. “You tried to kill me. Because your kind hates me.”

She started to weep. “Giant Rat of the Chaparral, I don’t hate you. But I did fail to help your people.”

Rat’s eye’s softened, too. “Here child, let me show you.” And Rat showed her a small pile of seeds. “These are magical,” Rat whispered. “You will never feel the pit of your stomach if you nibble on these.” And she stopped weeping. And ate, and crawled through the field again, sometimes on her belly, like Rattler, because her legs were weak. And the spiders and insects bit her, because they needed her blood.

Then one of Old Man Coyote’s grandchildren came. And suddenly she could hear a stream rushing by. Young Coyote said “I will take you to drink. I see that you’re thirsty.” And he had wanted to steal her seeds, but she was so tired she could not walk on two legs and so Young Coyote’s heart softened. She finally drank from the river. “Upstream, here,” cautioned Young Coyote.

Then Young Coyote said “I have a boat. But I agreed for it to be for only me.” And Young Coyote left, and paddled downstream. And She was left alone in the darkness by the stream. This time, Raven came.

“I cannot protect you, but I am here to say that it is not really night. Just remember that in your mind and you will be fine. You won’t freeze as long as you remember this.” And then Raven flew off. And she kept walking, and it was no longer nighttime. And she imagined herself walking on the sky, instead of on wet grass, and her legs hurt less. And she grew less sad. And she remembered Rat’s seeds and wasn’t hungry again. And then she finally made it back to Old Man Coyote’s field. The Old Man smiled and held his pipe.

“Did I make it?” she asked.

“Well, sort of. This was only Dreamtime, child. But you made it somewhere. And you made this. But so did all of us.”

Old Man Coyote walked off, chuckling and smoking his tobacco and hashish.