The Crow and the Coyote

 The Crow and the Coyote

I opened my eyes to find myself lying on a slab in the middle of a small country church. There were candles burning all around me. The wall to the left of me had three large, stained-glass windows that were tall and narrow. The setting sun was shining through them. The church was old but well-kept; the adobe walls were crack free and painted white. At the front of the room was a large doorway that had two old time swinging doors, like the ones in an old saloon. As I was watching the candles flicker and the smoke rising slowly, I could hear native drums and singing slowly becoming louder. The sounds were coming from the other side of the swinging doors.

WelI, I must have died, I thought to myself, but I don’t feel dead. I couldn’t move, all I could do was watch the flames and listen to the chants and drums. While I was arguing with myself about whether I was alive or not, and looking around, I heard a voice like a narrator talking but I didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying at first. I was too busy trying to figure out where I was and what was going on. The voice got louder; it was very familiar and seemed to come from all around me. He was telling the story of the native American struggle, and how many tribes were wiped out or forced to comply. Many cultures were lost from existence. He talked about one great tribe that was peaceful and turned to their tribal symbols for guidance. Their symbols were the crow and the coyote. Alone, they were both seen as wise but also known as tricksters. Together they were so wise they could see the future and give advice. The catch was that they would give you two options. One option was the right choice, and the other was the wrong one. You had to choose one and live with the consequences.  While listening, I was shown imagery of the story.  When this peaceful tribe asked the crow and the coyote what they should do the crow flew and perched on top of the coyote’s head. They both sat up straight and looked straight forward as if they were in a trance.  They answered, Option1- Run, group with others and fight. Option2- Submit, be friendly, try to fit in. Even though the tribe were great hunters, fighters and were great in numbers, they thought it was a test and chose the second option - to submit.

The narrator continued, some of their bloodlines were passed on, but the great culture of this tribe and what they stood for was lost. That’s why I can’t tell you the tribe’s name. Other great tribes chose to fight, and though many lives were lost, these cultures lived on.

My location suddenly changed, and I was now lying in the back of an old rackety wagon traveling down what looked like an old forgotten dirt road. I could feel the wagon bouncing and shaking under me.  The road was rough. The narrator was still speaking but again I wasn’t really listening; I was too busy being concerned about what was going on. I felt very alone.

As the narrator continued to speak the wagon started to deteriorate and crumble to pieces with me still in it. What was left of the wagon and other things from that forgotten culture lay in ashes in the ditch on the side of the road. As I lay there in the ashes, I could hear the narrator speaking to me again. This time it was in a much sterner voice.

It’s time to choose, he said. What’s it going to be? Are you going to lie there and let yourself drift away like all those people of the lost culture, or are you going to fight and crawl out, like the other native people did to save themselves, no matter what the struggle. I was laying in the dust and starting to breathe it in. It was making it hard to breathe and I started to cough. The narrator’s voice became more intense and forceful. Are you going to quit or are you going to fight and crawl out. I looked around, looking for Debbie and the kids but there was no one there to help. It made me mad, I couldn’t understand why my family would just leave me in a ditch. I took a deep breath and dug my right toe into the dirt and started to try to pull with my right arm, it was agonizing. As I started to pull myself through the rubble, I became exhausted and wanted to stop, but the narrator was still talking about my ancestors that kept fighting and the things they had to overcome. Those words seemed to urge me to keep crawling. I remember being mad that my family was not there, I didn’t understand why I was having to go through this alone. As I was grunting and moaning, I was finally making some headway. I looked down and I was pulling myself over the old rotten carcass of the coyote and the crow. I thought to myself, I don’t get this, and yelled out loud, ‘I thought we were Catholic’.

As I got to the top of the ditch, I was exhausted and took a second to rest. I dropped my head onto the ash covered ground. A plume of dust rose up over my face, I closed my eyes and held my breath. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my hospital room. I was confused, I could see Debbie sitting in a chair next to me reading a book. Disgusted and still mad I said, “You buried me.” Deb looked confused and answered “What?” I replied, “You buried me, but I crawled out.”

This one still gets to me even today. This was so real and vivid, I have no doubt this happened.  I Know I was shown this vision for a reason. The fact I was given a choice, Spooky.