There are two outstanding characters in the stories of the Pit Rivers; Jamul, the coyote-man, the one who represents the Ego and the world of desires, and Kwan, the Silver-fox-man, the one who represents the Self and the path of truth. The story of Kwan appeared in my October story.

The stories tell us the Kwan the Silver-Fox man and Jamul the Coyote-man made the laws. Kwan made good laws; Jamul changed them the good laws are those that are written in our hearts, placed there by Annikadel, who also received them from our Grandfather, Tikado Hedache, the worlds heart.

Now that we have overseen the way of Kwan, let us take a look at the way of Coyote, a story that a bright young Madesi woman taught me.

The Way of Coyote

The rain was lazily falling as we stood there, on what Grace called other most sacred land for my people.

You see those stones over there Grace asked as she pointed toward the south. I could see a wire fence and a few large gray rocks. This is the burial ground of my ancestors then she began to walk toward the hill and I followed her.

As she walked up the muddy land she told me, coyote is quite a character in the stories of my people. You see, he is not bad but somehow he ends up doing things that eventually he regrets. There was a time when Coyote thought that he could do great things that he could improve the way things were. He didn’t care about preserving things. For him, the excitement was in doing something new, always something new. He was of the belief that he was somehow special and very clever. As a matter of fact, he was very charming and likable. Perhaps it was because of this that he was so self-assured and given to taking shortcuts and just influencing others. His way was if am so good and smart and all of the rest, all they have to do is follow me and do as I tell them to do But most of the times things did not turn out as Coyote had envisioned them. There was always some unpredictable thing that would make things go in a different direction. Coyote meant well, but still he ended up causing problems for others.

Now, when things didn’t turn out as he had wanted them, Coyote would always point to somebody else, his explanations were if they had just listened to me or if they had just gotten out of the way things would have been different. But, all the same, Coyote sooner or later ended up in a mess, and with now way out.

You cannot see it right now, but across the river you will find the coyote jumping rock, a huge rock where people who are coyotes go to change their ways.

For my people, we are all born good, innocent. Just like that stream of water. Later in life, either by the environment, by things that happen to us or by things that we do, we end up doing bad things. My people had healers who would help them remove this bad from their lives, but that bad stuff had to be put some place. That is why we know that there are places we are not to go to. You know how you can tell them I shook my head. They are unusually cold. It is not that they are bad places; they are good places that have bad stuff. There are also places of goodness, healing places so to speak, and for us this is the place with the strongest medicines

She stopped and pointed around to an unusual amount of birds. The birds of this place are not ordinary birds. They are nostalgic souls of our ancestors who are strongly connected to our land. She kneeled down and patted the ground. We have been here for millions of years, from the time that we could fly, but that is another story...ö She looked around and pointed to the valley toward the west. This is our body then she pointed toward the northeast. That is our hearts then she pointed toward the burial grounds with her chin. That is our soul.

For a moment I thought that tears were rolling down her cheeks, but it could have been the rain. Her voice had a melancholic ring to it as if she was expressing the feelings of the spirit of the land. We all have some coyote in us, she said and her words strike me hard for I had been experiencing a feeling of great solitude. I had not said anything, but from the beginning of the story I had identified with Coyote. Walking up the hill, I had the distinct impression that I was stepping into some coyote’s footsteps.

Can Coyote change his way’s I asked? Most of us want to be liked, and be good and improve our lives she said, standing up and walking downhill toward the west. As she walked, she said that is the whole purpose of the past to teach us right from wrong. But that is the thing about Coyote, he never learns because he thinks he is always right. It is because of his tremendous importance, his self-centeredness, and his brightness, that Coyote finds it impossible to take a look at himself and correct himself. He goes on and on in this wonderful and mysterious world with nothing to learn. His disregard for others is his constant mistake. He never asks himself the question what have I done wrong, what could I have done differently, maybe I should have asked for others opinions, maybe I shall have not pushed on it so hard, maybe I shall have followed a different route.

Grace paused to cut an herb and rubbed it on her hand. Then she looked at me and said, coyote often dies in our stories, but he always manages a way to come back. Coyote is our sense of self as isolated from life and the world. That sense fades away when we become aware of our oneness with life and the world; when we take our place in life like those trees, like the spring, like those birds; when we take a good look at ourselves and learn from what we do.

Grace continued her walk and told me that it was time to go to another site. We walked in silence until we came to a vociferous river. The melting snow of the mountains had given it its highest crest for the season. Grace stood on a rock and soaked her muddy boots in the river. Then she uprooted some musk and smelled the soil of its base. Here she said, handing me the plant. I smelled it and the fragrance of that soil was soothing to me. Any element that is pure becomes wonderful she said, even dirt She walked under a large tree. We will take shelter from the rain like deer do, she said and sat on a rock. After a few moments I noticed that we were no longer getting wet, although the rain was copiously falling. The unusual thing was that while I was practically soaked and wet, that place felt warm and comforting. You are being cleansed Grace said, looking at the river. Then she reminded me that everything that I had gone through, everything I had experienced was a gift from that land, her ancestral land that if I spoke about it, it would gradually fade away. “Most deep things can not be reached with words,” Grace said rising from the rock and signaling me to walk with her toward the car. I had my eyes fixed on the path of the muddy road, but this time I found no trail of the Coyote’s footsteps. Not one