On the wings of eagles

My client and I were sitting in chairs, enjoying the sun. The March wind was mild and the bright green grass created a beautiful carpet leading up to the social hall. During the dream consultation counseling session, a hawk had featured prominently. My client had dreamed of a raptor flying toward her, coming closer and closer. Birds of prey have incredibly powerful eyes. They can see things clearly at a great distance. The dream image had its eye on the cat in the midst of the people and swooped down quickly. Raptors strike without warning. They grab their victim with piercing talons, carrying them aloft toward father sky. Because of the hawk’s behavior profile, native peoples regard the symbol of the raptor as a spiritual messenger, one which sees the future and alerts the dreamer to expect a surprising event or message.

In ancient Greece the eagle was the sky god’s familiar and Zeus often dispatched his eagle as his messenger and agent. Perhaps the more notable examples of this were his abducting the shepperd boy Ganymede, who became the symbol of the Aquarian Age, the Water Pourer, and sending his eagle to help Psyche (the soul) in obtaining water from the source of the river Styx high up in Olympus. In both cases the Father God, Zeus, is motivated by Love. (Love is Eros, the Greek god; Amor, the Roman version.) For both Ganymede and Psyche these surprising turns of fate are synchronous events. There is profound meaning in what might be considered a random event.

Synchronicity is a meaningful coincidence, and one such surprise drove into the parking lot as I finished the session. The goddess in disguise looked to my human eyes as though she were an elder woman, dressed casually in men’s clothing. She wore a tee shirt which betrayed her feminine nature and her age. She wanted to know if the Liberal Catholics were Charismatic. I told her a little bit about the history of the old catholic church of Holland and how it split off from the Roman Church in 1723 over an authority issue, which attracted the English Theosophists who were ordained Anglican priests in the 1890s. Having translated the liturgy into English and launched a free thinking catholic tradition into the British Empire, the Old Catholics got a new name in 1916, Liberal for ‘free thinking” Catholics. Her next comment and question got me wondering if she might be the goddess Athena in disguise.

She began telling me about some past life regressions she had recently had with a spiritual intuitive. She remembered being a man, a young idealistic MD who served the Third Reich at Auschwitz, who “witnessed 500 people take their last breath” and whose early death created the karma of this life. She was a hospice worker, who served the dieing. Now her work was finished and she was leaving town, following the spirit, which is what had directed her to drive up to the church in the first place. That prompted me to ask her if she had ever heard of the channeled teachings of the Native American Avatar called White Eagle. I told her how I was given my name by the eagles on the Puget Sound in Washington State and how I later discovered the story of White Eagle,who explains the after life to fearful humans, as the beautiful place of learning created by the Loving Father Creator.

Not only had she heard of White Eagle, but she said that she had just taken her entire collection of White Eagle’s writings out of storage and knew that spirit was directing her to deliver them to me. As she handed them to me she confessed that she had bought them new and had never read them. “They all were sent from England and I have been keeping them for the right moment. This is it.” She wished me well and drove off. Each book has the symbol of the White Eagle Fellowship on the cover, just like the one inside the social hall of the church. It is the Native American circle quartered by the cross of the four directions with a five petaled white rose superimposed upon the Star of David, which is itself superimposed upon the cross. Synchronicity strikes again, this time in the form of Zeus’ daughter Athene, disguised as a hippie grandmother.

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How do you know you’re an elder?

During a break in ceremony, a young Russian, who had just returned from Burning Man, sat down in front of me. “You have changed,” I said, “I can see it in your eyes. What did you learn?” He told me of the pleasures of the Carnival and then of his inner journey and its teachings. And he told me of his friendship with a young Native American who taught him how to honor the spirit of the hawk when finding a feather. And we talked about spirit animal guides and the medicine wheel, the compass circle quartered by the cross. Then he asked me, “in the Native American tradition how do you know you’re an elder?”

“When they treat you like one,” was my reply. “In most Native ways you are regarded as an elder person when you turn 50 or 55, it depends on the tradition, but that doesn’t mean you are an Elder.” I looked down to my right. There were a group of young men in their thirties and early forties, sitting off to the side smoking and talking with a man in his seventies. Although the man was older than me, he was acting like “one of the guys” laughing and enjoying himself with his peers, trying to be young and vibrant. They weren’t treating him any different from one another, he was accepted as an equal. They show him some respect, they let him be first in line. He’s their elder “brother”. Although I was noticing this for a split second, I didn’t say anything about it, but continued, “when you know what you are talking about, things which you learn from your earth walk, we call it wisdom. Usually it goes with white hair, but not always.”

“You know you are an elder when people respect you like an elder, when they treat you like one.” I didn’t have to say that he was treating me like an elder, unlike the way the men in the other circle were regarding their “elder”. I just stayed focused, locked into his hawk eyes and continued. “Perception is a gift of the eagles and the hawks. They see. They observe. They know their surroundings. When they need to, they take to the air, to get a better view of things. I think that’s why “seeing far” is associated with the east in the medicine wheel. You see deeply into others, into their behavior, their motivation, and you can predict their responses by knowing these things. Yes, when people recognize your wisdom and honor it, they treat you differently. They respect you for your wisdom and they ask for your counsel. There’s a way you stay focused in your core, in your self. What you know cannot be taken from you. You have learned it from your earth walk. Yes, when they treat you like one. That’s when you know you are an elder.”

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White Corn Elder

“When did you first discover you were telepathic?” said the old woman, “My name is Jeanne Eaglesong,” we two, standing in the middle of the labyrinth at Holy Trinity after Eucharist, she bored into me with her eagle eyes and continuing said, “I heard you tell me to be more gentle with my words, if I wanted that couple to hear what I was saying. And I changed my attitude and you were right, so who are you really? Gray Eagle would know, but he passed into the spirit world. Did you know him, the medicine man?” She saw right through me, into my soul and love wrapped around me, before she joined her teacher on the other side. Who indeed am I? Turtle, deer, bobcat, heron, hummingbird, bear, buffalo, coyote, fox, raven, hawk, eagle: all these and more my friends and allies, man androgyne, senex/puer, lover of god, friend of earth our mother, father, brother, servant and healer, teacher, student, singer, dancer.

It happened again at the Santo Daime Work.  I was sitting in a large chair outside facing the Pacific Ocean on the top of a mountain.  We had been dancing for two hours straight and I needed a rest.  I tuned into Grandmother Ayuaska and observed all the things she wanted me to work on.  Two younger men came in succession and sat to my left.  They each meditated and prayed.  The second still had his song sheets in his hand as he got to his knees touching the earth.  With my inner voice I said, “Drop the papers!”  and instantly he opened his hand and let the papers drop to the ground.  I said nothing at the time.  Several hours later I told him how I had experienced his prayer.

And later a beautiful young woman thanked me for coming to the work.  “You always make me feel safe when you are here.  You hold space in such a kind, loving way, it’s great.  There aren’t many White Corn Elders left among us.  Old White Corn people, not Elders.  Thanks for participating.”

Most of my elders gone, I alone remain to carry the wisdom of the White Corn People forward to the Rainbow Tribe.

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Dreaming Together

My dream: the protection spell showed itself from another dimension. I realized it was my young friend and apprentice (in the 21st century) who had cast it, to protect me in another reality. It was like the hint of something barely visible, but undeniable none the less. The young men were the same essence, the same person, but playing different roles in different dimensions. It started the first day I met him.

I was on my way to see the Deathly Hallows with one of my students, whom I was collecting before the movie. It turned out to be one of the four friends’ birthdays, when I visited their home. The four graduate students share a communal living situation while attending the local university. I was invited in for the end of the celebration and when I met the newest house mate, he smiled vibrantly and seemed transformed when I shook his hand. He later contacted me. But that night his friend Benjamin and I enjoyed the movie. One of the clues left behind by the Wizard Dumbledore was a book, inscribed in black ink with the symbol of a line surrounded by a circle bounded by a triangle. The simple symbol was the only thing unusual about the book and the female heroine, Hermine, finally decided it was important. It was the key to understanding what was happening around the three friends. Ben and I enjoyed the movie. It was the beginning of an amazing set of surprises.

The newest and forth house mate called saying he wanted to go for a walk with me. We talked about everything I love, psychology, dreams, mystic experiences, family, community, relationships, the meaning of life and of course love. He told me that he felt electrified when I touched him and decided to explore the magic of our meeting. He has become my apprentice in spiritual psychology and for Christmas gave me a used paperback copy of The Eagle’s Gift by Carlos Castaneda. It was inscribed in a fine line black pen. When I started reading it yesterday, I noticed the chapters Seeing Together and Dreaming Together were underlined in the table of contents as well as the top of each page of those respective chapters. Only those chapters had the fine lines. I thought it a bit odd and wondered if the previous owner had marked them. The part of the story called seeing together is how the young Carlos meets more of his Master’s students in Mexico and with the woman called Gorda sees into the other dimension while they are sitting on a bench together. Actually they both are having similar experiences in a dream like state. She put her head on his shoulder and he then put his head on her head. That’s when the visions of the auras of other people began to become clear. This was what don Juan, the Teacher/Nagual, had told them seeing was like, but it occurred when they literally put their heads together. Their teachers don Juan and don Genaro had disappeared and now the young sorcerer was the new Nagual or leader of the group. Just as I finished, Pablito walked up.

I put the book down and embraced him. He told me of his relationship change, “I’m living in my truck and feeling free again”. Although I meant it and sincerely hope for it, I said, “Maybe I’ll see more of you now.” He replied, “that’s for sure.” I wondered how often Silver Centaurs make prophecies. Rarely and they are usually true. Well, over the years I have seen very little of him, just a warm embrace, but he said he’s been reading my emails since last I saw him. The times are changing. That in itself is a major improvement since his dad died, that he is tenuously connected to the love he feels flowing from me. Now that I think about it, my sister told me she had invited him to her Native American Church birthday ceremony. He chose not to attend, but he also told me about her invitation. When he said goodbye, I picked up The Eagle’s Gift and finished the chapter.

About four am this morning I had a dream about the merging of two dimensions. My protector was none other than my apprentice. He was reaching out from his dream state to protect me, casting a spell of love and safety to surround me on my journey. The dream was shocking. It could have been a scene in the Deathly Hallows. Out of nowhere comes a stream of white light illuminating the darkness and I turn to see its source, my young man, whose dreams and life I have been processing. This definitely requires remembering and I went over and over it in the dream state. Finally I got up and began writing it down. At the very least it means I must regard him with respect for his power to manifest his desire for relationship. The inscription wasn’t inspired by the Harry Potter story, he had never seen nor read the books. Yet the synchronicity is there. And I am forty years older than him, so what is going on here? He told me he felt we were related in a former life time, so that would account for the immediate intimacy. I also came highly recommended as a person his friend Ben trusts. Ben affectionately calls me as his “Turkey Master”, ever since I showed up in Ben’s dream as a life-size turkey. Of course it is like a dream come true to find a student with the discipline to religiously keep a dream journal and the expertise with symbols to interpret dreams, not to mention the background in literature, psychology and hypnosis. He also attends to our conversations carefully and calls me to account when he senses an inconsistency. So of course I made him my apprentice and have been teaching him the craft, but there’s something unusual about all of this. I know that Jung would suggest that I have been looking down on him instead of having the proper attitude. The dream corrects my conscious attitude of teacher/student to wizard/wizard and to the I Ching image of two lakes touching, whose waters fill the one who is drying up and hence the symbol of mutual support. Is it not important to receive the love of one’s students? And honor that gift with mutual respect?

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Charles Who?

For the last few years I have visited Anglican Churches with female pastors. In both Ojai and Albany, CA I have told my name to the priest and yet she repeatedly would call me “Charles”. At first I thought there must have been an ex-husband or friend by that name in the woman’s life. But after the phenomenon was repeated by five or six priests, who can’t seem to remember I am not Charles, I began to think about this. Then I remembered my post last March, 2009 entitled Reincarnation could be happening. Funny how things escape us when they are so close. In the article I was exploring the possibility of having been Charles Leadbeater in a former life and all the reasons why that might be true. He was an ordained Anglican priest 130 years ago and became a powerful clairvoyant after traveling with Helena Blavatsky and living in India. He embraced Buddhism as a philosophy he could believe in and worked for the establishment of Buddhist schools and colleges in Sri Lanka (then called Ceylon by the British). His inner guru, whom he called Kethumi, guided him throughout the rest of his life. He found Krishnamurti, who later traveled to Ojai, CA with Annie Besant.  Krishnamurti taught in Ojai and later set up Oak Grove School, which my young colleague, Alex Smith attended and from which he graduated high school. He is presently training to be a mathematics instructor, so he can return to teach High School.

The magic of how Alex found me would remind anyone of Bishop CW Leadbeater’s spiritual guidance. Alex’s companion at the time was best friends of my friend Brian Lemesh’s wife. The friendship of these women pulled their companions into camping trips. I met Brian in the Sweat Lodge in northern CA. Eventually I met Alex when he and Brian attended their first peyote ceremony (or Native American Church meeting as we prefer to call them). I had driven down from Mendocino County where I was living and working as Whiteagle. One of my clients was the mother of a 16 year-old boy who was killed in an automobile accident. Her son’s spirit would accompany me to the Sweat Lodge where Brian and the other men got together every week. In the ceremony which took place in Santa Barbara, Brian sat on my right and Alex on my left. They acted like my totem animals, the eagle and the raven, all night long. It was very interesting as we were sitting with the spirits of their parents that night and morning. (Brian’s mom died when he was 17 and Alex’s dad died shortly before the meeting.) My name sake, White Eagle, was an  avatar of the Native American lineage (channeled in the 1920s in England).  The force of these transmissions was to correct people’s attitudes about the life after death, to encourage us to look forward to the continued growth of the soul in the spirit world.  White Eagle seems to have been very influential in my relationships with people in the spirit world/dimension. He certainly has been active in helping me relate to people who have passed over into the spirit world. They have been interacting with me for several years now.

Today I got another magic clue to why “Charles” pops up all the time. I got recognized (psychically) by the woman pastor of the Lutheran church here in Berkeley.  She “knew” I am a worker in the realm of dreams, shortly after meeting me.  She too works with dreams in her work with homeless children, she listens to their dreams every morning when they awake.  And she gave me the kind of instant acceptance and intimacy I have been getting more and more. Charles was clairvoyant.  I am clairsentient. I feel things. I check out my intuition all the time to make sure I am not projecting.  Charles Leadbeater was known for similar gifts.  He attributed them to his Master Kuthumi, who bestowed the gift upon him.  I, on the other hand, have always had these gifts.  I was just afraid of them.  They made me very different. And speaking of different, take a look at the floral print of Leadbeater’ bishop’s robe.  Have you ever seen anything like that except in the ladies fashion magazines?  That’s exactly my style, floral shirts, even my kippot from Kenya is floral and in Cherokee colors as well.  That kippot hat is my bishop’s miter I guess.  I even have always used walking sticks the size of his crook.  It is really weird.  I don’t know what to think anymore.  Maybe the next time someone addresses me as Charles, I will just accept it.  Paradoxical as it is, maybe it is closer to the truth than any rational explanation I could come up with.

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Thanks Uncle for giving my friend a ride

The cell phone rang just as I started driving down the mountain. I was still wearing my new silver rainbow pendant which my grandson brought me from Peru. “The coyote ran away from me only a couple of days after you gave it to me,” he said explaining how the abalone necklace of the coyote had been taken at the gymnasium. He had admired it so much when I wore it in ceremony that I gave it to him in the morning. (Note the iphone photo.) He had been sitting beside me when I formally let go of my hurt feelings at not being accepted by my brother and sister and all those others who judge me wrong or bad because I am me. I told the leopard (my grandson’s totem animal) to enjoy the necklace and if it is too much to carry, he could give it back. I had given it to a nephew, a whale person, the year before, but his wife didn’t like having the coyote in her world, so he returned it to me.

Coyote is the Trickster animal of the North American indigenous peoples and he teaches us lessons all the time. Evidently the thief who took him out of the 24 hour gym needs some education. My grandson was returning the teacher’s magic item transformed. It is now a rainbow of inlaid stones dripping from the heart of jasper above. The inverted rainbow reflects his dream of the white owl in the tree branch which slowly inverted itself, hanging upside down and whispering in his ear in what he took to be the Gaelic language of our Celtic ancestors. He didn’t understand the words of the owl, but it dropped a crystal into his hand. What he handed me was that dream in the pendant. The owl had become the rainbow inlaid in the round silver moon and the crystal, the red stone. Just turn the dream right side up and the object mirrors it. The six foot four blond leopard in human form was beaming from ear to ear. He gave me much more than the coyote he let run away from him.

As I was saying, I was driving down the mountain with the rainbow hanging around my neck, when the coyote called from Palm Springs. He wanted to acknowledge my teaching stories of the day before. He had been bragging about being like Zeus, after telling us how great it was to be an Aquarian. At forty-two he is the guy you would see in the gym working out, pressing metal to increase the size of his muscles, a good looking, sexy man, who loves his naked body. As he is fond of saying, “I love my birthday suit!” He has lots of affairs, beautiful women by the score, and is concerned with the order of things, so he does have a Zeus aspect. He’s also homophobic and loves to do “guy things” like collect the wood, split and skin it for Native American Church meetings. He is blond and blue-eyed, but built like his Lakota and Cherokee ancestors. He reminds me of an Apache like Geronimo. But he does have quite a big ego, a compensation for all the abuse he endured as a child from his Marine drill sargent step-father. I have tolerated this for the last seven years to the disappointment of my sister the Jaguar, but I broke my silence with a question. “Do you know who the Water Pourer is, the one who symbolizes Aquarius? He’s one of Zeus’ lovers, a guy named Ganymede. Zeus was bi-sexual.” Stunned, he then wanted to joke around with a story. “Have you ever heard the difference between the dumb ass and the smart ass?” After he told us his joke, I told him the story of the Golden Ass.

“It’s a story about a guy like you, called Lucian, who seduces all the girls and is curious about magic. He’s staying in the home of a powerful sorcerer who can change herself into an owl at night. The servant girl, his latest conquest, lets Lucian watch the transformation through the key hole of the door to her mistress’ chamber. He wants to try the magic and, when his hostess is out of town for the weekend, does, but opens the wrong drawer and becomes a donkey, an ass. The story teaches him a lesson of what it is like to be abused as a beast of burden but to have the intelligence and consciousness of a human. When the ass Lucian can take no more and wants to die, he has a dream of the Great Goddess Isis, who tells him what he must do to break the enchantment. Basically he needs to honor and respect the feminine, symbolized by a bouquet of roses, which, when touched by the ass during the parade honoring the Goddess, turns him back into a man.” The beautiful blond Zeus, like Coyote, was stunned, but as all coyotes do, was bouncing back with a “thank you call”. He wanted me to know he had given up Zeus for Hermes.

I didn’t bother to tell the young coyote about Hermes’ sexual behavior, just the things I thought he would appreciate about his new god/role model. I compared Hermes to our Trickster friend the Coyote, adding the messenger of the gods/communication to his ability to travel in all dimensions, including the spirit world of Hades. Hermes’ uniqueness among the Greek pantheon appealed to the young coyote. I mentioned he was also the god of thieves and the market place. These qualities appealed to my friend. I did slip in the word ‘androgynous’ among the beautiful god’s attributes, but the coyote didn’t seem to pick up that scent. Just as I was crossing the top of the ridge, I noticed a college student standing at a bus stop; he did something I had never seen before, he stuck out his thumb asking for a ride. Within seconds I decided to risk it. Picking up my first hitchhiker in the Berkeley hills didn’t seem that risky, he was dressed in a suit coat and was carrying a small painting. The blue jeans seemed like the casual touch many university students affect, so I pulled over and told the coyote on the phone, “I’m picking up a rider now, so I have to say good-bye.”

The young man in glasses got into my car. I told him my name and he responded with “that’s my name too, I’m Michael, but I go by Michaelangelo.” My inner eagle had noticed the three part modern icon in his hands, maybe that was what told me it was OK to stop. I had a hunch he knew the people on the Magic Bus, who drove up to the peyote ceremony for new year’s at Joshua Tree. I remembered my Israeli grandson (yes we made that relationship about three months after the meeting) telling me about this guy who calls himself Michaelangelo in the bay area. I was right. He was the man. As I told him about all the relatives I knew from the peyote way, he started asking if I knew his friends from the Ayuaska tradition. I did. Small world. When I dropped him off, I gave him my card. I went to see the Disney movie The Sorcerer’s Apprentice again. There were three of us at the matinee, so I got to appreciate the story from the eagle’s perspective this time, up high and alone.

After the movie, I went across the street to the grocery store and who should I meet? Michaelangelo’s friend/host, the guy he is visiting and the reason he was on our mountain. We talked and I returned to my bear/coyote cave. When I turned on my computer a message popped up from another nephew. “You gave my friend a ride to my house this afternoon. Thanks Uncle.” Wow, magic does exist! We just need to know how to recognize it. Sometimes it just leans over and whispers in our inner ear “stop and pick that guy up.” The hitchhiker’s parting comment? “I knew you were the right ride, when I saw the bumper sticker that said ‘shift happens‘.”

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The Masked Man

At my recent Initiation into the North American Mystery School, a couple of psychic visitors were “seen” standing behind me. The Initiator was reluctant, at first, to describe what she had seen. She shared her vision with the Co-Initiator explaining her hesitance. Her partner knows me and my medicine well. He chuckled and said, “go for it!” She did. To the best of my ability this is what she said, “I saw this dog coming into the space, then it looked more like a wolf, but it was actually a coyote. He came around you and sat behind you, beside a man in a mask.” I laughed out loud. Coyote is the Trickster and one of my strongest allies since my separation and divorce 13 years ago. It was no surprise to me that he would show up. He’s been guiding me, in fact my book Riding Coyote’s Tail is dedicated to the Native American Trickster. But I was curious about the masked man.

One of the strange things about the Initiation was the Cherokee genetic heritage of all the participants. We were synchronistically wearing red and black clothing. One of the Initiates even said, “I’ve never owned a red shirt until this week and why I wore it I don’t know. It just seemed right.” His mom and grandmother were the Cherokees in his family. The woman who saw the vision has a Cherokee line through her female ancestors as well. I asked her, “What kind of a mask was the man wearing?” As soon as she answered I could see the mask in my mind’s eye, she said, “It was wooden. Painted black and red.” “Oh,” I responded, “It was an Iroquois Healer’s Mask, from the False Face Society. That’s my mask from the Dreaming World. I recognized it when you described it. I had that dream three years ago. I was entering my home which had been invaded by the French. I was speaking French to them and in the mirror I noticed a man was wearing my mask, the one I had made according to the sacred tradition of my ancestors. I was furious and picked up my son’s feather fan to confront him with my magic.” So what does it mean?

After thinking about the event for a couple of weeks, I decided it was a spiritual affirmation of the path I am walking. The Native American Trickster and the Healer showed up in a form which the Cherokee Initiator could see. These are both aspects of my personality. They stand behind me, supporting me in my actions, looking on with pride that I have stepped forward and acknowledged my connection to the ancient mystery schools. That’s another validation of the Wisdom of the White Eagle, for which I now speak. It showed up in a recent dream. In the dream, I was cleaning out a fountain on a granite building having climbed the red scaffolding to accomplish my task. Once the fountain was clean and flowing with clear fresh water, I washed the stones of the building. I was up on the third or fourth story, the very top of the building. When I looked down, the scaffolding was gone. I pushed up and backward on my butt, releasing energy which seemed to be pulling me off the edge to my death. Slowly I released the people and their energy which I imagined was keeping me from confidently embodying my purpose. As I did so, I felt the energy change, I became comfortable on the top of the building. I looked over to the adjoining building and noticed two split pieces of wood, the kind you might put on the Sweat Lodge fire. They were charred on the edges, as though someone had removed them from a fire, which should have consumed them. I wondered about them. How did we forget to remove them? Then I woke up.

Later that day we had the Purification (Sweat) Lodge, and although it was a good lodge with good people, I felt exhausted. I kept wondering about the dream. The following day the two pieces of wood appeared in symbolic form as unfinished business. One of the younger men I have been Mentoring had some issues to throw on the fire. Each appeared as an email two hours apart. There was the dream image. I was prepared to interpret the interchange because of the intervention of the dream. This man has stood beside me for three years, like another granite building. He is graduating from UC Berkeley, which has several of these buildings mirrored in the dream. In his psychic field, up high in the intellectual reaches of the mind are his unfinished, unburned sources of fire which still need to be dealt with. They are his issues, his projections onto me, as the dream suggests. They are on the top, the intellectual or thinking part of his structure. As buildings we function as potential places for education to occur. My fountain is clear now, my building clean. I have cleaned his exterior as well, but unconsciously left some debris on the uppermost story, the roof. Not a good place to have a couple of wooden objects, because they could be used to kill, either consciously by throwing them over the edge or unconsciously by allowing a rainstorm to wash them over onto someone below. How should I deal with this image?

When the emails arrived, I recognized them as potentially dangerous, like the pieces of wood in the dream. The Dream Maker gives us a mirror of our process, of our selves at a particular point in time, but doesn’t always give us a suggestion about how to deal with the situation. Sometimes and in some dreams there is a suggestion, and in others the suggestion is to do the opposite of what the story line describes, i.e., change the story. So I had the idea of being an eagle on top of the building. There’s no way to get down as a coyote or to get onto his roof and remove the wood. Only one way, I had to embody the eagle. With the objectivity and clarity of the eagle’s eye, I had to see what the “wooden email” looked like, what it’s function and structure was, to fly over and pick it up, and deliver it to the sender. So that’s what I did. I removed the possible dangers imaginally. I communicated electronically and let go. I have to wear my Healer’s mask as the Whiteagle. I have to clean up the mess I have made, symbolized by the matter out of place , the moop of Burning Man, where my protege had taken me last September. It was a gift that just keeps on giving. Hopefully there’s no more psychic moop on top of his building and I can enjoy myself standing beside him. We’ll see how it all turns out. Waiting quietly and patiently like an eagle on the mountain top, I sit sharing the story with you. Hope you have enjoyed it.

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Riding Coyote’s Tail by Michael Melville

These amazingly true stories are about what happens when we accept a ride on Coyote, the Native American Trickster.  Out of nowhere comes the opportunity to laugh and cry through the changes we put ourselves through when magic is invited into our lives.  Like Coyote’s magic carpet, the chapters are appearing one by one at the site.  Hope you enjoy the stories.  The electric words can be found at http://ridingcoyote.blogspot.com/

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