BACKGROUND: I AM THAT

I walk into the desert, singing. I see the big jackrabbits. They run when they see me.

I see a coyote, who shies away.
“No, no, it’s OK,” I say.
I don’t have our dog with us. I’m not concerned for his safety.
We are free to connect, the coyote and me.

The coyote keeps trotting away, tail down, stopping numerous times to look at me.
I send it love.

I climb to the highest peak, after seeing a hawk fly there.

I lay on top of rocks, feeling the wind ripple against me.
I feel the energy rising through my body.

Suddenly, I hear the call of the coyote on the next ridge.

Like me, he is poised at the highest point. He is looking at me.

Immediately, I call back – seeking to mimic his sound.

He calls, throwing his head up to the sky.

I mimic his moves, sounds. Feeling his call deep inside of me.

We sing back and forth like this for about 15 minutes; the call in me growing more primal and free – reverberating across the valley, this coyote and me.

The coyote looks at me continuously, and I at him.

Then he turns and heads down the ridge, out of my view.

Suddenly I burst into tears. This coyote has cracked my heart wide open.
Maybe he was just looking for his pack, like we all are.
A lone coyote – who I have called “bad” to warn my dog to stay clear; tell him
“Leave it,” when we hear their call.

Fear.

What used to be a kind of admiration and fascination with the animal before we had a dog had morphed into fear, separation, dislike.

I feel sad – deeply sad – and ashamed.

This coyote reached into my heart with his calls from the ridge, watching him throw his head back to call, then, occasionally, an almost whimper, cry; mournful, maybe? Lonely?

As I finished crying, I saw the coyote at the base of my ridge. He looked up at me, then continued trotting away: stopping often to look back at me. Then, finally, disappeared like a mirage, in the desert landscape.

“He is your brother. Act like it,” is the message I receive when I go into the desert that night.

The night is silent for nearly two hours as I lay under a tree.

I wanted to return to the desert; feel the cool wind on my face, hear the great horned owl too, if I were lucky.

Mostly, I hoped to meet the coyote again, if only in his call.

Silence.

Until I heard sirens. I sent a blessing, as is my standard practice. Suddenly, a chorus of coyotes started singing; responding to the call. Sirens and singing coyotes in the night.

They were responding to the call, it seemed to me. Some inner knowing, I wanted to believe:
We are all connected.

I could return Home now, remembering what I have always known deep inside and the coyotes
helped me see.

I Am That.

Jillian (Robinson) Weaver loves sharing stories of the heart – for the joy of it. An Emmy-winning television producer, author-photographer and coach, she is not seeking new clients or selling anything; she simply hopes these words help kindle the light in your life to burn brighter. She’s grateful to be with you on this journey.