The Master Trickster, the Coyote and the Brokenhearted

By Santosha Tantra

Yakataboof got up every day for the last week and noticed the scrawny looking coyote resting on the dirt behind a mesquite bush. He wondered why the coyote had settled into that spot not more than a hundred feet past his swelling. The coyote disappeared from that spot in the early morning and late evening to hunt, Yakataboof surmised. He saw him once lapping water up from one of his fountains and ponds and began leaving the coyote a hot dog by his porch steps. He was not surprised when he sat out on his favorite lounge chair to get a few morning rays and sip his tea that the coyote was resting on the porch too.

Yakataboof greeted him, “You are most welcome, my friend. Perhaps we are in a story together, what do you think?”

The coyote got up and stretched his legs, yawned and licked Yakataboof’s fingers—cleaned them completely from the sticky bun Yakataboof had been eating. Yakataboof laughed and stroked the coyote’s head. This went on for a few weeks and the once scrawny coyote filled out.

Yakataboof noticed this and said, “I see you got your strength back. What’s next? Some impulses are gathering, and we need all our strength to put them into play. Are you in?”

The coyote looked into Yakataboof’s eyes and spoke to him clear as day—as a coyote and man would speak to each other if neither could deny the real possibility of this occurring.

“Yes, I’m in,” spoke the coyote, “there have been a lot of strange occurrences lately, you know, with the appearance and gathering of the Goddesses.”

“Oh, yes, that, they are here. But our story, our work, is diverging. I’m sure it will come back around to them. It always does.”

“What or who is it that we are in play with?” asked the coyote.

Yakataboof took another sip of his tea and looked out into the desert. “We are being led, my impulses are gathering and I’m afraid the news is not good.”

“Oh, no,” the coyote sighed, “not the brokenhearted. Isn’t that the goddesses’ and . . . the angels’ work?”

“Usually, mostly, and sometimes always, but I believe they need our help. You know, we have a certain set of skills that they lack.”

Coyote smiled (yes! coyotes smile), “Oh, that will make it fun! After all, I’m the best in my class and it’s well known in the packs your standing as the Master Trickster.”

“Takes one to know one,” Yakataboof retorted.

Coyote and man were quiet for a while. Yakataboof broke the silence, “I’ve got a few new tricks in my bag—been working on them for a while.”

Coyote laughed (yes! coyotes laugh), “Me too,” he answered.

They both spoke up at the same time, “Yep, when it comes to the brokenhearted, we’ll need every trick we got and more.” Both man and coyote let out a sigh followed by a long, bellowing howl. Coyote got up. He had seen a jackrabbit hiding behind the mesquite bush. He was hungry, time for breakfast. Yakataboof stretched his legs and popped the last bite of a banana into his mouth.

The play had begun! The plan was in motion! Could there be a better buddy story than the play and the plans of two tricksters (both masters in their own right)?

And here enters the brokenhearted . . .

She was old now and had lived the life she had chosen—though most people think their lives happened to them, and if they had really chosen what had occurred, would they have actually chosen it? When Saladee looked back at her life, who she had become and what had happened seemed unreal to her. Was that really my life? she asked herself over and over. She knew she was disappearing from her life—her journey was almost over. She knew it was almost over because she had no nostalgia or sentimentality for her past, for the people she had known and loved. With her aging body barely able to get her through each day, she was also losing her vanity. She had been quite attractive as a younger woman. She was not noticed now, and she was losing her memory as well. So, this is how life kicks you out, she thought. Everything that you achieved, everything that meant much to you now feels outdated and unnecessary. I was such a body, she thought. Counted on it for all the pleasure I could get. It was a good life. She had heard the term karma, and she knew hers was good, for everything that she wanted came easily to her. I don’t have any complaints, she thought, and yet she didn’t feel any gratitude for what she had been given in her experiences. She felt mostly absent. She did not feel the power one feels when they learn their lessons in life. She got by, and mostly by using her looks to enter and convince others that she had a depth, a depth that she was never willing to enter. I fooled some of the people some of the time, but I was fooled too. She never looked for wisdom. She wouldn’t recognize such a person bearing and living wisdom if they knocked on her door and exclaimed, “Here I am, willing to share my wisdom with you!” That’s why even at this late date, she was a candidate for the Master Trickster and his pal coyote. She was the kind of impossible challenge that would call up their greatest tricks to come into use.

“Yep,” both coyote and Yakataboof agreed. She is one brokenhearted woman. “She definitely qualifies,” Yakataboof mused.

“Yes,” agreed Coyote, “she is so absent from herself, she can’t even recognize that her heart is so tight—that it shattered into pieces years ago. She will definitely need our kind of magic, our adeptness at being so dam tricky.”

Yakataboof laughed and said, “Let’s begin, then.”

Trick Number 1:
Enter from behind

Yakataboof dreamed his way into her busy mind. She never knew what she was thinking—her thoughts had piled up into a dustbin that had never been emptied. Her thoughts were like a hoarder’s house filled with junk no one in their right mind would ever even save or think about ever again. Would he consider throwing any of them out? No, it was an impossible task, and Yakataboof never went near anyone else’s thoughts. Wouldn’t touch them with a 10-foot pole, he thought. His own thoughts (is it possible he didn’t own any?) he never took seriously and at times were a source of amusement to him. He was more like Coyote. They both fed on their instincts, impulses and intuitions. So, what was he doing in Saladee’s mind? He was looking for a moment, perhaps a juncture in her life, where two possibilities appeared. One choice that she hadn’t chosen but had appeared to her sometime in her youth. If he could find such a thread, he could unravel it and their work could really begin.

Coyote’s instincts were on high alert. He appeared to Saladee through a vision she would find desirable. It wasn’t an easy task, and her eyesight was terrible and her attention span short. He would have to work quickly, and he did.

He appeared to her in her room and teased her, “Hey cutie, want to dance?”

She opened her eyes and snorted, “What are you doing here, you old dirty dog?”

Coyote stood up on his hind legs and stretched his body—he was now over 10 feet tall. Saladee squinted her eyes, “Get out, you old dirty dog!” She wondered if she was losing her mind. “I said get out!” she exclaimed.

Coyote stood his ground, “How about that dance, you pretty old thing,” he teased her.

“Dance!” she complained, “I can barely stand!”

Coyote laughed and said, “How about a kiss then?”

Saladee snorted, “I don’t kiss dogs. How did you get into my room?”

I jumped through the open window. I’ve been watching you, lady, you are one hot mama if you ask me.”

“Are you crazy?” Saladee asked.

Coyote laughed, “Yeah, I’m crazy, like you are. We got a lot in common.”

“I assure you, you dirty dog, I don’t have anything in common with you!”

“Oh, maybe you don’t see it, but we are both charmers, we both get by with our charms.”

“Maybe when I was younger, I was a looker as they say. I could work the room.”

“You know, even dirty old dogs like me can work the room, too.”

Saladee laughed, “Pretty conceited, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps,” replied Coyote, “but my charms got me what I wanted. Did yours?”

“I don’t have any complaints. I’ve had a good life, if life amounts to living out your final days talking to a dirty only dog like yourself.”

Coyote laughed, “Sounds like a complaint to me, but meeting this old dirty dog is the luckiest day of your life.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Saladee, “You’re probably a side effect of some medication they gave me.”

Coyote danced around the room. “Can a side effect dance like this?” he asked as he swirled in rapid succession.

“You’re making me dizzy just watching you,” Saladee accused him.

“Can’t you hear the music?” Coyote asked.

“What music?” she asked. And then she heard it. A harp was being played, cymbals were crashing and there was a bass line that kept coming around. She started to tap her feet.

“That’s right, girl. Get off that chair and dance with me.”

Saladee found her way to her feet. She took Coyote’s hand, and he swirled her around the room. He spun her faster and faster and as he danced her, he worked his charms on her and she was a young woman again.

Yakataboof had found the thread he was looking for. “Thanks, Coyote. That was one hell of a dance.”

Saladee (through Coyote’s influence) danced and reversed time, or did she fall through a hole in her mind that Yakataboof had created? It was a double effort by those two master tricksters, and it was a stretch of their master magician abilities. Saladee danced her way right into her 21^st year on a fateful day when her boyfriend proposed to her. She knew he would. She had dressed for the occasion. Her makeup was impeccable, the slit in her dress inviting, and there was no mistaking that her breasts were revealed like two big pieces of fruit served on a platter. Who could resist? Certainly not her boyfriend Tom. She was truly fuckable, the prettiest woman in the room. He indeed was a lucky man. She knew how to make him feel that way. He wanted her and so did every man in the room. Tom was the one who had the assets—good looking (but not too good looking—the attention had to go to her), well endowed, both in the sexual area and the bank account.

That fateful day also brought another man into the room of her life. She had seen him reading a book at the coffee shop while she ordered her espresso. She could feel the eyes of all the men in the shop eyeing her. How she lived for those moments. She pretended to ignore them all, but her second attention was saying, “Don’t you all want to fuck me?” She looked to the man reading the book. Why wasn’t he looking at me? she asked herself. She studied him while she was pretending to sip her too hot coffee. This man is really handsome, she thought. She noticed he was not wearing a wedding ring. His hair was brown and curly and a little bit too long for her tastes. He looked up from his book and stared into the room, obviously deeply in thought. She coughed a bit to get his attention, and it worked. He looked at her and she gave him one of her beckoning half smiles. He did not smile back. He stared her down and she felt him to be rude, and in her discomfort turned away.

“You dropped your napkin,” he spoke to her.

She looked down and felt like challenging him and said, “Why don’t you pick it up for me,” and flashed a smile.

“Only if you sit down with me for a while.”

It was hard for her to follow if he was flirting with her. He did not smile, instead pointed to the chair that was opposite him. “Here is your napkin,” he handed it to her.

She sat down. “What are you reading?” she asked him.

He put the book down and said, “Why don’t we read each other? Tell me what you see. Who am I?”

She knew this game. He was definitely flirting with her. She smiled and laughed, “I see a man who knows he is good looking. What do you see?”

“I see a woman who knows how to work the pretty, but knows very little, almost nothing, about who she is.”

Saladee flushed and her temper was rising. She did not want him to see her anger, that he had the power to provoke her, “And how would you know that ?” she asked him.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean? You are a bit too arrogant, aren’t you?”

“No, ask any man in this room. Everyone is pretending, aren’t they, to be more than they are—including you?”

She snorted a brief laugh, “Aren’t you pretending too?” she asked him.

“Oh, very much so, I’m pretending to be attracted to you. And you are pretending to indulge me for my attention, all the while thinking you are too good for me and every man in this room. How many men have you faked being attracted to so you can inflate your sense of worth—that you have this power over men?”

“It works, doesn’t it?” Saladee retorted in her most haughty manner.

“Perhaps for a moment or so the delusion seems real, and your ego is stroked, but is this really a power? Does it make you more and more powerful?” asked the man.

“What is it? What are you getting at?”

“Wouldn’t you like the real knowledge of real power, past these childish games of stroking your ego?”

Saladee got up, “I don’t know what you’re getting at. I am happy and if you must know, my boyfriend is proposing to me this very night.”

The man laughed, “It’s not too late then,” he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his card. He handed it to her, and she reluctantly accepted it and read it: “Yakaboobis—A Free Man.” She turned the card over and as she did this the words, “I can show you how to become a Free Woman” appeared. She took the card and stuffed it into her purse, grabbed her coffee and left the coffee shop.

That night, Tom did propose to her. He got down on bended knee and when he slipped the 2-carat ring on her finger, she said yes. She tried not to study the ring to see if she really liked it. It wasn’t the one she had in mind, but Tom did have good taste—the ring was elegant, and the diamond glowed.

After they had sex, he squeezed her hand and said, “You made me the happiest man in the room. I am going to marry the prettiest woman in the room, in any room.”

She squeezed his hand back and said, “And I am marrying the most handsome man.” She knew how to play the game, how to stroke his ego.

When she woke up in the morning, Tom had already left for work. She had slept in. She studied her ring in the morning light. It is a good ring, a beautiful ring, she thought. She reached for her phone to take a picture of it. The card that Yakaboobis had given her fell out of her purse onto the bed. She thought of their meeting. How piercing he is, how rude he was, she thought—and how handsome, too. She looked at her engagement ring again. She was falling in love with how good it looked on her finger. Tom’s complimentary words, “I’m marrying the prettiest woman in the room,” replayed in her mind. She wondered what the man in the coffee shop—what was his name? She checked the name, Yakaboobis, what kind of name was that? she wondered—would think of Tom’s compliment. I know, she thought, he would say, “Congratulations, well played. You got the man. That proves you are the prettiest woman in the room. Well played.” Yes, I am, she thought, I am the prettiest, but why didn’t that matter to him, Yaka—whatever his name, why didn’t it matter to him? she wondered. She tried to recall their conversation, but she didn’t want to spoil her happy moments. She was going to be married! She turned over the card and the words, “It’s not too late to be free,” appeared. I don’t want to be free; I want to be married! she declared to herself. She threw the card on the floor and got up and put on her body-hugging athletic wear. On the way to the gym, she would stop by her coffee shop, and maybe, just maybe that awful man wouldn’t be there, but oh, she was really hoping he would be there so she could flash him her engagement ring and prove to him that she is the most desirable woman in the room—in any room.

Yakataboof was floored. His own teacher, his best friend, Yakaboobis, had offered her the path she had not chosen. The way beyond, the way out of all her karmic tendencies and the mess of tears that would surely follow if she did not grow out of her self-centered tendencies—the tendencies that produce all the consequences that will break her heart, slowly and surely, bit by bit, till she becomes an old woman, a verified, qualified brokenhearted. Yakataboof conferred with the coyote.

“Did you see that?” he asked Coyote. “She had an opportunity to learn from a master trickster, a trickster so great he taught me.”

Coyote laughed, “Well, our work is not over. If your teacher was the greatest trickster, surely we will succeed in repairing her broken heart and opening it.” Coyote thought on it some more. “Come to think of it, maybe your teacher set us up for this job after all.”

Yakataboof thought it over and laughed, “Yes, Yakaboobis probably has brought this about. But why her? Why does she get another chance?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” asked Coyote, “He didn’t give up on you—you’re the best trickster around these parts.” Coyote laughed, “Surely he must be a great master. Maybe your teacher still has a few tricks he will show us!”

Yakataboof agreed. They both agreed there was always something new to learn. Both man and coyote were looking forward to it.

Saladee did flash her engagement ring as she walked by Yakaboobis with her espresso and chocolate croissant in hand.

He looked up and said, “So I see the dirty deed has been done.”

Saladee looked at him with a scowl and asked him, “What do you have against love, did someone ditch you?”

Yakaboobis laughed and motioned to her with a wave of his hand to sit down. Even though she hesitated, both of them knew she would sit down. She was determined that the aggravating man before her would not be able to get her angry—this was a very happy day for her. No matter what he said, she would flirt even harder. She imagined she would even go as far as casually placing her hand on his thigh—for only a brief moment. That always worked. He would be putty in her hands after that.

“So, you want to take me up on my offer?” Yakaboobis unashamedly winked.

Saladee was confused. Where is he going with that? she wondered. “What offer are you talking about?” she asked.

“Well, sleep with me and you’ll find out.”

“So that’s what you are after, proved my point after all,” Saladee countered. “You talked about teaching me about empowering myself. What’s this, a new come online for the modern liberated woman? Have you gotten anyone—any woman—to fall for that? Such a good-looking guy as yourself—you can probably get most women to sleep with you,” Saladee leaned forward, “but not this one.”

“Good, now that we got that established, we can begin the real work. See you tomorrow at our usual time.” Yakaboobis got up and gathered his book and left Saladee with another card. As he was leaving, she picked up the card and read, “Break up with your boyfriend—the first step in our work of empowerment.”

That will not happen, she thought, and tore up the card. In the following weeks Saladee did not go to her usual coffee shop. She did not want to see “that man”. She did not confide in Tom what had occurred with “that man” in the coffee shop. I am happy with my life as it is, she kept repeating to herself over and over. It wasn’t until six months went by that she returned to the coffee shop, as her friends insisted that they go there after their workout—they all loved the chai there and the cream cheese-stuffed blueberry muffins. Safety in numbers, thought Saladee. As soon as she and her friends entered the shop, she scanned the room to see if Yakaboobis was there. He was not, and she wondered briefly where he was. She sighed a sigh of relief and she and her girlfriends chatted about her upcoming wedding.

As they were leaving, the barista called up to her, “You’re Saladee, aren’t you?”

“Yes, is something wrong?” she asked.

“Oh, someone left a message for you. He asked me to give it to you—if you ever came back. You used to be a regular here—for a while,” he added.

“Yes, I was. What’s this message?”

The barista handed her the note. She suspected it might be from Yakaboobis and did not open it. Later, that evening (Tom was working late again) she opened it. It read, “It’s not too late to begin the real work towards a real life. My address is 87 West Street.” Why doesn’t he give up? she wondered.

Of course, she wasn’t going. She would live out her life, marry Tom and have two daughters by him. Life would go on in all the predictable ways, and in her advanced years she would sit around bored. Did she wonder if it was enough? She didn’t give it a thought, the offer she had denied—the offer Yakaboobis gave her. She was contained in her conventional thinking, which of course was given to her by the conditioning of the culture she grew up in and aged in. Was she happy? No, but that did not matter. Did her life matter to her?  That was a question she did not answer. She didn’t go there. So, she didn’t know what kind of shape her heart was in. She was scruffy and grouchy, and she hung on to life. She only allowed herself to be the body, as decrepit as it was. She hung on to her sense of self as being a beautiful woman that every man desired. She had no evidence of that for many a year. She liked living in that idea of herself, even if no man ever responded to her with desire. Coyote, that dirty old dog, had danced in her room, had even got her to dance with him. She wondered if that really even happened. She was sure it was a side effect of her medication, but still, she thought of that dance often and it made her smile.

“Still thinking about me, I see,” Coyote spoke up, “Still thinking about our dance.”

“You! You’re back! You dirty ole dog. I was thinking of no such…” in the middle of her denial Saladee changed her tactic and asked herself, why not? “Yes, I want to dance some more. Come closer, I want to see your face.”

Coyote sashayed over to Saladee and faced her. Saladee gasped and said, “It’s you, what tricks are you up to now, Yakaboobis?”

Coyote stepped aside and let his partner in this escapade face Saladee. Yakataboof spoke, “No tricks, Saladee, just the real truth. Do you remember Yakaboobis’s offer?”

“So, you are with that fellow too?” she asked. “What are the three of you up to? That man was so aggravating, almost broke up my marriage.”

Yakataboof offered, “What if you did decide to learn what my teacher Yakaboobis had to offer you, what do you think would have happened?”

Saladee could see Coyote staring at her and the man that was questioning her—he reminded her of the man in the coffee shop. He has his charms too, she thought. “My life would have been ruined,” she said, “he offered me empowerment, but I knew his game.”

“What game was that?” asked Yakataboof.

“I’m on to him. He would have taken every idea that made me a me, and yanked it out of my hands. How could that be empowerment?” she asked.

Coyote came forward, “And what ideas about yourself made you who you are now?” he asked.

‘You dirty ole dog, you are just like him too,” Saladee accused. “What is it that you are trying to get at? So, I’m old now, my life was okay. No one gets any better than this. Who do you guys think you are? What have you gotten that’s any better than what I got, what I lived?”

Coyote looked at Yakataboof and Yakataboof smiled back and spoke up, “What we got is the knowledge that we are nobody, nobody at all.”

Saladee did her standard hmph, “What kind of knowledge is that?”

“Who are you when your body and mind are failing you?” asked Yakataboof.

“I’ll just be dead, that’s all,” said Saladee.

“And you’ll be, then?” asked Coyote.

Saladee got the joke, “I’ll be nothing,” and she dared to add, “nobody.”

“Why not be nobody before that happens?”

“Why invite the inevitable?” she asked, “Anyways, that would be terrifying.”

Coyote laughed, “Maybe for a moment, but what’s on the other side of a lifetime of trying to be a somebody, why not accept the inevitable now?”

Saladee was quiet. Coyote and Yakataboof could see her mind was in turmoil. They both came to her side and Yakataboof placed his hand on her chest and Coyote placed his paw on her head. Her mind relaxed and she felt her heart flutter. So this is what that strange man Yakaboobis wanted to show me—this moment, to have the courage, to be empowered to face who one is beyond all the façade of our human personas. She looked into Yakataboof’s eyes and then turned her gaze to Coyote. She saw compassion in both of their eyes, and relaxed even more. Her fear was no match for their open eye and open touch of compassion (their greatest trick!) and the wall of fear that surrounded her heart disappeared. She felt herself, felt free of her fears and how all the limits of those fears had made her life. She felt herself as a no one. Her heart was this no one, but it was not diminished by this understanding. It was empowered, it was huge, and she felt limitless, and she understood that her heart was the center of all. She was in indescribable bliss.

Coyote and Yakataboof removed their hands from her body and Coyote laughed, and so did Yakataboof. “She is dancing now,” Coyote quipped.

“Yes, she is,” added Yakataboof.

Saladee was no more. Who was she now? Wouldn’t everyone want to know? They know themselves as the no One that is the Heart of Everything!

Yakaboobis was happy with the work of his friend and once apprentice Yakataboof, and his dear old friend Coyote. “Well done, my friends,” they heard him speak as the voice of their own hearts.

Yakataboof sighed with the satisfaction of a job well done.

“One less brokenhearted, my dear man,” Coyote spoke.

“So many more. Could there ever be an end to this work?” Yakataboof retorted.

Coyote howled and headed back to his hunting grounds in the desert. Hunting was his second favorite sport. What was his first?

Trick Number 2:
Enter through the door

After Coyote howled at the moon, he decided to relax his bones at the local spa. Of course, this involved shapeshifting into a man. He liked being tall and thin, with a prominent hawk-like nose. The western cowboy hat fit his look, along with boots that had buckles. As a man, he was definitely very attractive and liked it when the ladies dropped everything to stare at him as he passed by. He brought his own towel to the spa. Today he was getting a massage from a masseuse that he had not tried before. He had heard she was excellent if you like a strong massage. She could work your muscles hard to relax them. He liked a strong stroke, and if it wasn’t too awkward with the masseuse, he like a good back scratch and rub down. After that it always felt good to return to his natural form. Yakataboof had recommended Erin; he wanted him to check her out. It was rumored that she was on the road to qualifying as a brokenhearted.

Erin welcomed him and asked him to take off his clothes and face up on his back on the massage table and cover himself with the sheet. She left the room while he did that. She came in and put on some spa music and began massaging his face. Instead of closing his eyes, like most clients did when their face was being massaged, Coyote looked at her face. She had a face he liked, strong jawline, expressive brown eyes and full lips.

Once she began to massage his arms, Coyote asked her, “Have you been doing this for a while?”

“Yes,” she answered, “for about 10 years.”

“What’s it like touching other people’s bodies for a living?”

She laughed, it was a deep sound, “It’s a good job helping people to relax all the tension our bodies hold. What do you do?” she asked.

“I mostly roam, hunt and howl,” he replied.

“Sounds like the life of a coyote,” she teased.

“So I have been told,” Coyote replied, “I do like to roam, how about you?”

“You mean travel? I do like to travel, but it’s difficult with three children.”

“They do grow up,” Coyote added.

“They do, hallelujah, maybe I’ll travel more then.”

“I’ve seen a lot of wonderful places during my roaming jaunts.”

“Any favorites?” asked Erin.

“I like going through doorways,” Coyote hinted.

“What kind of doorways?” Erin asked.

“The kind of places you can only enter when you got nothing left to lose.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Erin.

“You know, when you give up figuring it all out, when you stop handing out your story to everyone you meet, when you are just being as you are, your natural self, then the doorway appears.”

“But doesn’t everyone have their story?” asked Erin.

“Sure they do, but that story doesn’t open any doorways.”

Erin moved down to his legs. They were long, very taut and muscular. She thought he was a runner.

Coyote changed his tactic. “If everyone has a story, what is yours?” he asked.

Erin paused; she never revealed much about herself to her clients. “I’m just like everyone else, trying to make a living, raising my kids, having some fun along the way.”

“What do you like to do for fun?” Coyote asked.

Erin felt more at ease with this topic, “I like to skateboard and do ceramics. Could you turn over?” she asked. She adjusted the sheet to cover him so none of his genitals would be exposed. She started to rub his back. Her thoughts drifted to when she would be finished work, she wanted to skateboard before she needed to pick up the girls from school.

Coyote relaxed into the massage. He felt her thoughts drift; she wandered away. Her body—her hands in particular—knew how to go through the motions.

He watched her drift, and he met her there in her thoughts of skateboarding. He made a doorway and entered her thought, seeing her skateboarding, pushing with one leg to build up some speed.

She was surprised to see him there.

He smiled at her, and she surprised him by asking, “How did you get into my daydream?”

Coyote turned and pointed to the doorknob that appeared in the ripped fabric of the scene of her daydream. “I opened the door,” he teased her.

“Do you skate?” she asked.

Coyote conjured up a skateboard that bore a design of him in his coyote form.

She looked at it, “Nice board, Coyote Man,” she laughed.

She turned a few times on her board and looked back at Coyote Man. He nodded, flipped his board and moved into ascending circles, higher into the dream sky and then rode the wave down into the cement walls of her dream skateboard arena.

“Wow,” she said, “never saw anyone do that.”

“Not even in your own daydream?” he asked. “You know, certain rules don’t apply here—here in your mind, in your daydream—whatever you can imagine, there are no limits,” he added.

Erin became defensive, “I know that. It’s my daydream.”

Coyote laughed, “Sure is, sure is. Which begs the question, ‘Why am I here?’”

“And,” Erin asked, “how did you get here? After all, it’s my daydream and I certainly didn’t invite you here.”

“Not even by your touch, my lady, you are stroking, massaging my legs right now.”

“Oh that,” she quipped.

“Touch can be an open invitation into one’s thoughts and heart.”

“Yes, I know that, you aren’t telling me anything new.”

“Sorry about that, of course you know this, to touch someone is a very personal way to enter them. Of course, it must be done with permission or by invitation,” added Coyote.

Erin sat down and looked at Coyote, “You remind me of someone.”

“Someone that invited you to touch them?” asked Coyote.

“Yes,” Erin answered.

“And did you invite them into your heart?” asked Coyote.

Erin puzzled over what she felt, “I thought I did.”

“Did you?” asked Coyote.

Erin grew uncomfortable, “Your massage is over.”

She left the room while Coyote slipped back into his clothes. As he was putting on his boots, she entered the room. “Thanks for the massage. I am feeling very relaxed.”

She smiled and began to gather the massage oils.

“Same time, next week?” he asked.

“I can do that,” and she put his appointment on her appointment calendar. She checked her watch to see if she still had enough time get to skateboard before she had to pick up her kids. It will be tight, she thought, but I’ll be able to get twenty minutes in.

Yakataboof entered the tattoo shop. He had decided to get a tattoo of a coyote’s profile (complete with hat) with the saying, “Run with the best of them.” The tattoo artist, a redheaded man with a beard, had a sketch ready for him that Yakataboof approved of.

While he began his tattoo, Yakataboof asked the man, “Your name is Mica, isn’t it?”

The tattoo artist replied in the affirmative. Yakataboof didn’t need Facebook or Instagram to read a man. His data bank was his intuitive link to all source/soul knowledge. As he studied the man’s features, he could see that he was carrying a big disappointment in his heart.

“How are things going, man?” he asked Mica.

Mica answered, “Well. How are things going with you?”

“Very well too—except I didn’t expect this to hurt so much.”

“First tattoo, then?” asked Mica.

“Yeah, doing it to surprise a friend. Do you know what the coyote represents?” Yakataboof asked Mica.

Mica thought about it a bit, “Isn’t the coyote some sort of trickster?” he asked.

“Yes, sort of,” answered Yakataboof, “but do you know what sort of tricks the coyote is capable of?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” answered Mica.

“Well, the true coyote or trickster can enter anyone’s internal life or 2nd attention for certain purposes that he/she deems necessary.”

Mica’s palms began to sweat, he felt he was entering conversational territory that he was uncomfortable with. He was quiet for a while, pretending he needed to concentrate solely on his work.

Yakataboof read his fear and avoidance but jumped in anyways, “Of course, the interference is for the sake of helping or shocking someone to greater personal power for the sake of developing their self-awareness.”

Mica grabbed a hand towel to dry his very sweaty palms.

Yakataboof continued, “Man, these times are really difficult for people to develop their self-awareness.”

“What do you mean? There is so much knowledge that you can access,” asked Mica.

“Yeah, and it can access you,” answered Yakataboof. “I know having a teacher to show you the ropes of self-awareness is considered outdated—that’s why we need the coyote and his bag of tricks even more. I can see that you are a man who is interested in developing your self-awareness.”

Mica was flattered by Yakataboof’s observation. “Yes, I’m interested. I had a teacher once, but she had her flaws, so me and my wife left the group—the cult!”

So that’s what his disappointment is about, thought Yakataboof. “How is it going since you left the cult?” he asked Mica. “Got your power back, feeling more empowered, your self-awareness deepening?”

Mica was seriously shocked at Yakataboof’s penetrating questions. If he wasn’t in the middle of giving this man a tattoo, he would have run out of the room. “I’m fine,” he answered curtly.

Yakataboof didn’t pursue his line of questioning any further. He recognized a man that was truly struggling internally. He too needed the help of a master trickster. Glad I came into this tattoo shop to get this tattoo, he thought.

Coyote and Yakataboof finished their run. Coyote (of course) could outrun Yakataboof, but that was the fun of running with his mater trickster mate. He would run ahead, jump out from behind a bush or tree and get playfully aggressive with Yakataboof sometimes, at the shock of other runners. Today, they saw no runners on the trail, so they were quite free to converse.

“Met another candidate to serve the brokenhearted,” Coyote yipped.

“Me too,” answered Yakataboof.

“Mine touches people for a living, but there is such a defensive pride in her that she won’t allow others to touch her,” explained Coyote.

“My man is afraid to make a stand in his own power. Wonder if these two are connected,” laughed Yakataboof.

Let’s see how we can manage these two,” Coyote surmised, and added, “It will be a challenge to get her to drop her defensive pride and enter the true feeling dimension.”

Yakataboof added, “I’m sure in our bag of tricks we will find a way to show each one of these brokenhearted what empowerment is and what it is truly used for.”

Coyote pounded the clay and molded it into some kind of primitive vessel. He shaped a coyote form to add it as an emblem on top of the form. This is pretty laughable, he thought, but fun.

Erin came in with her recent clay-made objects. They were already fired, and she was looking for the glazes that would suit her objective. She passed by Coyote and stopped and said, “Oh, Coyote Man is making a coyote vase,” she laughed.

Coyote laughed back. He could feel she was being funny and a bit flirtatious.

She added, “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Oh, thanks for the encouragement. I can’t give up this soon, it’s my first class. Haven’t we met before?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, “last week I was your masseuse at the spa.”

“Oh yes,” answered Coyote, “and we meet again. I guess we share some of the same attractions.”

Erin laughed again in a way that showed that she knew that “some of the same attractions” meant they also had an attraction for each other.

Erin gathered the glazes she needed to glaze her vases, and sat down next to Coyote. They chatted as they worked. She was friendly but guarded in revealing any intimate details about herself. He was surprised at the end of the session/class when Erin asked him, “Want to get some ice cream? My favorite flavor and ice cream place is a few doors down.”

“I’m in,” Coyote followed her out of the clay shop. When they were licking their cones (he got a double scoop of hazelnut chocolate, and she got a single scoop of mint chip) Coyote asked about her children—three girls, and what their ages were. Neither one brought up the subject of marriage. He could see that Erin was attracted to him and he wondered how far she would play on her attraction. He could tell that she was a married woman by the information she left out of her life. He did not bring up any information about his personal ties—who would believe that he was a coyote, anyways?

He asked her what it was like having three kids, and she said, “Exhausting, especially the teenager. Fortunately, she is off to college. She doesn’t want any parenting anymore.”

“That’s the age when we start challenging authority,” laughed Coyote.

“I’m giving her space so she can go and do her,” answered Erin.

Coyote reiterated, “Do we ever stop challenging authority?” he asked.

“I suppose not,” Erin thoughtfully added.

“Learning how to navigate with one’s own power is not an easy course,” Coyote added, “Sometimes getting in touch with your own power might set you up on a different course than your peer group or the people you know, or even society in general.”

Erin was quiet. She was intrigued by what Coyote had just revealed. She thought that he was obviously a man who had learned how to follow his own impulses and had gained strength from them.

“I’ve always been strong enough to do what I wanted, but at times I haven’t been made happier by the outcome of my choices.”

“Yes, there are always consequences. Sometimes what we follow through with doesn’t produce more happiness or empowerment. That’s when we have to step back and take inventory,” added Coyote. He saw Erin sigh, and in that sigh she revealed that she was unhappy about a choice that she had made and now felt stuck by it.

Erin gathered her large purse and took out her phone. “Let’s exchange numbers. I can keep you updated about the classes.”

Coyote gave Erin his number and he was not surprised when he received a semi-business, semi-informal and flirty text from her later that evening. It was on—texts flew back and forth. Erin would not admit to herself what her intentions with Coyote Man were—she didn’t project any future consequences to her friendliness, her attraction to Coyote. She wanted to enjoy her attraction to this new man—he was not at all like her husband, whom she always felt she could get in her corner to do and agree to what she wanted. He was too intimidated by her power and her sense of authority to oppose her. Coyote Man was different—he was sure of himself, of his own power—he was his own authority. She thought she was powerful enough to keep him at bay—to have some fun with, to test her powers as a woman. Erin did not see that she had met more than her match. She was fooling around with a master trickster. Could her power match his? Could her tricks as a woman compare to Coyote’s prowl or howl? Only her vanity or pride would say yes to that question.

Mica rolled over. He could hear Erin snoring—a slow breath in that rattled in her throat. He couldn’t get to sleep, and he attributed that to the full moon. He thought about his life and the recent changes of leaving his guru, and how their life had changed to what it was before—the same old tattoo shop with some new and some of the same old co-workers. He missed the shop he and his friend and business partner had started. When Erin wanted to leave and not be a devotee anymore, he knew he had to be on board with her. He didn’t want to lose her and his family.

He was already feeling the loss of his oldest daughter who was off to college. Everything had changed, but everything was the same—maybe a bit darker—no one was happier by the move and ending the relationships he had there. His family had received a lot of support there. They resumed their previous life, before his path and adventure into developing his self-awareness was a prominent, exciting part of his life. Now it receded into the privacy of his mind and heart, and neither one talked about their self-discovery anymore.

He knew Erin could be prideful and stubborn, and to be frank with himself, he was always frightened he would lose her, that he wasn’t good enough for her—even after having three children with her. Before they left their teacher, he had been investigating how egos operate, and he began to see how the power dynamic played out in their relationship, and he was learning how to make a stand in his convictions. Then, she made her play—had her complaints about the guru’s personal choices, and they both ran—Erin fueling it with creating an indignant, righteous narrative, and he felt threatened that he would lose his family.

And what made the situation even worse was their guru was Erin’s own mother. Their children were all close to Erin’s mother and the circle of the Guru. He wondered at times what his friends in the circle felt about their hasty departure and forced withdrawal. He didn’t feel righteous like Erin did, and his support of her choice was fueled by his fear that she would separate him from his children, as she was causing the separation from his guru and friends in the circle. He missed the dharma talks and the collaborative art projects with his teacher. He got up, couldn’t sleep, maybe some weed might help, he thought. He sat on the couch toking on his joint and tried to meditate. His thoughts wouldn’t slow down, and as the weed took hold, he became afraid—the anxiety he felt came to the foreground and turned into an overwhelming sense of fear. He was terrified that he was losing his mind. He didn’t trust himself—he didn’t know how to stand in his own conviction—not just the sense of his own self-worth, rather the conviction that he is not these dark thoughts or fear—the conviction that he knew his heart was true.

He cried out, “Please, I need some help!” He began to pass out in this sheer state of fear. “I can’t lose my mind”, he cried out and then heard some laughter.

In the laughter he heard a man’s voice say, “Oh, go ahead, lose your mind!” and it laughed and laughed. The laughter was not sinister or diabolical. He couldn’t believe he was being encouraged to lose his mind.

“Who are you?” Mica called out.

“I am the friend of the coyote—of the master trickster,” the man answered. “Go ahead, lose your mind and find out what I on the other side of your thoughts and that wall of fear you are creating and holding on to.”

“I’m creating it?” asked Mica.

“I’m not saying anything your guru hasn’t already said and shown you—you just got to do it now. Have the conviction and the balls, man!” Yakataboof laughed again.

Yakataboof chided him, “Lose your mind or lose your heart. What is the choice here, is there a choice here? The heart and mind are not in conflict with each other, you know. The heart and your conviction to stand in the heart trains the mind to let go of negative, fear-based thoughts and all the ego games it plays.”

Mica sat up, “You sound like my teacher.”

Yakataboof spoke up, “Yes, the truth is the truth, doesn’t matter what form it speaks through.”

Mica answered, “I’m so confused, I don’t know how anymore, to make a stand and stay true to my own heart. How can I trust myself?”

“Man, how did you get to the place where you can’t trust yourself?” Yakataboof asked, and he thought this guy is surely a brokenhearted. “You ever heard the phrase, “Take a leap of faith?” he asked Mica.

Mica replied, “Yeah.”

Erin was enjoying her ceramic classes/sessions, and it was an extra bonus and thrill that she got to share them with Coyote Man. She had been attending classes for a few years, so she was happy to instruct Coyote Man (which was her nickname for him) whenever he was stumbling along with how to make the clay into the shapes he wanted. He was, by his own admission, a klutz on the wheel. Erin knew it took time to master the wheel, so she continued to encourage him whenever he grew frustrated. They always ended the session with a cone from her favorite creamery.

Coyote Man was so unlike any man she had met before. He was definitely an alpha man type, but not forceful with his power—he didn’t mansplain. He led her into a deeper observation which she found very interesting. He seemed to be a man of intuitive instincts. He was at ease in his body and enjoyed all the sensations it was capable of. He was already becoming a dear friend and she was aroused by him whenever they were together. She wondered if he felt the chemistry between them. Sometimes, she would brush his arm. Today, when a lick of ice cream fell from his mouth onto his shirt, she unabashedly wiped it with her finger and licked it. He smiled at her signals. His dog sense could smell her pheromone emissions and he was aroused by her too. He knew he would have sex with her if she invited him to.

Erin’s happiness and arousal did not go unnoticed by her husband Mica. He waited for her to tell him what was going on. She tried to initiate sex with him, but he suspected that it was not him that was turning her on, and put her off. He was struggling with his own arousal—his heart wanted to be on the path. He was contemplating how to take his leap of faith—how to follow his conviction, his need for his true self to be felt, lived, and revealed. He doubted if Erin could understand this and did not share with her his feelings, as Erin did not share with him her growing attraction to Coyote Man. They felt for the sake of the children what their hearts were attracted to must remain a secret.

Yakataboof and Coyote Man conferred about their work and observations of the brokenhearted couple. They agreed that it was more inevitable that Erin would continue to move towards Coyote Man, but would Mica make a stand and take a leap of faith?

“I’m not sure if he will,” Yakataboof related, “He’s convinced that by making such a leap he will lose his family.”

Coyote Man asked, “If Erin continues to move towards me and the arousal becomes intense or even overwhelming between us, won’t that break the marriage, won’t Mica bow out?”

“That’s to be seen,” answered Yakataboof.

The question remains, “If both partners, Erin and Mica, follow their attractions, will their hearts be more broken or more fulfilled or opened?”

Coyote smiled his impish coyote grin, “Matters of relatability are really complicated with humans. They have very little comprehension of how the path of self-awareness works. They are afraid of what they will lose as they are running towards what they want.”

“Yes, they like familiarity and pattern, and life moves us along to grow, to develop self-awareness by throwing events our way that if understood truly will open the heart and produce a profound deepening in self-awareness.”

“But no one wants to lose so they can gain,” added Coyote.

“Yep,” added Yakataboof, “the play is on.”

For the sake of the children. For the sake of the children. What is the sake of the children? Will they not eagerly anticipate leaving the family to begin their own life, their own journey towards their own sense of individuality, and try to find meaning in their unique impulses? And as they individuate, does it matter if their parents approve or disapprove? Does everyone already know the way—do parents know the way? Does a wife know what road she needs to go on so she can fulfill her greatest and deepest impulses? Does anyone really know what they are doing? Can parents really protect their children from the world of unhappiness—from their own unhappiness?

Do their children instinctively know if their parents live a life as a happy heart, or can they sense that their parents have lost the feeling and beingness of already happy, of primordial joy? Do children suspect their parents of botching up, of forgetting what happiness is to go in search of it through status, wealth, objects?

For the sake of the children?

Why are they taught that happiness lays somewhere else—that they must go in search of it while each child experiences his/her own state as primordial joy? To grow up, why must we lose touch with the joy our own hearts feel to go out in search of it? Why do all children suspect that their parents are unhappy? And how does that convince or show the children to forget their own heart of happiness—to become truly cut off from the flow of joy, and become like their parents—isolated in their individuality, cut off from their own hearts and in desperate search of it. For the sake of the parents, for the sake of the children, we are bound to each other and yet unable to abide in our own hearts, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the next attraction. We do not see each other as we truly are. We are left alone in our own search, we follow the next attraction—how the ache of the heart deepens. How we hold others accountable, how we betray our own hearts to go in search of one. Do the children feel how brokenhearted their parents are?

Erin was following her attraction to Coyote Man and for the sake of the children, she kept it a secret. For the sake of the children, she must keep it a secret. For to love another, is that not a betrayal of those you already love? Would they understand? Was keeping it a secret the only way to proceed so she was assured that her heart could have what it wanted? She thought of her mother who had betrayed her trust by teaching a younger man (much younger than her) and they had fallen in love and continued to have an intimate life together. Her mother did not keep it a secret. She shared it with her and her brother. Erin could not accept that the younger man could be both her student/devotee of the heart and her intimate. It was unacceptable, it was folly, and it was wrong on so many levels, Erin told herself. She told herself and anyone who would listen that the younger man was not interested in enlightenment, he had his own agenda. How could he possibly have fallen in love with her mother—after all there was a 35-year difference? Unacceptable, and why couldn’t everyone else see what she could see? Was everyone else blind? That is why she would keep her attraction and the growing heartache she had towards Coyote Man a secret. She did not want to be judged because she knew if she didn’t keep it a secret, everyone would be asking her, “What about the sake of the children?” Well, what about my own heart? she asked herself.

After their class and their usual scoop of ice cream, Erin asked Coyote Man if he wanted to go for a ride. She had told Mica she was attending a 2-day massage conference after ceramics class, and he agreed to take care of the children for the time she was away.

She was nervous. She knew this choice would change everything. Her arousal was at a constant high and she couldn’t deny it any longer. She knew Coyote Man felt the same way. She made a plan to drive up route 1 and she booked a hotel room 2 hours away, up north.

Coyote Man knew the risks she was taking. “Did you tell your husband (first time Coyote Man had ever brought him up) where we are going and what we about to do?”

Erin was shocked by the question. “Don’t you want to?” she asked.

“Want to?” he asked, “Yes, very much,” he assured her tenderly, “but why does our attraction have to be a secret?” he asked.

“For the sake of the children?”

“What do you mean, my dear one, my love?”

Erin hung onto the words “my love” like they were nectar to drink. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Coyote Man teased her, “You know how much I want you, and if we do this, won’t we want each other more and more? What will happen to your family, to your husband? Won’t they feel betrayed by our love for each other? Are you ready for them, for your husband, to feel that way?”

“I can handle them,” Erin answered.

Coyote Man answered, “What do you mean by that, Erin?”

Erin was flustered, “They’ll come around.”

Coyote Man persisted, “Won’t your husband become enraged and try to take the kids?” he asked.

“He’ll accept it,” Erin retorted.

“Why would he?” asked Coyote Man.

“For the sake of the children.”

Coyote Man was quiet. He did not speak up for a while until Erin asked him, “What are you thinking, what are you feeling?”

“I can’t wait to disrobe you and make wild passionate love to you, but I also feel, how will you handle me?” Coyote Man asked. “Will you handle me too?”

It was Erin’s turn to be quiet. The fever of her arousal to Coyote Man was cooling. She could see her plan had a lot of holes in it. It was mostly based on her getting what she wanted without understanding the consequences.

Coyote Man interrupted her thoughts, “Erin, my girl, you are one hell of a woman, but I feel you are leading me down a path that will have grave consequences for you, your marriage and your family. Are you willing to give them up to be with me, a Coyote Man? That could be a possible consequence if we go down this path. I am a Coyote Man after all—I like to roam and hunt and, of course, make love to other coyote women. You know who I am, don’t you, Erin?” asked Coyote Man.

Erin was shaking. “I thought I knew who you were!”

“Who am I, other than a coyote? Are you willing to break apart your family for a Coyote Man?” he asked.

Erin couldn’t stop shaking, “I trusted you,” she said.

“Well, why not?” asked Coyote Man, “I never pretended to be anything else.”

Erin thought of her mother whom she had trusted too. Did her mother pretend to be something she was not? Or did she want her to be someone she wanted her to be? She couldn’t accept her mother’s choice of whom she chose to love. Why would her husband accept hers? Would her husband (if he found out) walk away, and would she never see him again? Could she bear that? Was that why she was keeping her attraction and love towards Coyote Man a secret? She felt very confused.

Coyote Man held her hands in his, “Erin, go back to your family and be open and honest with your husband. Everyone deserves honesty. Tell him what has happened. Everyone you love needs to know what’s in your heart and they will only know if you tell them.”

Erin started to cry, and Coyote Man held her. She wiped her eyes, and as she looked into his eyes, she knew what she had to do. “Thank you, you ole coyote!” She brushed her lips on his and as she did this, she felt his heart. It was wide, vast and wild. She felt her own heart. It also felt wide, vast and wild. She whispered into his ear, “Goodbye, Coyote Man, you truly are a true coyote.” She howled to emphasize her point and left him.

Not for the sake of her husband, or her family. Not for the sake of her children. She left for the sake of trusting her own heart—it was time to know herself, to experience herself as primordial joy, as the happiness of being. She did not need to leave her family, her loved ones, to do this. She did not need to have her secret. She wanted to be open and share her heart, her love, with those who were her family, with those who were always loving her. She knew who those people were. She was given love, she had been given trust. It was time to give the same to those who loved her.

Mica was working on an art piece. He was on fire, his concentration fierce, his heart pushing him—the next stroke of the brush and the next one made him giddy. He was on fire with the art and the work. It was a revelation to him. He knew it was his heart finding a way for him to know his own joy. How true, he breathed in, how true, he breathed out and added another bold stroke of paint to the canvas. His heart was bursting open and he felt the presence of a sublime being resting her hand on his hand as he painted in a frenzy—a frenzy of conviction. He finished the painting in a place of no time, only present attraction—a place where he experienced his heart. He felt no fear there. When he finished, he put down his brush and stepped back. The revelation was complete. The picture he painted was of the face of the divine She Is. He cried tears of happiness. The painting was the face of his teacher.

Erin had come home and witnessed her husband in tears. She thought he knew about her secret, but when she saw him turn and face her, she saw tears of ecstasy, not sorrow, not anger. She wanted to know, to experience his ecstatic state too. She wanted to know and experience her heart, open and vulnerable and ecstatic.

Mica wiped his tears and laughed, “Not for the sake of the children, and all the excuses we made to not be there with her. What are we doing? Where is our trust and conviction? My heart knows, Erin, it does. She’ll never leave us, why did we leave her?”

Erin went to her husband, and her stand and her grip on her independent necessity, her sense of control and power, was released. Her righteous indignation, the story she created to maintain control over what she had—to save the children—for the sake of the children—for the sake of the marriage—she saw it all as her insanity, her gesture to maintain separation, her isolation from the heart. She almost fainted when she felt this.

Mica held her and whispered in her ear, “Let’s call her, she is our heart.”

Erin nodded her head yes, and in that moment, she felt that her joy, the joy she felt as a child, was there and she remembered when she was a little girl, she used to sing a song while her mother bathed her. She sang the words once again, “We all want your joy of love.” She knew that was true of her as well, and she realized that the joy of love that she had experienced with her mother was always hers as well. It was a joy and a love that was always present if the trust was there. All was already given. She could trust her mother’s own heart. It was her heart as well.

Bonus

She is True and her sister Bonus played happily, singing their song, “We’re going to see her again, soon!” they exclaimed.

True said, “Let’s show her how fast we can run, and I want to show her my new dance as well.”

Bonus said, “I want to show her my new dress, and I can’t wait to get a chocolate from her—my favorite, True.”

True laughed, “Maybe she’ll have presents for us!”

“Yes! Yes!” Bonus added, “She always does. I missed her so much,”

True was quiet for a moment and added, “Me, too.”

Bonus tapped her fingers together. She always did her mantra so her heart would always stay open. She never wanted to forget her joy of love. She would not lose what she already had. She would not go in search of herself. She did her mantra and as she repeated, “I am she, I am love,” she knew she was with her, and that Her joy was always already given, already hers. Bonus would live her life in her joy and she would show others this love, not as a dogmatic ritual or dogmatically repeating a mantra, but in the rich patterns of worship and the songs of repeating her name. Bonus was only a little girl, but her life would be lived and given to others as a fantastic reward—her rituals of love a great performance that all would enjoy.

Bonus would say to her sister, “Stay true, True!” and True would say, “I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me, I will.”

“Can’t wait till tomorrow, till we see her again,” both sisters agreed.

Bonus remembered the song her mother sang to her when she was falling asleep, “We all want your joy of love.” Bonus knew, like her grandmother, that it was hers to give as well.

“True?” asked Bonus.

“Yes?”

“Let’s bring her a present. Let’s make one.”

“Okay, want to paint her a picture of our hearts? Dad would let us use some of his paints.”

“Okay, that’s corny but let’s do it. Grandma would like that.”

Bonus laughed and kicked her heels together. She spoke to herself as loved ones talk to each other. “Goddess, thank you so much for helping our parents, thanks for sending Coyote Man and Yakataboof to help them. Thanks for always being there.”

Yakataboof and Coyote felt the blessing of the little girl.

“Now that’s a bonus,” Yakataboof decreed. “Job well done, my Coyote Man.”

Coyote howled in pure pleasure. Yakataboof saw his friend off, “Send a postcard if you see any fantastic sights on your roaming excursions.”

“Will do, but I’m staying clear of the brokenhearted,” he laughed. “Glad to help the goddesses, but geez, I almost fell for that pretty masseuse. Can’t have that, I gotta be free to roam.”

Yakataboof laughed, “You’re a true-hearted coyote, best friend a man like me can have. See you around.”

Coyote ambled off and Yakataboof relaxed in his hammock. As he drifted, his heart spoke to him and she said, “Thank you, Yakataboof.”

And Yakataboof’s heart spoke and said, “You are welcome, Santosha, very welcome,” and Yakataboof added, “any time, any time.”