>>2476246I'm a born and raised desert rat. Raised in the Mojave and have spent the second half of my life in the Great Basin. Communing with the coyote used to be a regular pass-time, and I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't taken the time to do it in at least several years. Load the Jeep, take it far into the desert, up a butte and setup camp. Camp being nothing more than some rocks or logs to sit and lean on, the Jeep set to one side as protection against the wind, rifle set aside just in-case, and a small fire to keep warm and keep the mountain lions at a distance (desert toad's love the light though; little bastards come out of nowhere sometimes.) Then just sit and wait for them to come. They always come. Just outside the light of camp, they whisper and talk. Anyone that's experienced it knows--they sound like they're talking in a language you can understand, but just low enough that you can't quite make out most of the words. Occasional word or piece of dialogue heard and understood here or there, but the meaning as a whole is lost to me. From time to time, once comfortable, I'd partake of some weed or mushrooms. That is when you can see the spirits--eschew the forms the coyote take in waking life, and see them for what they really are. Not just them, but many things in the high desert are not what they portray themselves as under normal conditions. For a night, accepted as part of the natural order. Existing as we were meant to exist. Today, absorbed by work and daily life, I sometimes feel like an animal ripped from my natural home. The desert calls to me. I can look out my window right this instant and see the tops of the local buttes in the moonlight. Less than a mile from my front door, with nothing in-between here and there but open terrain, and yet how long it's been since I walked up there and absorbed the peacefulness of my true home. Thank you for this thread, brother. It's amazing how something so simple can do so much to set your head straight.
