COYOTE DEL REY

  CANTO I

(The Journey Begins)

The sun was bleeding out behind the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, bruising the peaks in shades of violet and deep, arterial red. I stood on the Mesa, the wind cutting through my jacket with that dry, desert bite I’ve known my whole life. I wasn't just standing on dirt; I was standing on the edge of a choice.

I have always chosen the soul path of a road less traveled. Unique to say the least. Every step I take is a conscious choice to rise from the ashes of whatever version of me I just left behind. I honor my past and charge ahead into the future with fire. Peace is what I desire. My soul has now taken forty-five laps around the Sun in this lifetime and my body has traveled hundreds of thousands of hard miles around this earth, all while my mind has endured a lifetime of combat and chaos. I have fought to survive for forty-five years, but I am beginning to realize that the final battle isn’t against the enemy – it’s the battle to stop fighting entirely and be saved.

And there can be no denial…

I am wild.

I haven’t asked the Gods for Mercy in a while.

It’s just not my style.

Porque…

Soy Coyote Del Rey,

El Hijo de Pueblo de Nuevo Mexico,

Con Sangre de Conquistador,

Mas Fuerte de la Muerte.

By the Grace of God, I exist. 

With the Gifts of my Ancestors, I live.

I am not always there when you call but I am always on time, following the signs, using my sight, looking for another battle to fight. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I noticed that the air changed. The sagebrush scent vanished, replaced by the smell of old parchment and cold, damp stone.  He didn't materialize out of thin air; he was just... there. He looked like a man who had walked through the end of the world and kept going. His eyes were the color of a winter storm.

"I am he who mapped the spiral," he said. His voice wasn't a ghost’s whisper; it was the sound of gravel under a boot. "I didn't find the way out through prophecy. I found it by carving it into my own skin. You want to descend? You want to see the architecture of your own failures? Then follow. But know this: I won't carry you. The weight of your soul is the only currency that buys passage. You walk as Anthony, but the path will strip you down until only the name remains."

El es Dante…The manifestation of all the great teachers in my life in the form of the worthiest of travelers. There was a strange, ancient exhaustion in his eyes – as if he had been standing on this exact spot for a thousand year, waiting for a thousand years for someone to finally walk through the door and challenge him.

He leveled his gaze at me, not with judgment, but with an agonizing, mirror-like clarity. "Do not mistake me for a prophet, Anthony. I am a witness. I am the mirror to your own blindness. When the path vanishes into the fog of your pride, I will point to the stars that guided my own ascent. You need only keep your eyes on the truth. I will help you by showing you the anatomy of your own heart reflected in the landscape of this abyss. You will learn to read the signs of the terrain—the way the ground softens under deceit, or how the air grows heavy with the scent of unspent potential. I have mapped this terrain with my own suffering, and I will walk beside you until the shadows lose their power to deceive. You need only keep your eyes on the path ahead, and trust that the one who has seen the end of the journey knows the value of every step you take toward it.  When the path vanishes into the fog of your pride, I will point to the stars that guided my own ascent. You need only keep your eyes on the truth."

I looked at him—a master of the craft, a survivor of his own hell. I didn't see a ghost. I saw the man I was terrified of becoming, and the man I needed to be.

"Maestro," I said, my voice steady, though my heart was hammering against my ribs like a runner at the final mile. "Poet, whose eyes mirror the very light of Obsidian, I am humbled by your presence. You, who have walked a long, bitter road of exile and climbed the mountain of purification, offer me a Mercy I did not dare to seek. I recognize that in choosing to guide me, you turn your back on the peace you have so dearly earned. I accept your hand not as a master’s command, but as a sacred trust. I endeavor to be a worthy student, to keep my gaze fixed upon the truths you reveal, and to carry the weight of my own soul with the courage you demand. Your scars are the map I lacked; your voice, the anchor I crave in this shifting gloom. I am ready. Lead and I will follow, honoring your path with every step I take."

I stepped out of the ashes of my past and into his shadow. The journey had begun.