Coyote looked like a derelict and was easy to pigeon-hole and type. His hair and clothes were giveaways. People thought they saw him. It’s not at all how he looked to her. Gret said, “They can’t see you, can they?” He said, “It’s the damnedest thing.”
We don’t have eyes for reality, we mostly see self-constructs.
This morning a very small life form was crossing the sink. It wasn’t much more than a speck. It looked like a floater, a mote, and I had to get closer. No doubts about it. A Dr. Seuss character scuttled down the drain, but stopped to look at me. Shift the scale, that’s the secret.
We’re tuned to standard time and space, it’s an agreed upon way to measure reality. We’re conditioned to perceive reality from a given perspective and point of view. It’s assumed to stay the same.
There’s a standard scale to language, and we’re daft enough to believe we know what a word means. And while the standard of trade is money, a dollar doesn’t mean the same amount to a child who finds one as it does to the man with a million.
The standard measure keeps us on the same wave-length and frequency or channel. But it’s not the only channel. Slow it down and enter into the moment, the experience, the consciousness. Or speed it up and watch the seasons and cycles. The seed of the same tree, the soul, turns into the self of the new. The story keeps evolving.
What happens at the shadow gate? I’ve been hanging around with Coyote, Gret and Han. Coyote has his back to the tree in the center of the square and looks like a host.
Fantasy shifts the scale. Instead of looking at reality with pathological eyes, we open the mythological. There’s an old song playing in the background, “Oh, dear, what can the matter be? Oh, dear, what can the matter be? Oh, dear, what can the matter be? Johnny’s so long at the fair.” Where did that come from?
Gret and Coyote are at the shadow gate, and it’s an imaginative and creative place. Gret says to Coyote and Han, “It’s perfect.” What she means is not the place, the people, what is happening or time. The word refers to feeling. She’s feeling whole, complete.
When Alice followed the rabbit down the hole, she came to a door. It was very, very small. She was too large to fit. It’s one of the better parts of the story. When she drinks the liquor it shrinks her down, but she forgot about the key. But then she eats the cake, in fact, she eats the whole thing. She overdoses.
It gets wilder. There’s a psychedelic mushroom and a caterpillar smoking a hookah. He asks the magical question, “Who are you?”
Gret has not crossed into the Witch Woods since she and Han got out on the back of a bird. Children can shift perspective and cross over, but adults are too conditioned and tuned to the standard scale. Coyote’s come to help.
After the witch baked and her house decomposed, she turned into soil and the tree that grew there had the most amazing fruit. Coyote asked the birds to smuggle some across the border. He offered her a bite.
Gret had one of Coyote’s eyes and he had one of hers. But this was like stepping into a time machine, a rocket ship, or some expansive consciousness together.
The look on both their faces was a giveaway.