Coyote Calling

	MENSIGHT Magazine
		COYOTE CALLING
	A continuing series of stories & commentary by Coyote.

Dick Prosapio ©2003

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Dick Prosapio aka, Coyote is a member of the TMC Advisory Council, ceremonialist, psycho-
therapist (ret.), author, leader of men's experiential workshops, & Co-founder of The Foundation for Common Sense. He lives with his wife and daughter in Stanley, NM

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COYOTE CALLING ARCHIVE

2003

My Father's Hand
June 2003
I remember looking at the back of my hand a few months ago and I was surprised that I didn't know it anymore. This sun browned hand with all the darker spots on it wasn't the hand I remembered. It looked more like my father's hand....and yet not. My fingers are longer than his were and the veins on my hand more prominent. But my hand looked as old as I remembered his to be.

What I Didn't Know.
May 2003
Bin Laden and those others behind the 9/11 attack believed we, as a nation, were and are "paper tigers". Based upon Vietnam, Somalia, and other fights we have been hurt in and have backed away from, justified or not, that is how we have been perceived by those who mean us harm. The law of the jungle, more to the point, the tribal law of the Middle East, is that the weak are taken advantage of. Any sign of weakness is taken as an opening and is sensed eagerly by those who are ready to pounce.

Preoccupied With War
April 2003
Is there anything else to write about except the war? As much as I might like to believe there is, I really can't get myself to discover it. A friend of mine believes that there is a kind of "death star" comet headed our way, it'll get here in April or May he thinks, and it will totally disrupt the planet, though probably not destroy it.

Duck or Shop?
March 2003
I lived in Chicago during World War ll. and we were kept on alert from 1942 until late '44 by air raid drills. I know, it sounds ridiculous doesn't it? Were the Germans really going to manage to fly all the way from Europe to Mid America to drop incendiary bombs on South Chicago neighborhoods? Well, they, those running the show at the top, said we had to be prepared, so we had drills. This wasn't like the Blitz in England you understand and it sounds utterly crazy now, but this is what they did. Every now and then, and I can't tell you how often, but maybe every two months or so, a small plane would fly over our neighborhood and drop a cardboard cylinder with a paper streamer attached. The color of the streamer told you what kind of bomb had been dropped and, thus, what kind of action we had to take.

Confusion
February 2003
The confusion many parents seem to have over their kids using pot seems to have two origins. The first is that some parents have used pot in the past. Or maybe they are using it now. And they probably feel, as I do, that the legal response to marijuana use is the wrong way to go. Secondly, there is a fantasy that pot isn't really a drug. It's just this benign "thing" and what's-the-big-deal? It's not a problem; "It's just pot." "It's just an herb." It's God's gift to us." etc., etc.

What's so Merry About Christmas?
January 2003
Here we are, living in the richest nation the world has ever seen where holiday car commercials feature somebody getting a $40,000 SUV as a present and Christmas is most often portrayed on TV as taking place in some really BIG house in a very up-scale suburb somewhere (at least not everybody is white in these mansions any more) and everyone is getting some high tech somethingactually usually more than one. And yet, all the heart tugger stories we see about now concern themselves with very poor people getting some (very) little something, the moral of the tale being that the little things, the gifts of love, manifest the real Spirit of Christmas, with or without the historical religious roots.

2002

Getting things straight
December 2002
The refrigerator hums in the background, an occasional car drones by, "I wonder what the temperature is in here?" my mother asks, then hauls herself out of the chair and continues, "It's almost seventy in here. I think I'll open a window and see if there is a breeze."

In a Fog
November 2002
She left the same way she came back, her clothes stuffed into black garbage bags. The look on her face was different this time though. When our run-away daughter came home, a year and a half ago, she look scared and a little relieved. Scared of my, and ultimately, our reception to her coming back into the family after a year of no contact and one aborted "rescue" attempt. (We had gotten the word through her girlfriends that she couldn't get out of her situation with her gangster boyfriend. We sent police on a look-see. She didn't want to leave.) Relieved, as it turned out, to be able to eat real food again and to not be living day-to-day expecting a narcotics bust.

Selling Cars and Other Masochistic Acts
October 2002
Right next to the threat of a colonoscopy I hate selling cars. You wouldn't think so to look at my record. I've had about half a hundred of them since I was a teenager, trading for fantasy or reality. From Buick's to Toyotas, domestic to foreign. Passenger, sports, big trucks, light trucks, gas and diesel, I've owned them all. In every case, while I had them I made them better than they were when I got them. In every case, I lost money when I sold them.

Of Mice and Me
September 2002
I once used to invite people to my home in Chicago to; "Listen to some sounds." Now that I'm living in New Mexico I invite people over to see my pump house. A pump house out here is NOT a franchised version of a Loop bar. It is just what it sounds like, a place wherein a (water) pump sits. Actually, "resides" is more like it.

Symore's Garage
August 2002
The Austin, Texas psychic fair was the worst I'd ever done. The first day I did about five readings and they went well, as usual. The second day I did nothing. Not one person stopped at my table. Maybe it was my deodorant. Maybe my shirt blended in with the carpet. Maybe, as Elizabeth had heard from another reader, the guy across from me was "zapping (me) with negative energy."

It's That Deadly Time of Year
July 2002
Most regions of the US have four seasons, or something approximating four. We in the desert southwest have five. The addition being "Fire Season". Admittedly, Fire Season could be folded into late spring and Early Summer, but it does have distinctive properties of its own, it's very hot, very dry, and very windy. In each of these the emphasis is on "very".

Good Dad, Bad Dad... Shaman Dad
June 2002

Forks on Roads
May 2002

What Are We Afraid Of
April 2002

CURMUDGEON CONFLICT
March 2002

COGNITIVE DISSONANCE
February 2002

TENDING THE FIRES
January 2002

2001

JUST REGULAR GUYS
December 2001

WHAT THIS IS DOING
November 2001

I REMEMBER
October 2001

A Few "Rules and Regs"
September 2001

How to Spot the Enemy:
A Field Guide to Dating Survival
August 2001