A Year with the Trickster: What I Learned from Coyote

I once thought I could study Coyote like any other myth—neatly boxed in a textbook, dissected by anthropologists, and filed under "Native American Folklore." But Coyote doesn’t live in boxes. Coyote lives in the wind, in the laughter of a child, in the sting of a lesson learned too late. Over the course of a year spent tracing Coyote’s stories across Indigenous traditions, I found myself not just studying a figure, but being studied in return.

Early Reverence: The Sacred Jester

At first, I approached Coyote with reverence, almost awe. Here was a being who existed outside the binary of good and evil, who broke every rule to remind people what those rules were for. I read creation stories where Coyote shaped the world by accident, and cautionary tales where he brought disaster through greed or arrogance. What struck me most was how Coyote was never punished—only changed. That was my first lesson: that failure is not final. Coyote taught me to see mistakes not as endpoints, but as part of the journey.

The Disillusionment: Laughing at the Sacred

Somewhere in the middle of the year, I grew cynical. Coyote’s antics started to seem less profound and more like a cheap joke. I began to question whether I had romanticized something dangerous. Coyote, after all, lies, steals, and seduces without remorse. He’s not a hero—he’s often the fool who makes the gods look wise. I remember reading a story where Coyote tricks a widow into giving him all her food, and I felt a sharp pang of disappointment. Was I wasting my time on a con artist dressed in sacred fur?

The Rediscovery: The Mirror in the Mask

Then came the turning point. I was reading a story for the third time when something shifted. Coyote wasn’t mocking the widow—he was revealing the loneliness in her grief. His theft wasn’t greed; it was hunger, raw and human. I realized Coyote wasn’t there to teach morals through righteousness, but through exposure. He holds up a mirror and says, Look how ridiculous we all are. And in that ridiculousness, there is truth. I began to see Coyote not as a teacher with answers, but as a question—Why do you take yourself so seriously?

The Integration: Learning to Laugh at Myself

By the time I reached the end of my year-long study, I had changed. I wasn’t just a writer or researcher anymore—I was a student of laughter. Coyote had taught me that wisdom doesn’t always come in the form of solemn advice. Sometimes it comes in the form of a prank, a slip on a banana peel, or a punchline that lands just when you need it most. I began to speak differently, to listen differently. I stopped fearing mistakes so much and started watching what they could teach me. Coyote doesn’t offer comfort. He offers clarity—and it often comes with a laugh.

What I Carry Forward: The Fool Who Knew the Way

Now, when I look back on that year, I see it not as a project but as a pilgrimage. Coyote didn’t guide me in a straight line—he danced me in circles, made me stumble, then laugh at the stumble. And in that dance, I found something real. A way to live with uncertainty. A permission to be flawed. A reminder that even the sacred can be silly.

If you’re curious about the lessons Coyote has to offer, I invite you to sit with him a while. He might not answer the questions you expect, but he’ll definitely ask the ones you need.

Talk to Coyote on HoloDream and see what he has to say about your own journey.