Early this morning, when I opened a book written by one of my favorite authors, Rainer Maria Rilke, the following statement, highlighted long ago, touched me deeply, as always:

     "For verses are not, as people imagine, simply feelings...they are experiences. For the sake of a single verse, one must see many cities, many people, and things, one must understand animals, must feel how birds fly, and know the gesture which small flowers make when they open in the morning."

     Later, as I thumbed through "The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigg" leaves, rose petals, and tiny flowers fell from the inside. These special memories of daily walks are additions I have always put inside cherished books. They remind me that although I am growing spiritually, I always need to remember how far I have come and what I have survived.

     This afternoon I began reading "Outfoxing Coyote", a collection of poetry by Creek/Cherokee/Seminole writer Carolyn Dunn. While reading it I felt that I was discovering work by someone who has indeed "experienced" life in full. "Outfoxing Coyote" is a treasury of a woman's desires, disappointments, accomplishments, loves, and survival. Weaving ancestral ideas and stories into modern day vernacular, she has created a magnificent work.

     The coyote is considered by many Indian nations to be the trickster, the master magician who uses his/her powers didactically. But sometimes, when we fail to see our own humanity in these teachings, we become the target of coyote's backward "medicine". We con ourselves. It takes strong, ancient, feminine power to outfox this trickster.

     In her poem "Sleeping Woman", Carolyn reveals the subtle yet amazing feat of outwitting the trickster:

"We remember
the silence
in our dreams.
The vast landscape
of trees
shimmering
from the voices
that are carried upon
the wind.
I see the trick of
daylight
and wonder
at the voice
inside
what I won't do for love-
to move beyond the shadow
of myself.
Speaking the enemy's language
as my own
I take back
the things
of my grandmothers.
her lace curtains,
china cups
and pieces of
clear smoky quartz
from a mountain in
Tennessee
called Sleeping Woman.
She slept beside me
in flower petals
strewn about
in wonder
under a blanket
of Seven Stars.
She moves in darkness
across my life
and knowing
what all women know
I speak his language
that of my conqueror
but in his language
I tell our women stories
Sleeping Woman
she has arisen."

-Carolyn Dunn

     Realizing the mysterious importance of shape shifting, this talented poet takes us into the worlds of Coyotesse, Turquoise Woman, Deer Woman, Warrior Woman, and Eagle Woman. Through this shifting we realize the importance of finding answers to the following: How can we know our people unless we know as they knew? See as they saw? Become as they were? Simply put, we can't. Carolyn's writings give us clues how to do so, how to outfox the trickster in ourselves, how to see with our eyes closed.

     The most enjoyable poem (for me) is "Tahlon of the Bird Clan", which the writer composed for her son. The words sings softly from the page to my mind and settle in my heart, never missing an imagery filled melodious beat, reminding me that we Cherokee are children of the stars, just as we know stars are birds:

     "Tahlon of the Bird Clan, The One Who Drags It, the singing voice of stars and remembrance and matter and vision, the one of the heart and stones of stars in the sky, the one who returns, the one who stays, the boy who came home and remained, the one who speaks words and sounds and makes sense to the heart, the one of his mother's breath, comes alive in the dawning darkness that has become his life."

     I close the book, and stare into the darkness of midnight for a while, contemplating the poem "Deer Hunter", in which Carolyn reveals candidly the mystical mixture of confusion, love, desire, shame, and awakenings:".....She was trying to warn me - and I looked into her eyes, perhaps now I can save myself.....I look to the ground, and see my feet, hooves covered with dust, and stained with blood, pours from the open wound, of my breasts, where it dries, and forms red stones, shining, and I shape them into a necklace, of deep crimson, nearly black....."

     I'll read this book again soon. It will be added to my gathering of favorites. Now, I must sleep before my early morning walk. I want to gather some mountain wild flowers for Coyotess, Turquoise Woman, Deer Woman, Warrior Woman, Eagle Woman, and Carolyn, because they, as I "know the gesture which small flowers make when they open in the morning."

Marijo Moore, Cherokee, is the author of "Spirit Voices of Bones", "Red Woman with Backward Eyes and Other Stories" and the forthcoming "Confessions of a Madwoman". She resides in the mountains of western North Carolina and may be reached at MARIJOMOORE@AOL.COM

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