These are some Native American inspired stories I wrote for my intro courses to generate discussion of deep philosophical themes.
Rabbit's Fear
Rabbit is hopping through the snow when he hears Eagle’s shrill cry, suddenly and from somewhere very close in the forest. Rabbit freezes in fear, not yet sure from which direction the cry came, expecting in the very next instant to be clutched in Eagle’s claws and carried away as Eagle’s dinner.
But this did not happen, and Eagle cries again, this time more softly, making it easier for Rabbit to determine Eagle’s location. Rabbit looks nervously about and finds Eagle, not circling high in the sky, threatening to swoop down upon him, but instead sitting awkwardly on the ground next to a tree just ten rabbit hops away.
“Don’t run!” Eagle pleads. “Hear me out.”
“It’s a trick,” Rabbit replies. “Why should I not run? You are hunter and I am hunted.”
“I know this may be hard for you to understand, fearful Rabbit who is always running away, but hunting is nothing personal,” Eagle says. “It is simply the daily movement and transformation of Spirit among the animals. But if you do something for me, which will take great courage and trust, I promise you, I personally will never hunt Rabbit again. And I will appeal to the other predators to let them know of your bravery so that they may no longer view you as prey. If only you can overcome your fear, dear Rabbit.”
“I don’t believe I will be able to trust you, great Eagle,” Rabbit replies, looking nervously all around to see what trap he may have found himself in. “But I will listen to your words until I’ve gotten some sense of what my present danger is and my best means of escape.”
“I implore you to trust me, Rabbit. The truth is, I have broken a wing and need to let my fellow Eagles know. If only you can take a feather from the tip of my broken wing and stick it in your fur. With Eagle Feather in your fur, walk to the edge of the nearby mountain range where we have our aeries. The other Eagles will know that something strange is afoot and will not hunt you, but instead ask you the meaning of the Eagle Feather. It is then you can tell them where I am with broken wing here in the forest.”
As new snow begins to fall, Rabbit is still looking in all directions, ears and nose twitching endlessly. “Even if you are speaking the truth, Eagle,” Rabbit replies, “I do not think I could overcome my own fear to do all of these things you ask.”
“This then is a great opportunity for you to show character, dear Rabbit, and to overcome your fear,” Eagle declares. “Eagle did this long ago and now we are a symbol of freedom and of Great Spirit itself. For the true meaning of freedom is embracing Spirit, seeing one’s path and embracing it, with love, passion and commitment, rather than letting one’s path be decided by fear.”
“I, I, I do not see how I could live the way you describe,” Rabbit stammers. “Fear is what I trust most.”
“Dear Rabbit, you should trust your sense of danger, but not your fear, for fear blinds you. Let me explain it to you so that you might grow in Spirit. There are two fears that can plague us in life and which we must overcome, the second worse than the first. The first is fear of death, the fear that you will end.”
“Oh yes, this is a great fear!” exclaims Rabbit. “What fear could be greater than fear of death?”
“The greater fear is fear of life, dear Rabbit. Rabbit fears death, learning great speed in order to run away. But Rabbit also eats, burrows and breeds in fear. Indeed, as Eagle sees it, Rabbit overbreeds in fear, believing they might be doing something wrong in life if they did not breed, while also taking comfort in the greater numbers that Rabbit produces, yet Rabbit only produces more and more Rabbits who live in fear.”
While Eagle spoke, Rabbit had been calculating the route back to his rabbit hole that was most likely to remove him from the present danger or any other danger that might arise along the way. While convinced that Eagle’s appeals for help are in earnest, Rabbit nonetheless readies himself for a rapid escape.
“I must admit that I am ashamed to hear of your lowly assessment of Rabbit, great Eagle. Your estimation rings true, and yet I don’t see how Rabbit can overcome fear. Fear is greater than Rabbit. Fear is not something Rabbit can control. And Rabbit is very suspicious of those who claim not to fear. Are you not afraid of death yourself, Eagle? Is this not why you want me to help you to live?”
“I live from love of life, not from fear of death,” Eagle announces proudly. “I dance with the wind. Spirit flows through me and through me Spirit grows, and I grow. It is glorious to be here, even with this challenge of injury and aloneness. For I am never alone, for I am always with Spirit.”
“This all sounds very noble, and I envy your fearlessness and independence, but, I am sorry, Eagle, I cannot do what you ask.” With great meekness, Rabbit stammers, “I, I, I pray that Great Spirit will have mercy on you,” and at that Rabbit darts off into the forest.
“I do not believe we pray to the same Spirit,” Eagle replies, but Rabbit may not have heard him.
The snowfall grows heavier as night approaches. Eagle loudly cries again and waits, but there is no response. A deep shiver overtakes Eagle and Eagle sighs, gazing upon the beauty of the snowy forest around him. Eagle bows his beak into his chest, and grows silent and still. “I would rather be Eagle and die than be Rabbit and live,” Eagle muses to himself, and before long Eagle is completely covered in snow.
Coyote's Trap
In the dry season, Coyote digs a hole in the ground to find water, but digs a hole larger than Coyote needs. This isn’t because Coyote is wasting energy and being impractical, and it’s certainly not because Coyote is being generous to the other animals. It’s because Coyote is self-interested and clever. It’s because the larger water hole attracts other smaller animals, which Coyote can then more easily hunt for food.
Now, when Coyote is the one hunted, it is very difficult to find and catch Coyote. He’s always turning his ears and sniffing the air, and he’s always running about in criss-crossing circles so that no one can track him. After a while, this makes Coyote very tired. When he wants to rest, he will sometimes climb into trees and study the twists and turns of the tree’s branches to think up new ways to trick his hunters.
One day, Coyote climbs into a very large old tree which had the most twisted branches Coyote had ever seen. Tree’s branches were so twisted that Coyote could not even keep straight how many branches there were and where they each began.
“Much respect, Tree,” Coyote says. “How did you learn to grow your branches like this? Who taught you the ways of twisting, turning and tricking?”
“I would tell you,” says Tree, “but I see the way you dig water holes and it does not please me. You trick to take, but do not always give in return. That is not the way of trees. We do not twist and turn to trick and take without giving back.”
“But what do trees know of the way of things?” Coyote asks. “You have no eyes to see or legs to walk. All you know is the place of your roots. Who are you to lecture me, dumb plant?”
Tree had no response, so Coyote jumps to the ground, marks the roots of Tree with his urine and runs off laughing. But Coyote can’t stay away long, so intrigued is Coyote by the way of Tree’s branches and roots. He returns that night and digs a den into the side of Tree’s huge trunk. Nestled in a knobby cluster of Tree’s roots, he sits and studies and ponders Tree all night, but Tree says nothing.
The next morning, Coyote emerges from his new den and walks slowly about Tree for a better view. Making one slow circle after another around Tree, Coyote studies each branch in detail, counting and calculating all the crissing and crossing. But the more Coyote studies, the more confused Coyote gets.
Determined to understand Tree completely, Coyote circles and circles until he becomes lightheaded and silly, laughing to himself, though no less sure of his eventual success at cracking the secret of Tree. But as he’s rolling around amused with himself, Bear steps quietly out of some nearby bushes and kills confused Coyote instantly.
As Bear tears Coyote apart, he allows Coyote’s blood to flow all around the roots of Tree. Then Bear carefully packs Coyote’s den with dirt so that none would suspect it had ever been there.
“Thank you, Bear,” Tree says.
Thank you, Coyote Trap,” says Bear, using the name his parents taught him for this particular tree.
In the dry season, Coyote digs a hole in the ground to find water, but digs a hole larger than Coyote needs. This isn’t because Coyote is wasting energy and being impractical, and it’s certainly not because Coyote is being generous to the other animals. It’s because Coyote is self-interested and clever. It’s because the larger water hole attracts other smaller animals, which Coyote can then more easily hunt for food.
Now, when Coyote is the one hunted, it is very difficult to find and catch Coyote. He’s always turning his ears and sniffing the air, and he’s always running about in criss-crossing circles so that no one can track him. After a while, this makes Coyote very tired. When he wants to rest, he will sometimes climb into trees and study the twists and turns of the tree’s branches to think up new ways to trick his hunters.
One day, Coyote climbs into a very large old tree which had the most twisted branches Coyote had ever seen. Tree’s branches were so twisted that Coyote could not even keep straight how many branches there were and where they each began.
“Much respect, Tree,” Coyote says. “How did you learn to grow your branches like this? Who taught you the ways of twisting, turning and tricking?”
“I would tell you,” says Tree, “but I see the way you dig water holes and it does not please me. You trick to take, but do not always give in return. That is not the way of trees. We do not twist and turn to trick and take without giving back.”
“But what do trees know of the way of things?” Coyote asks. “You have no eyes to see or legs to walk. All you know is the place of your roots. Who are you to lecture me, dumb plant?”
Tree had no response, so Coyote jumps to the ground, marks the roots of Tree with his urine and runs off laughing. But Coyote can’t stay away long, so intrigued is Coyote by the way of Tree’s branches and roots. He returns that night and digs a den into the side of Tree’s huge trunk. Nestled in a knobby cluster of Tree’s roots, he sits and studies and ponders Tree all night, but Tree says nothing.
The next morning, Coyote emerges from his new den and walks slowly about Tree for a better view. Making one slow circle after another around Tree, Coyote studies each branch in detail, counting and calculating all the crissing and crossing. But the more Coyote studies, the more confused Coyote gets.
Determined to understand Tree completely, Coyote circles and circles until he becomes lightheaded and silly, laughing to himself, though no less sure of his eventual success at cracking the secret of Tree. But as he’s rolling around amused with himself, Bear steps quietly out of some nearby bushes and kills confused Coyote instantly.
As Bear tears Coyote apart, he allows Coyote’s blood to flow all around the roots of Tree. Then Bear carefully packs Coyote’s den with dirt so that none would suspect it had ever been there.
“Thank you, Bear,” Tree says.
Thank you, Coyote Trap,” says Bear, using the name his parents taught him for this particular tree.
Crow's Advantage
“Caw! Caw!” says Crow, standing at the mouth of Bear’s cave. “Before you sleep through the winter, Bear, may I ask you some advice? I’m terribly puzzled, and can’t find my way out of it.”
“Since when do Crows seek advice?” Bear growls from his winter den deep inside the cave. “Don’t you Crows busy your days crowing amongst yourselves as if you knew all there is to know? Don’t all the animals hear you boasting of the Crow’s advantage? Crow can move forward and backward in time! Crow can occupy many places at once! Crow is awake even when Crow is asleep! And because of all this, Crow is more wise and more clever than Owl, Wolf, and even Bear! With such wondrous abilities, what could I know that Crow doesn’t know?”
Before Bear finishes speaking, Crow hops in closer from the shadows right there in Bear’s den, where Bear is resting upon a nest of leaves and grass, preparing to sleep through winter.
“That’s just it, Bear,” Crow says, hopping about nervously. “I’ve become stuck in a way, trapped by my own cunning, and I can’t find a way back. Whenever Crow is Here, Crow is also Elsewhere. Crow can see things most don’t see, but only because Crow is never truly anywhere. My eye can see what will happen as if it already has, and what has already died and become memory to the minds of others, to my eye still blooms. I know here in the present what past and future are like, because I am there, too. That is why Crow always caws with such clarity and authority and such eerily ominous timing!”
“But why come to me?” Bear asks, his growly voice weakening into a yawn. “Why pester a tired old Bear? Why don’t you look into the future right now and tell me what advice I’ll give you. Or do I pounce you and eat you instead? Stuck here in the present as I am, I’m not sure yet what I’ll do.”
“It’s true,” Crow says, hopping about. “My eye already sees you giving me advice, dear Bear. In just a few moments, you will speak your Bear wisdom, but my eye already sees that my mind will not understand your words. It’s as if Crow can always see the outside of things, but never the insides. As Crow’s view approaches infinity, Crow’s understanding approaches nothingness. My only hope is that your words can turn my eye inside and free me of the fates I see.”
“And why should I help an unwelcome intruder?” asks Bear, unimpressed.
“In exchange for the wisdom we receive from you, we Crows will watch the cave while you sleep, pestering away all marauders, so that you can dream more soundly knowing all is well.”
Bear yawns and shifts his weight to a more comfortable position. “Oh, I will sleep soundly knowing all is well, that’s for sure, as I do every year, whether you Crows are here, there or nowhere, and here’s why. Listen closely now, Crow. As I fall asleep for winter,” Bear says, yawning again, “my mind turns its full attention towards … the Fire.”
“Which fire?” Crow asks, hopping about. “Where is this fire? Is this a real fire or a kind of fire in your mind? And how must one properly contemplate this fire? What does one learn from the fire, Bear? Please, Bear, tell me more about this fire!”
“Awake when you are asleep and asleep when you are awake,” Bear teases Crow, closing his eyes. “It makes no difference where the fire is, Crow, or what precisely is its nature. The fire takes me, and sometimes I dream. I’ve dreamed that I find a long tunnel in the cave that leads me down to the center of the earth, where the Fire is, and that’s where I stay for winter.”
“This Fire?” Crow asks excitedly, hopping about. “It’s at the center of the Earth?”
“Well,” Bear yawns again, “that is just a dream. The Fire is at the center, yes, of that I am somewhat sure. And where I am – asleep or awake, dead or alive, hunting or hunted – it doesn’t matter anymore when the Fire is with me. While I am asleep, I am here burning with the Fire. When I awake in spring and emerge from the cave, that fire stays with me, lighting and warming the world around me.”
“This Fire – you say it is at the center, Bear. At the center of what?” Crow asks, hopping closer, pecking at Bear’s shoulder to keep him from slipping into slumber. “At the center of what, Bear, at the center of what?”
Despite Crow’s pestering, Bear begins snoring, and it would take a lot more than a mere Crow’s peck and caw to wake him.
“But how can there truly be a center to anything?” Crows asks in frustration. “I’ve experienced past, present and future, and I’ve experienced here, there and everywhere, but never have I experienced the center of things. Oh, I just don’t understand,” Crow complains. And, at that, Crow flies off Elsewhere for the wisdom he seeks.
Spider's Song
Night approaching, Spider settles into position on her silky, silvery, spirally web, woven like the moon’s beams shining in all directions. Spider likes to face downwards while she waits for her catch, her eight eyes reflecting everything around her, her eight legs gently poised on the web’s thin sparkling strings.
Each evening, Spider weaves a new web draped between two ancient trees in the Lost Forest. She waits and waits, and when day eventually dawns, Spider goes around the web, eating it all up, so that she’ll have enough material inside her for a new web the next night. But in the Lost Forest, which exists in the world on the Other Side, Spider’s catch is not the aimless flying insects that we see on This Side, but a different sort of wanderer, a wanderer that does not know itself to be on the Other Side.
Through the ancient trees, Spider can see one such wanderer now, a wispy woman with a dull shine to her and a spectral crown atop her head. She is a Queen, or at least she was a Queen, that is, until she was poisoned by a traitor in her court, which is why she’s here in the Lost Forest now. Without the fleshy body she had in life, it can now be seen that she’s also missing parts of her soul, now ripped, torn and billowing. Her royal robes and long, once majestic hair that she so identified with in life, now they flip and unfurl all about her.
As these wanderers always do, this apparition of a woman glides up to Spider’s gigantic web, as if attracted to it, but, not noticing it at all, she passes right on through. The Queen’s passage tugs at the web just a little, making a tinkling sound that stirs up a heavy breeze in the forest, allowing the moon’s beams to shine through the rustling treetops. Not knowing it, the woman leaves some of her own soul stuff on the web, hanging here and there, stringy material very much like the silky web itself.
“Excuse me,” Spider says to the Queen in gentle protest. Hearing herself addressed, the Queen becomes more self-aware and turns to Spider, her eyes reddening just a little beneath the knotted weave of silky fibers that form the Queen’s ghostly face. “Excuse me, my dear,” Spider continues, “but you may not have noticed that you passed right through my web, making somewhat of a mess of things.”
The Queen straightens her posture, her phantom fibers becoming stiffer and more visible. “I don’t see how,” she replies in a shrill royal voice, a red glow forming in the Queen’s throat when she speaks. “If I had passed through your web, loathsome Spider, I would have destroyed it. More importantly,” she continues, coming closer to Spider, her eyes growing redder, “when you address me, you address me as ‘Your Highness’.”
“Well, Your Highness,” Spider politely indulges the Queen, “I’m afraid it is upon me to inform you that, well, you’re not made of such hard stuff anymore that you could destroy my web by passing through it, which, after all, is why you are here.”
“What do you mean?” the Queen retorts with great indignation, her eyes growing more red still. “I am the Queen of this land and I demand to know what’s going on! I believe that perhaps I’ve been drugged and left here in the forest, but I should be directed at once to my castle! It is of the utmost importance!”
“I am sorry to tell you, my dear, but you are not Queen here,” Spider replies.
“And who are you to tell me who’s Queen? Do you take yourself to be the Queen?”
“Oh no, I am not Queen either. The Queen here is Grandma Spider,” Spider says turning her body to look upwards through the tops of the trees with her eight eyes. “Down here in the forest, I spin a web that spans space, but Grandma Spider spins a web spanning time as well. You will never meet her, but her weaving guides the fate of all things on all sides of life and death. Grandma Spider hears our wishes, whether they are wise or unwise, and she does her best to weave a web endowed with our deepest desires, be they good or evil. She does this for eternity, so we call her the ‘Everweaver of Destiny’.”
The Queen hovers there near Spider’s web, hunched over slightly, only half-hearing what Spider says, her eyes reddening with angry but confused contemplation of what’s happened to her. Inside each of the Queen’s red eyes, Spider can now see the busy weaving of much smaller spiders, working at the Queen’s behest, but without the Queen realizing it. The spiders in her eyes produce visions that the Queen wants to see, while other tiny spiders inside of her busy themselves in response to her thoughts, emotions, and desires, fashioning and refashioning the silky matrix making up the Queen’s spirit through and through.
And, as she suspected, Spider can also see a thick knotted web around the Queen’s spirit-heart, the warm glow of which the Queen herself can no longer feel, so hardened had the webbing around it become during the Queen’s lifetime. Spider recalls the old wisdom of Grandma Spider: A hardened heart cannot let go. A hardened heart will never know.
“Dear lady,” Spider continues in a singsong fashion both eerie and sweet, so that Spider might lure the Queen out of her distraction, “it is upon me to let you know that your destiny is coming to a close. You’ve lost your body and now it is time for you to let go of the fire that holds your soul. Body, soul and the fire of life are all gifts we must return. There comes a time for everyone when Grandma Spider can no longer fit your wishes into the wider way of the world, when the weaving of your own web has become so tangled or torn that it is simply time to clean it away like an old cobweb in the corner. It sounds awful, but it is not a punishment, and you must learn not to fear it. It is just the way of things over time. But I can make things easier. If you come closer, I can weave your spirit into my web and release the fire you cling to so jealously, as a gift to future generations.”
“I cannot believe it,” the Queen mutters, not so much to Spider, but to herself, beginning to drift and wander again, deeper into the Lost Forest. “I decide my own destiny. I will find my castle and take revenge upon those who have done this to me! My day is not done. I will bring about a new dawn!” At that, a great wind moves through the trees, and, peering into the shadowy woods, the Queen can see that something new has appeared at some distance through the trees, sparkling in the bold light of a moonbeam. “There it is! My castle!” the Queen cries, moving deeper into the Lost Forest. “There is my destiny! So lovely, the way it shimmers and shines!”
Spider sighs, again turning downwards upon her silky, silvery, spirally web. “Beware of the monsters who live that way, my dear,” Spider sings. “They are unwilling to give up the fire. Either you will be their victim, dear Queen, or else you will be their monster. But all monsters, all who receive the gift of life, will give up the fire some day. Blessed are those who learn how to let go. For them, Grandma Spider’s eternal web is a beauty to behold.”