My Snake Story: The Song and Dance of the Rattlesnake

This is my snake story.

Many years ago, I was at the Little Colorado River Gorge. It’s an offshoot of the Grand Canyon that is mostly on the Navajo Indian Reservation. Here, the cliffs don’t slope downwards like the Grand Canyon. They drop straight down for about a 1/2 mile.

I was tripping on acid (BTW, that place is an intense trip!).

So, I was walking along in the high desert. Crunchy sand, lots of cactus and pointy things there. I was very tuned into the buzz, squeaks, pops, and chitters of that world when I noticed something moving in front of me.
 

In an instant, there was a bright flash and the sound of air collapsing. The snake was coiled, ready to strike, and I was sort of stuck. A powerful jolt of chemicals was coursing through my body, and they enthralled me. Nothing moved. Everything was frozen, soundless in time.

It became too much for me, too raw, too intense, but strangely not frightening. I took a few easy steps to the side and walked around it.

Some little time later, I found myself sitting on a rock, slowly becoming a part of it. I lifted my head, and there was that same snake just looking at me. I was immobile, rocklike, and gazing directly into the eyes of this snake.

What was amazing to me is that I had been walking north, and the snake had been crawling south when we first met. I walked around it and continued north for at least 100 feet. The snake had to have turned around and followed me. So when we met the second time, our positions in the universe were reversed. I was facing south, and the snake was facing north.

Now there was no threat. We looked at each other for a while, and then the most extraordinary thing happened. The snake shared with me its song and its dance. I was suffused with its presence, its nature. Some time passed, and the snake turned away from me and continued its journey to the south.

The sun was very low in the sky, and I only had a general idea of where my car was – somewhere to the west.

I got up from the rock and headed toward the setting sun. But instead of walking, I began this strange, quick shuffle. My feet were always in full, but very light, contact with the earth, and my body swaying from side to side. Then I began to make a sort of light—almost but not quite sibilant—sound. Like the snake’s scales would make when moving over the sandy desert floor.

I came right up to the edge of the gorge—1/2 mile straight down, but I never faltered or slowed. And I moved as the snake would—gliding in a sinuous fashion right on the edge of that gorge. Soon enough, I saw my car. As I reached to open the door, the sun dipped below the horizon and the gloaming spread its muted grace over the desert and everything in it. Pure magic.

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Cover photo by Canva