🕯️ The Dead Lantern & the Coyotes: When Spirit Protects with Darkness

There are nights when Spirit speaks in whispers. And then there are nights when Spirit blows out the light in your hand to keep you from walking straight into danger.

This is the story of a lantern that died, coyotes that circled, and the lesson I learned about protection that doesn’t always look like light.

The Walk That Turned Back

It was the kind of dark that only a Black Moon can deliver. No sliver in the sky, no reflective glow on the land, just a velvet black that swallowed sound and space. On 17 acres of woods, that kind of dark is alive.

Bear and I set out for our usual walk. He trotted a few steps ahead, tail swishing, ears alert. Normally, he pulls me up the driveway with confidence. But this night, he was different. He paced. Sniffed. Turned in circles. Then, instead of tugging me forward, he turned back toward the house.

That’s when my flashlight died.

Not dimmed. Not flickered. Dead.

Click. Nothing.

Click again. Faint sputter, then gone.

I shook it, muttered under my breath, tried again. Nothing.

And so, with only the weak glow of my phone, Bear and I made our way back to the house. I was annoyed, but not alarmed. At least, not yet.

The Coyotes

Later that night, around 11 p.m., I stepped out to smell the moonflower that was still holding her bloom. The air was sweet, playful — like Fruit Loops and nectar. And then I heard it: the chorus of yips and barks.

Coyotes.

Close.

Right in the back of the property, circling where Bear and I would have been had we continued up the driveway.

And in that moment, the puzzle clicked into place. Bear’s hesitation. His pacing. His turn-back. The flashlight’s sudden death. The timing. The redirection.

Spirit had stopped me. The dead lantern saved me.

Resurrection of the Light

The next morning, I picked up the flashlight, ready to charge it. Out of habit, I clicked it on.

And the beam was bright. Perfect. Strong.

It hadn’t been dead. It had simply refused me.

The lantern wasn’t broken. Spirit had blown it out.

The Dharma of the Dead Lantern

What do we do with that kind of moment?

Our culture tells us dead lights mean failure. That broken technology, dead ends, and sudden stops are inconveniences. Bad luck. Signs that something is wrong.

But the Dharma of the dead lantern is different:

• Sometimes Spirit protects with darkness.

• Sometimes “no” is the most loving word.

• Sometimes the path isn’t closed forever. Just tonight.

I thought my light had failed me. In truth, it had saved me.

Coyotes as Tricksters

Coyotes are trickster teachers in folklore. In Native traditions, they are creators and disruptors, mischievous shapeshifters who expose arrogance and teach through chaos. They are liminal animals — thriving at the edges of cities, haunting farmland, refusing domestication.

If I had walked into them that night, it would not have been a casual encounter. Coyotes are playful until they’re not. They test boundaries. They laugh at human assumptions of safety.

But the lesson was not for me to face coyotes that night. The lesson was to trust the redirect. To know that Spirit sometimes spares you a battle because it isn’t yours to fight.

Spiritual Protection That Doesn’t Look Like Protection

We love the idea of angels with flaming swords. Of shields of light. Of divine intervention that parts seas or slays giants.

But sometimes protection looks like a flickering bulb. A missed bus. A canceled meeting. A relationship that suddenly ends. A job that evaporates.

The flashlight wasn’t dramatic. It simply refused to work. But that refusal was holy.

How many times in our lives do we curse the dead lanterns, not realizing they saved us from teeth in the dark?

Metaphysics: Light as Consciousness

Metaphysically, light is always consciousness. A lamp, a candle, a flashlight — they symbolize awareness. When my flashlight died, it wasn’t just about visibility. It was Spirit saying: You don’t need to see this path. It isn’t yours tonight.

Parapsychology is full of reports of electronics failing in paranormal events. Batteries drained, flashlights sputtering, phones glitching. Spirit manipulates energy to guide, redirect, protect.

The dead lantern was not absence of power. It was Spirit’s hand on the switch.

Consciousness & Cosmology: Darkness as Love

Consciousness studies remind us that perception is selective. We don’t see everything. We’re not meant to. Sometimes the narrowing of perception is protective.

Cosmology echoes this. Ninety-five percent of the universe is invisible to us — dark matter and dark energy. Yet without it, galaxies couldn’t hold together. Darkness is not absence; it’s structure. It’s love.

When my flashlight died, I wasn’t abandoned. I was held by a larger field of care. Darkness can be as loving as light.

Quantum: The Collapse of Probabilities

Quantum physics says multiple futures exist until one collapses into reality. In one timeline, Bear and I walk forward and face coyotes. In another, we turn back.

The dead lantern collapsed probability. Spirit nudged reality into the safer arc.

This isn’t metaphor. It’s the way the universe works. Spirit is quantum intervention.

Breaking the Vows

The vow broken here was the vow of control. The Atlas reflex whispers: “You must always hold the light. You must always see. You must always carry forward.”

The dead lantern said: No. Not tonight. Not this path. Not by your control.

And that vow shattered. I don’t need to hold the lantern forever. Sometimes the lantern holds me.

Integration Practice

Here’s your practice this week:

1. Name a Dead Lantern. Think of something in your life that “flickered out” unexpectedly. A job, a relationship, a plan. Write it down.

2. Ask the Coyotes Question. What danger, chaos, or teeth might that dead lantern have spared you?

3. Practice Gratitude. Thank the dead lantern. Write a short prayer of gratitude for the protection you couldn’t see.

4. Trust the Flicker. Next time something dies on you, pause before panicking. Ask: Is this Spirit’s hand on the switch?

Closing

That night, the flashlight didn’t fail me. It saved me. The coyotes sang in the dark, but Bear and I were safe inside.

And in the morning, the lantern shone bright again — proof that nothing was wrong. Proof that Spirit intervenes in ways we may never see until later.

So the next time something collapses in your hands, beloved, don’t rush to curse it. The job lost, the plan canceled, the friendship ended, the opportunity gone — what if that was your dead lantern? What if that was Spirit saying: Not this way. Not tonight.

Because not every dead light is failure. Sometimes the lantern dies because the coyotes are waiting.

And sometimes, beloved, darkness itself is love.