Seeing Crows For Who They Are
A hardly noticeable moment
Becomes the bane of existence
Because I didn’t honor properly
Waking up in the morning, one’s mind switches from dream state to wake state. It takes a short amount of time to switch gears, and I think hardly anyone notices it.
For me, it took the pecking of crows to notice it.
I would wake up in the morning, and the gear switching made my entire brain hurt for a few seconds. I didn’t know the brain had nerves? It was my brain, not my skull, not the skin on my head. Not a headache. The brain matter, the entire brain ached a 10 on a scale of 1 to 10.
Every morning.
During this chapter of my life, I had been collecting dead things for my art studio. That’s right, curing and drying. Soaking and preparing our fallen brethren for presentation as art pieces. Bones splayed and displayed for public viewing and adoration.
Have you ever played with death?
It’s a tricky thing.
When working with energy, it’s important to keep things in harmony. Like a friendship. Do you show up to your friend's dinner without a gift? Do you walk into someone's house without first being invited in? It is the same with energy work. Playing with dead things, apparently, is a form of energy work… Death energy.
Honor, permission, dialogue, ceremony. All are required facets.
I was on the phone with one of my teachers one day, and I was explaining the situation at hand: waking up with a 10 every morning. She said she saw a crow. I interrupted and exuberantly explained “Oh ya! I picked up a crow a couple of weeks ago! I've got its wings and feet curing in the art studio!”
“Did you clearly explain your intention, ask for permission, and do ceremonial offerings?”
“Not in depth, but a quick version of it.”
“I don’t think the dead are understanding exactly what you are trying to do. I don’t know if they are feeling honored. Or fully understand what you are asking permission for.”
She continues…
“I see Crow pecking at your brain.”
Pause.
It does feel like a pecking at the brain.
Jab Jab Jab. Sharp Sharp Pain.
She continues…
“I see Crow is here now, why don’t you ask it what the problem is?”
In my mind, I say to Crow:
>> Crow, why are you pecking at my brain?
>> I am trying to get your attention.
>> I am listening, what do you want?
>> To be honored.
“Crow says it wants to be honored.”
“Ask it what it wants.”
>>Crow, how do you want to be honored? What do you want?
>> Gold.
“Crow wants gold. I don’t have gold.”
“Imagine you are giving it gold.”
In my mind's eye, I give Crow a handful of gold nuggets.
Crow eats them.
[Me] “Shit, I have a meeting in 5 minutes, we need to wrap up!”
“OK, ask if you can honor Crow later. Promise that you will. And provide a timeframe”
>>Can I honor you later? I promise I will do it later tonight.
>>OK.
I go on with my day, my calls, emails, meetings. My promise to Crow is, of course, buried underneath the demand of my work.
I am driving to dinner a few hours later. I had finished my day with having provided constructive feedback to my friend, who in turn decided to yell at me for the remaining 27 minutes of our 30 minute meeting, completely railroading anything I’ve said or intended to say. My drive was consumed around post-mortem thoughts of the discussion.
Of course, [metaphysical] Crow pops up on my dashboard.
>> Hello!
>> Hi Crow - I’m sorry I have forgotten to honor you. What can I do?
>> I would like you to set me free.
>> OK, I will ceremoniously bury you tonight, with the rest of your body in the backyard. Is that OK?
>> Yes!
Crow does not leave. I am still driving to dinner. Yes, this metaphysical conversation with Dashboard Crow is taking place while I am speeding across town at 30MPH.
>> Crow, why are you still here?
>> Because I want to be friends.
>> What do you mean? What type of friends? Are you a guide? A teacher? What?
>> Just a friend.
>> I don’t know what that means.
>> Ask me something.
Having thought about my day… And my friend.
>> I am upset about the conversation I’ve had with my friend I don’t know what to think about it, or what my next steps should be. Can you help with that?
>> One moment please.
Crow disappears from my dashboard.
OK then…
Crow returns 3 minutes later. I am almost to my destination.
>> Hi Crow.
>> He heard you. He doesn’t want to admit it [removed specifics]. But things will be different on Monday. Can I help you with anything else?
>> No, I think I’m good. I’ll be sure to bury you tonight. I’m sorry.
The next morning, I woke in fear of pain.
And none was had.
Photo Credit, Jeff Donovan. Somewhere in 2006, this Crow was conducting 12 others in mischievous fashion as we watched on post-surf.