I have been reading Meinrad
Craighead,
Crow Mother and the Dog God and wrote this little piece inspired
by her crow magic and much of my own.
Hidden
away in the recesses of my own self is a wild ancient crone who has been
gathering materials and messages for a grand dance. Within this woven wicker
trunk are the symbols developed over the years, the masks worn for so many
occasions, the sacred texts and songs of 7 decades. In the box also reside a
cache of magic known only to me, cards, feathers, bags of potions, vessels, and
bits and pieces of crow collections these include pretty paper, old
candies, photographs, songs, silver rings and a poem or two.
The repository
of magic and totems also has a crow drum, a gourd, an ipu, embroidery, and many
glass items all sanctified and incensed ready for the day the dance commences. The
trick of it all is to time it just right. The right night, the right moon, the
right season, the right place and the right reason. When all is set and the
stage and all the trappings and regalia are in order.. the beginning will be
announced by the cry of crow. The wild dance of life, death, and the spirit
will commence with bells, and drums, and lots of swirling purple and black. The
dance will ease away the cover of the gardens and reveal an ancient stairway to
the mother of us all. This will be repeated as I am called upon by the
Crowmother.
