Crow has been on the stump since April.
Ended by a car and left in the gutter.
Its life, symbolic force and spirit have been honoured whilst its body surrendered slowly to decomposition.
All is thermodynamics.
The changed state of its form has created life from this death, earth has accumulated beneath its bug-cleaned body and death yields to life as life yields to death.
The magicks charged by this thermodynamic miracle will also change states.
I’ve been meditating on crow frequently, crooning to the egragoric function that crow has accumulated that’s at least 80,000 years deep.
Crow does not give a fuck.
Crow breaks spells, shatters illusions, spits truth and shats petty deceit out.
Crow taught us to sing, taught us where the easy pickings were when lion and bear were sated.
Crow has laughed with us, loved with us and whispered secrets.
She’s presided over the folly of our conflicts, a tear in her eye sure but her belly filled with our meat none the less.
Crow tells us to give up civilization’s carcass so it can peck at its eyes.
If we don’t then crow will take the eyes of our children.
She’d rather not but she’s not picky that way.
Stories say that crow became entranced by her own shadow, pecking and pecking, scratching and clawing until finally the shadow came alive.
Then it ate her.
Crow is dead crow now.
Crow is the left handed guardian, the keeper of sacred laws, thermodynamics being amongst them.
Crow is the omen of change and change is coming whether we like it or not.
Crow asks us to shapeshift ourselves, our way of life.
To bend reality as it is to what it could be, we’d be best off listening to crow.
Crow sits in the void and has no sense of time, doesn’t mind waiting the millions of long years that it will take for life to come back again if we don’t listen.
She’ll miss the eyeballs but there’s plenty down the line.
The times they are a changing and crow blinks.