Crow Burial
May 30, 2012

I took a walk around the neighborhood tonight, just before sunset. I was walking on the easement grass, as usual, to ease the stress on my joints (no concrete walking for me) when I came upon a dead crow in the grass. I bent down over it, looking at if for a bit, and then walked on. About 10 yards past, I thought about a woman from Dare’ (1) and how she buries animals that have been killed by vehicles on the road. I stopped, turned around, and walked back to the crow. She was pretty desiccated, almost mummified, with her legs drawn up tight. I figured she had been laying there for quite a few days. It has been hot, and the sun dried her out so she was just feathers and bones, beak and feet. Scooping her up with a newspaper that I “happened” to have (I look after an Elder’s house and collect her newspapers for her when she is away staying at her daughter’s home), I walked one more block home, intent on burying her in my backyard. You’re supposed to report dead crows to the County so they can test them for avian flu, but I thought that this is one crow they are not going to take apart as a “specimen.”

I collected a shovel, matches, and one sage leaf, and proceeded to dig a hole in-between two trees in my backyard, in the same spot I’d buried two dead hummingbird babies almost three years ago (2). I laid the crow’s newspaper-wrapped body in the shallow grave. Spirit told me to get an obsidian stone from the house and place it on top of the body; this I did, with some reluctance at first. The stone was one of my favorites, with finger holes carved out of it—I imagined that it may have been an ancient tool in the long-ago time. Next to the obsidian I put some freshly picked Star Jasmine flowers. Then, burning the single sage leaf, I swirled it over the grave in circles, first clockwise, then counter clock wise, humming out loud. I said a prayer for Crow, telling her that her body, along with stone, flowers, sage, and water, will nourish the Earth, and that her Spirit will fly with the winds of Creation. The burning sage leaf was placed on top of the obsidian stone where it continued to emit much smoke until it burned itself out. After covering the grave with leaves and soil, I watered the site. Spirit told me to place sea shells in a circle around the grave; this I did from the many I have collected from the beaches of Southern California. Spirit wanted the shells placed face up so as to gather rain or garden hose water for other creatures that inhabit my backyard. The last thing I did was to place a crow feather into the soil of the grave, standing it up as the grave marker.

I felt rather freaked out by the whole thing, and called my spiritual mentor as soon as I was done with the burial, thinking that maybe my coming across a dead crow was an omen of death. When I told her this she laughed; Crow is her totem animal and she proceeded to tell me all about Crow. This is some of what she told me:

Crow knows the mysteries of creation. Crow is the keeper of the Law, the Higher Law of the Universe, not that made by humans. Crow is the master of illusion, and represents the power of the Unknown at work. When Crow crosses your path, something special is about to happen; Crow is an omen of change. Crow guides the magic of healing, dispelling dis-ease and illness. Crow precedes a change in consciousness. Crow is a messenger of the Spirit world, telling one to look into the inner realms, let go of old thinking, put aside the fear of being a voice in the wilderness, speak with the powerful voice of Truth, walk one’s talk, use one’s personal integrity as one’s guide, and follow one’s life’s mission. Crow tells one to shape-shift, and become one’s future self.

Crows observe everything around them and are the keepers of knowledge; they warn others of danger via their complex language and communication. Crows travel in groups and hold council with each other. Crows are black in color, the color of the Universe, of the womb, of night, and of creation birthing the Light of the new day. Crows are adaptable, and shift between the known and the unknown. They represent magic, the unseen force of spiritual strength, and Truth.

Always reluctant to shake myself out of my complacency, I thought “oh no! A lot of change and growth! Too much, maybe!” My mentor laughed again; she told me to talk to Spirit about Crow.

After ending my conversation with my mentor, I asked Spirit to tell me about Crow. Spirit told me to talk to the Spirit of Crow, and so I did; Spirit of Crow told me the following story:

Crow died of natural causes. Her body laid there for quite some time. Other humans may have seen her but they didn’t do anything. She was an Elder bird—old for one of her kind. The sun dried her body out and so she appeared shriveled. She waited and waited for some one or some thing to come along and take care of her body. I came along; I took her home. I buried her body in my backyard and I honored her Spirit with ceremony. Now her body can nourish the Earth. If someone else had found her body, she may have ended up unceremoniously in the trash. She likes being in the Earth better, next to the two Little Ones who died (the hummingbird babies), so now she has company, two someones to “talk” to. Hummingbirds and crows don’t always get along on the earth plane, but in the Spirit world they are old friends. She likes that I put a crow feather on her grave. She likes the obsidian stone, shiny black as were her eyes and feathers when she lived. She likes the smell of the jasmine and the sage, and the warmth of the soil and the leaves. She likes it here in my backyard. She says she thinks her Spirit is going to hang out here for a while, hang out at my house and visit me sometimes (“Oh dear!” I think); she says not to worry, she will be gentle at first, nudging me along. If I get too slow or lazy, though, she may show up in my dreams and caw caw caw loudly to get my attention, or bite me on my backside with her sharp beak to get me going.

Then she laughs that laugh of hers, that cacophonous laugh that reminds me of the way Cecilia Garcia laughed: “Caw caw caw! Ha ha ha!” (3)

“Are the two of you related?” I ask Crow. “Cecilia is an Ancestor now, and so are you, dear Crow—will the two of you converse and conspire with each other, now that you’re both in the Spirit world? Oy, I haven’t got a chance to outwit either of you, eh?”

“No”, Crow laughs, “Caw caw caw! Ha ha ha!”

June 5, 2012 Addendum:  While tending to Crow’s grave today, I noticed a very neat hole dug directly into it, then I found a few crow feathers lying off to the side. I figured that whatever critter dug into the grave soon found that Crow wouldn’t make much of a meal, as dried out as she was, and left the rest of her alone.  My backyard is kind of a “neutral zone”. I don’t have dogs or cats of my own, so the wild mammalian suburban neighborhood inhabitants frequent my backyard: three squirrels have pretty much taken up residence in the old pepper tree; opossums make nests for their new babies in the same spot year after year in the thick ivy next to the eucalyptus tree in the side yard; feral cats pass through and on occasion a raccoon will stop by.  I often leave rotten fruit or chicken bones and skin out at night for my guests, and the next day there is not a scrap left.  There are also coyotes that wander through the neighborhood at night, but I’ve yet to see one, even though I sometimes leave the back gate open for them as a sign of welcome. While re-burying the crow feathers, I asked Crow if she minded being munched upon; “not at all,” she replied, “I expected it”. Such are the ways of Nature.

(1) "Dare'" means "Council" in the Shona language of Zimbabwe. As I type this I am struck; these words could describe Crows in Council as well as humans: "The strength and essence of Daré is in the circle and its intelligence. Council is its heart. And in Council one always speaks from the heart and allows the spirits and ancestors to speak through one. Wisdom comes from the combined voices and presence of everyone who is participating. The purpose of council is to seek answers from the community that we can’t find ourselves. Asking and addressing a single question coheres the community." Deena Metzger, author, poet, wise woman, healer: http://www.deenametzger.com/  

(2) Hummingbird Babies Died http://curezone.com/blogs/fm.asp?i=1453839  Sadly, this afternoon I found that both of the hummingbird babies in my back yard have died. I buried them along with their nest in my back yard.

(3) Chumash Medicine Woman Dies http://curezone.com/blogs/fm.asp?i=1942422 The last Chumash Medicine woman, Cecilia Garcia, died at her home in Ensenada Tuesday May 14, 2012. She gifted me with the love of California native plants.

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