Saturday, May 05, 2007


Elizabeth's comment to my previous post makes me feel like I should write a little more about what that crow meant to me. I want to write my thoughts about it before I read Leon's book, just to put out my own thoughts on the matter before involving another's thoughts.

I knew that crow would follow me within the first few seconds after I heard and saw it. I knew that it wouldn't follow me past the freeway underpass. And I knew that it was important for me to listen to it, even though I didn't understand why, or what it was trying to communicate.

In Norse myth, Odin the All-Father is accompanied by two crows who travel the world, reporting back to him. They are one source of his fabled knowledge and wisdom. When I stood in the alley/pedestrian walkway between Oak Grove Ave. and Claremont, listening to the loud crow, I wasn't at all surprised when the second crow landed on the tree across from the first. It was almost as if the first noisy and insistent crow should naturally be accompanied by a silent, observant partner. I even wondered if my subconscious would be able to decode the crow's speech, if I would understand it better in my dreams.

Crows seem to exist in and outside of our reality for me. Kind of like cats. Their utter blackness absorbs light, except for their sparkling eyes, and they project a kind of awareness or understanding. Maybe I'm the one who is doing the projecting, I don't really know. But especially in the often intense California light, they seem like voids, tears in what we understand as real, self-contained vacuums, singularities. Like cats, they are within and without at the same time.

I don't have a conclusion for this post, except to say that it is almost two in the morning, and I am writing on the computer instead of asleep in my bed. I think I am afraid that when I wake up tomorrow I will not be who I am right now. On the other hand, maybe that is exactly what I need...

Tune in next time, for "The Dream That Changed Andy's Life"! Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.

Friday, May 04, 2007


I just got back from a jog around the neighborhood. I ran out to College Ave. and just after I'd turned around and was heading home a crow flew in front of me, cawing lustily, and up onto the telephone wires. I kept running, and after I'd gone just a few steps, the crow flew down from its perch, still cawing, to a tree branch ahead of me. We leapfrogged like this for a block. I turned a corner into a pedestrian walkway between blocks, and stopped when the crow followed me, still cawing down at me from a pine tree.

I looked up at the crow, trying to understand what was going on in its head, but it just kept cawing, glancing down at me occasionally, and flying from branch to branch every so often. Another crow flew up, silent as the first was loud, and took in the scene. When that one flew off after a minute, I decided to keep running.

The first crow followed me through the walkway, across and down the street, and around the corner, still cawing. When I got to the Highway 24 overpass, the crow stopped atop a lightpole, silent for the first time in ten minutes. I kept running, thinking of the old superstition that ill-intentioned spirits would be unable to follow over running water. I don't know what the crow's intentions were, but it sure did raise the hairs on the back of my neck.