Crow Magic

Older poem that lives in my heart. May it be present in yours.


Crow Magic


We chanted open our hearts and the Great Mother entered the room - I felt her round form emerge as the black clay from my chest - She was crying - Her tears were springs of new life washing over us - The truth she sang from her heart was the color of our shadow – She spoke us into the circle of life -


Black
Is the beginning of life,
It contains the spark of creation.

Black
Is nigredo matter unformed
Bursting with potential.

Black
Is nothingness, the building block of all that matters
The foundation of all matter.

Black
Is the night sky
Where the ancestors burn their fires and watch over us.

 Black
Is the canvas of our dreams,
The roadmap to health and wholeness.

 Black
Is the moment before dawn
Pregnant with morning.

 Black
Is the womb,
The mother’s power and protection.


Black
Is the coal she gave
To fuel the fire of my childhood winters.

 Black
Is faith, the ability to walk forward
Without the comfort of vision.

 Black
Holds infinity,
Unknown possibility and the potential of magic.

 Black
Is the crow,
Cawing death, chance and prediction.


It is black we wrap around ourselves
When we go inside, to the still, silent place
Where no one can harm us.


In blackness everything mingles
It is where the spirits of the four legged and the two legged are one
It is where we learn to be shape shifters.

Without black, white cannot know itself as white, white cannot exist.
 Black is the beginning. Black is the end. Black is the Mother. Black is home.

Ashé