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| Crows gather menacingly outside the Bodega Bay schoolhouse in Hitchcock's 'The Birds'. Innocence and experience? |
What is it about the crow that makes it so uncanny? The unmistakable sound they make, that sudden raucous couldn't care less cawing announcing their presence, is neither a particularly pleasurable sound nor unpleasant but something about it always manages to penetrate the psyche, even if just momentarily. It's a sound that can delight but also menace depending on ones mood. It seems to be announcing something more than its presence like supernatural emissaries from another world, scruffy, ragged telegram bearers from the other side, disturbing the peace, puncturing our complacency. Of course the crow is black, and so naturally attracts all manner of shadow projections. The crow is associated with death, a carrion eater its adept at scavenging, happy to eat road kill or for that matter the flesh of any dead animal -humans included, you and me given half a chance. Is that its death-eating message for us? Impermanence? '
Human being the clocks ticking remember one day you too will be dead and food for mother nature'.
Although it has a reputation as a gallows bird, it also has an engaging boisterous cocky quality about it. This is a bird determined to get what it wants, an opportunist, thief, a gatecrasher at the party. In this way perhaps the crow reminds us of our baser instincts, the untrammelled ego, the will to take risks in the pursuit of satisfaction. It's not a dainty or delicate bird, it means business.
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| 'I looked out the window and saw that ragged soul take flight' The Black Crow, Joni Mitchell. Lyrics and artwork from the album Hejira. |
In the early years of my psychotherapy training I had an encounter with 'the crow' that made a vivid impression on me. I was with some peers driving across Dartmoor for the weekend module at the Karuna Institute. Approaching Widecome we pulled over and got out of the car to admire the stunning view looking down the valley towards the village. An ungainly group of noisy crows greeted us, undaunted they moved in closer and closer, like a bunch of feathered brigands. It was slightly unnerving and it was difficult not to think of it as some kind of portent for the weekend ahead or that matter the entire training. I had a bag of Jelly Babies with me, and this may sound cruel but I tossed a lurid green one to the crows. A large bird beat the others to it and snatched the sacrificial offering and pinned it to the ground with its talons and proceeded to behead it and devour it with great gusto. On returning to London I told an artist friend about the incident. At the time he was drawing a regular cartoon strip for the Guardian, and I asked if he could draw me a cartoon of the crow and Jelly Baby. Several weeks later he presented me with an exquisite ink and watercolour drawing of the bird feeding on the gelatinous babe.
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| Illustration by David Shenton |
I hadn't expected such finely detailed artwork and was slightly embarrassed by the generosity, though also wondered if something about my experience had resonated with something in his psyche. When I now consider the symbology of this encounter I notice the meaning seems to shift but my fascination with this mysterious winged messenger remains just as strong.
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| Illustration by David Shenton |
I like the way the Taschen 'Book of Symbols' describes the mystery of the crow/raven:
'We never grasp the full measure of the birds. They subvert our attempts to do so, just as the tricksters, shamans, magicians and culture heroes they embody in folklore and myth subvert our fondest notions of human superiority, put in question what constitutes the reality of the sacred or profane, rearrange our moral landscape. Consider the progenitor and shaman Raven, who brings humans into being by coaxing them out of their clam (shell), steals daylight for them through trickery or by opposing the falcon of the night,
brings them fire and water, teaches them how to sow seed and to hunt-and then"plays" with his creatures and occasionally kills and eats them. Just so does the crow or raven daemon perched in our psyches open doors, steal treasures for us from hidden places, coax us out of our narrow, conventional shells-and also mercilessly confuses us, trips us up, puts us down and sometimes devours us.'
