Black Crow Shiny Suit dancing

So what was the emerald stone that he spoke about? I had found little broken pieces of green glass amongst the stones and rubble. They glistened like jewels in the sunshine. Just some old discarded bottle that had not made its way into the recycling bin! ImageI remembered my trip to Colombia where the green stone was sold in many shops and places for tourists to collect foreign oddments. My own sweetheart had bought me a tiny wee heart shaped emerald stone for safe keeping in my jewelery box. I thought of the Emerald Isle that I had lived on for 17 years of my life, the green moss and richly abundant green fields and hill tops that my memory so often wanders towards. Missing that tranquil land and sweet smelling pastures, knowing I will not return because now I seek the emerald stone elsewhere. A ha! I realized, the emerald stone was following me. It was with me just like the little green heart shape and the memories that lingered, they had become part of me. I was part of it.

Black crow shiny suit caws back at me from the branch tops. I hear him loud and clear. I don’t find him particularly friendly, he just seems very loud and does not really direct his attention towards me at all. I don’t suppose he has any thought for me. I can see him clearly now, shining in that sun light. His suit of black feathers looking smarter today, with their bluish tinge, they fit him well. Slick, almost elegant in their appearance. He struts along the branch with his own well known self-importance. And I here on the ground in my earthy robes and big boots, sitting amongst the well trodden earth, amongst the pots and plants that I fill with with rotted compost, in the hope for new seeds to show forth and feed our need for green salad and fresh vegetables come the summer time. We are a strange pair. He in his world and me in mine.

The masculine dark suited pin stripe world looking outwards across the buildings and roof tops, the next catch, the next profit, the next gathering of clans within the concrete structures. They meet in circle together. Cawing at each other, are they willing to listen, to speak heart to heart, to feel beneath the skin of conformity?

I kick of those boots and dance a little, moving to the sound of drum beat as it oozes outwards from the yurt in the garden, bones and muscles, earth, rocks and stone, here I am. There you are crow, come move with me, lets find this beat together. He moves he struts, he caws. Dancing shiny suit feathers flapping, beak opens and closes, I hear no noise for a still breath, within the timing of my dance.

For a moment maybe I find a connection, I want to ask him about the Emerald stone. So I continue dancing moving gently. He flies alighting on a near by garden chair top, scraping his beak for a moment, scratching it with his claw cleaning away the crumbs from feed time. Looking up he seems curious enough to remain awhile, sensing there is no danger.

I am but the feminine, what worries has he of my breeding, my earthiness, my dance? Might it worry him a little, may he be slightly disconcerted with my presence in HIS garden. What could I possibly do to fear him. My toes touch into the earth, I feel my roots and sense my heart beat, he flaps his wings will he alight once more? Tiny little claws of grey painted shiny foot wear, like his suit sparkle in sun light. Tight fitting, cramping those toes, never dancing freely, Armani, Boss, Lauren, well made and suited for the purpose, looking good, looking good. My bare feet touch the earth, they dance freely, he sets off again in flight, on he goes barely time to breath. Never settled long enough, must always be; doing doing doing!

I breath, deep breath, now I feel my heart beat stronger and stronger. What is right for this earth for this mover, this beat getting stronger. And so my fingers back again in that soil, did Armani ever touch the soil?

Cawing from the roof tops this time as others join him. What of the strange creature touching the earth? Looking seeing, exploring the possibilities of learning something, anything. Is there a profit in the making? Gathering together they are one group of wise words and well meaning for the company, yes for the company, oh the company they keep of course. They see each other and strut and peck and nod their heads. And the feminine creature arches her back, stretches her limbs and talks to the earth, what then sweet earth if only I alone am talking with you. Do you care?

The sun is beginning to settle amongst the clouds and wander to its resting place, a chill lingers now beneath those same clouds and settles in a mist around me and the roof tops. Cawing Crow knows its time to join that mist, to journey onwards through the concrete, home ward bound. Breathing those mists into lungs that heave through smokey atmospheres, through air conditioned stale smoked smells of putrid, over used breath and condensation.

Not this Crow, he flies freely from all of this I know. Along the road side, pavements, park ways, Mercedes, Bentley, Rolls and Lambourghini free rolling, radio gently swooning, no worries. My dance takes me inwards, into my cavern, old and familiar, drum beat rocking my mind…..where will my next journey take me?  If I ask the Black Crow Shiny Suit to come into those darkened places, to meet me there, shrouded within the dream time, what I wonder may we discover together.

I take my emerald heart shaped stone into my cavern with me. Its a journey into that darkened place to explore something I know so little of. There is the crow meeting with me. Is he reluctant? Will he allow me see deep within those shiny feathers? Making myself so, so small I creep inwards, unfolding one feather at a time, like making my way through thick forest and undergrowth, clawing away brambles and anything that gets in my way. I meet with each white stem of a feather that is planted deep into the grey like flesh that has yet never seen the sun. Thin in its texture so grey and undernourished. It feels cold to my own fingers that are long and spindly, yet always there to meet with the dirt of the earth and with the rays of the sun that brown and wrinkle them. This grey skin so thin and cold, takes one small pinch of the nails on my fingers to pierce into it and allow my own energy to flow deep inside. One moment of sharpness a pain that is barely felt but knows that its there. Shock for one small moment, he is seen, he is known, she finds her way in.

The sensual being under the skin meets with each of those white bones and sinews that run deep within caverns that are old and forgotten, cobwebby thoughts, old process’s, deep cellular mud and rubble that has not moved in many decades. Meeting at its core, gently massaging with the dance of thousands of years that stirs and shakes and re-members each cord, fusing together broken wires and mis-matched threads of forgotten information.

Calling to the Crow to move and dance those pin stripped Armani Bentley driven feet, to move across this floor to open up those wings and feel that heart beating harder into this music. So heart and beat become one and timing of feet, claws, hands, heart dance together in the feminine creatures soulful embrace.

I reach out and touch the top of this head as it bends down to meet my own, neck stretching uncomfortably, but opening up each vertebra on its spine so that fluid, once more can wash through those fixed compressed bones and clear out unwanted chalk dust and small pebbles of discomfort. We dance, we are danced, we open up the crazy possibility that these two worlds can and will meet, that they will begin to find harmony and the green emerald will find a new river to flow in, as it separates itself from the hardened spine of fear and accumulation.

We follow the green emerald together, dancing our way laughing and celebrating its release. Watching where it flows to. It has its own journey and gathers itself and the green rushes and grasses that open pathways for it to spread and expand upon. Giving itself back to the earth it fertilizes each pasture each field and delicate flower. It seeps back into the earth, filling the deep mines and blood-let caverns, to feed the earth with nourishment and replace the loss of soul deep within its veins. Hungry for this drip feed of new blood, the skin turns a lighter shade of pink, pulsing veins to the surface and warms gently a belly undernourished for many life times.

Earth and sky meet flapping wings, sun rises and songs are heard as if nothing ever happened and nothing has changed. I dance in my garden, aware of the crow in his black feathered shiny suited booted wardrobe, pecking under the feathers cleansing out the mothballed grub and clutter, ready to begin another day, another dream and chatter amongst the rooftops.





About Caroline Carey

Caroline is an English Grandmother and an aspiring crone~elder, an author of four books, a speaker and innovative and creative teacher, offering her work via workshops and gatherings online as well as internationally. By adapting the religious education insisted on by her family, she was able to recognise her own innate connection to God/Spirit and has been on a spiritual path since childhood. She is a champion of music, dance and poetry as healing tools since she was four years old and developed an innate understanding of the soul’s journey, a connection to physical embodiment through movement, theatre and the creative arts. Her work is harmonious with nature. Her journey has manifested as her own personal training into eldership and crone-hood, carrying the wisdom needed for stability and balance in individuals, relationships, families and communities. Mothering her six, now adult, children, gave Caroline the art of play, creativity, story-telling and opened up the deep surrender and unconditional love that motherhood can bestow. Caroline has trained in many modalities of dance, therapeutic and spiritual teacher trainings since 1986. She is a writer who has published her autobiography and four other books about her spiritual work. Her latest book, 'Middle Earth Wisdom' will be published soon. She lives in UK with her husband Ben Cole, a film-maker, a director who works with men’s initiation groups. They often offer work together, incorporating dance, presentation and film. Caroline is: A mother and grandmother A writer and poet A dancer A spiritual life coach A catalyst for change She is available to you for guidance
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