Monday, November 22, 2010
I'm going to write about a "crow."
One of my friends is a shape-shifter. Consider that a literal statement or whatever. People believe all sorts of stuff. I think it's cool to believe my friend is a shape-shifter.
But she is slightly different than the run-of-the-mill shape-shifter. I think proper theory has it that the two states or conditions of being are distinct. When she is in human form, so theory goes, the crow is in complete abeyance. And vice-versa. Like sun and moon. But as we all know, a pale, mystic moon sometimes appears when the smiling sun has risen.
So, I think my friend is a human-crow duplex or complex, not a completely divided being.
I'm not going to divulge the name of my friend, because she might not want the world to know her supra-natural secret.
She came out of nowhere. Actually, she came from somewhere. But it seemed like the spontaneous appearance of a being composed of sighs and signs and strong heartbeats. And a world of deep, dark thoughts and feelings. Most of that is the crow dimension, I think. Yes, I almost heard black wings moving that first night of spirit contact. But the transformation can be quick and dramatic. The shadows on her wings sometimes disappear instantly, with her form changing and with her eyes revealing a human sweetness.
But like I say, the two dimensions are meshed, somehow united. If you say something idiotic, that sweet countenance will morph into avian exasperation. Gentle eyes will take on a piercing, sardonic quality. Crows have little patience for stupidity or presumptuousness. You better watch yourself -- you might get your eyes plucked out. Ha! You don't mess with the Crow.
Something else about birds. They like to fly a lot. My friend, in whichever form, also flies a lot. Always zooming. She even flew across the freaking ocean. And I didn't know this until a couple years ago, but crows like music. Strange music, cool music, all kinds of music. As her dark wings move, they seem to gather up or scoop in songs from the air. Crow brains filter out the dross, leaving only quality and cool.
Another thing about crows, especially this Crow. They are attracted to odd, weirdly gleaming objects. Especially broken objects. Somehow -- and from great distance -- their sharp eyes pick up the glints of shattered things. I think maybe that's how my friend located me. And crows seem to be steadfast true-hearts. If you are lucky enough to befriend a crow, you can count on that friendship.
My friend just may be the most passionate person I've ever known. Is that because she is part-crow? Feelings go deep with her. As if they emerge from depths most of us can't fathom. Yes, we all think we are passionate beings. But occasionally you run into a paragon of or a kind of essential expert on the emotional powers. Someone who lives at a high pitch of feeling. Someone whose life itself is a form of expressionistic art.
How my friend became entangled with the crow is not for me to consider. It's none of my business. It does, though, stimulate my imagination. It's not every day you run into a shape-shifter. But into my imagination pours only a vague sense. An ambiguous rustling of dark wings. I prefer vague. I've always lived in vague.
I'm glad the Crow is my friend.