educating Crow

Not only has Crow been around longer than any of us but he's also been quite generous in sharing his history with me. I was most surprised when he asked if I'd agree to draw some pictures and write down a story of his to share with you. How could I refuse?

You've always known me as a cultivated corvid, so it's difficult to convey just how much I've matured over the millennia since I was hatched and nursed through fledglinghood by dear Mama and Pater. They taught me as much as they could and sent me to the best schools where I learned a little geography, astronomy, calligraphy and systems theory. It was so long ago there was no such class as history.

There came a day when I grew bored with practicing the Copperplate chicken scratch font I'd been working on for days and I knew if I pulled one more quill to use as a pen, I wouldn't be able to fly for a month. From the window near my desk I could see mountains in the distance where I'd never flown. I remembered having been told a wise old bird was reputed to live in that vicinity so, just for fun, I decided to see if I could find him and see how smart he was.

It took some time to search out his aerie, but when I did I got right to the point and asked him the toughest question I could think of, 'So, old fella, what's the meaning of life?'

'Hmmm', he sighed, 'Are you sure you're prepared for the answer to your question at such a young age?'

'If you know, I think you should get on with telling me, but I'm guessing you don't have a clue', I replied. (Have I mentioned I was a callow and sharp-tongued youngster?)

With a twinkle in his beady eye he said, 'Since you're so sure you're ready, the answer to your question is that the entire world is the supreme reality and your highest Self is the same as God.'

'Really?'

'Yes'

Well, I was pretty cocky back in those days so what he'd said hadn't come as much of a surprise. I was young, healthy, could fly hundreds of miles without resting and was the smartest bloke in my class. So I decided to go out and test the theory.

While flying over the dense jungle near the sage's mountain I spotted an elephant walking purposefully along a narrow path. 'Ahah', I thought, 'Here is the perfect opportunity for me to show just how powerful I am in the world. Once I stop this perambulating pachyderm dead in his tracks everyone will come to me to learn the secret the wise old bird told me for nothing. I might even make some cash out of the deal.'

I made a perfect three point landing a couple of dozen yards ahead of its bulky bearing, and assuming a stance sure to convince him of my powers of persuasion, I opened my wings so the beast would be sure to see as well as hear me when I ordered him to halt. The ground shook beneath my feet as I smelled the warm, dusty scent of a hot monster with places to go.

'Halt!', I cried.

The jungle canopy began dancing to the pounding rhythm of massive feet that drew closer with every second and I heard a voice overhead screaming, 'Get out of the way!'

'Stop!', I shouted as the behemoth drew closer and I stood my ground with firm intent. (I had faith as well as conviction, you see.)

'GET OUT OF THE F*#KING WAY!', shrieked the mysterious voice again. It seemed to be coming from somewhere near the top of Gargantua. Was that a monkey riding the tremendous tusker? Yes! It was!

The elephant kept on coming and I knew it was time to bring all my language skills to bear if I was to arrest his progress. There was simply no way I was going to dive into the shrubbery. 'Cease! Break off! Pause! Pull up! Desist! Cool it!', I bawled.

'MOVE!!!', was the last thing I recall hearing that afternoon. There's a mammoth amount of inertia involved when an elephant lumbers along the path of his own least resistance.

Let it be sufficient to say I got flattened and we'll leave it at that.

Time passed.

zzzzz...zzzzzzz...zzzzzz...zzzzzzz...zzzzzz...zzzz...zzzzzzzzzz...zzzzzzzz...
zzzzzz..zzzzzz...zzzzzzz...zzzzzz...zzzzzzzzz...zzzzzzzz..
zzzzzzz...zzzzzzzz...zzzzzzzz...zzzzzz...zzzzzz...
zzz...zzzz...zzz...zzz......zz...zzz..........
zzz.............zzzzz......zzzzz.........
zzz..................zz.............

Eventually, the splints were removed and so were the sutures. I was able to stay conscious for longer periods and spent much of the time idly staring at the scenery through the corbelled window arches of my room. The anger I'd cherished toward the old sage for telling me lies gradually slipped away, but I still wanted to express my disappointment and looked forward to our next meeting.

On a late afternoon not long after I'd finally been allowed out of bed, I heard a commotion from the hall outside my room; laughter and general chortling, along with the sounds of tinkling glass, led me to limp across the chamber to remind whoever was out there that in here was a recuperating patient requiring peace and quiet. Who should I see but Pater and the old sage chuckling up a storm as they juggled bottles, glasses and a large fruitcake on the other side of my door?

Still guffawing at the memory of whatever had caused their amusement, they came inside wiping their eyes and laid their burdens on a small table. Dad looked at me and snorted on his way out, leaving me flummoxed about his unusual behavior. Meanwhile, the old sage ascended the antique perch near the table and cut a small slice of cake which he held out as an offering.

'Hmpff', I thought to myself, 'Does he think a piece of my favorite dessert will gain my forgiveness of his perfidy?' Nevertheless, as I considered how to best phrase my dismay at his act of treachery toward an innocent young scholar, I took the proffered morsel and chewed (and chewed).

Finally, I gave voice to the question that had been plaguing me since I'd awoken in traction. 'You told me God is everything and I myself am one with God, so what I want to hear is your explanation about why that colossal creature was able to clobber me?'

Fixing me firmly in place with his eagle eye, he placidly replied, 'Oh yes, it's a fact that everything is God. Since that is true, why didn't you listen when God told you to get out of the way?'

I was dumbfounded. It was so simple but I'd managed to misunderstand. While I surveyed the floor in search of the socks I'd had knocked off, my ears pricked up to the distinctive chime of crystal. When I looked his way, the venerable teacher smiled softly and said, 'You're grown enough now to have a snifter of Remy Martin to wash down your fruitcake'.

***

I hope you've enjoyed the story Crow told when I asked him how he became a connoisseur of fine French brandy.

how Crow met susan

Crow here. Since I've never told you how I first encountered susan I thought today would be a good time to remedy that oversight.

One spring morning long ago in human terms, but not so very distant in mine, I happened to be flying over the green rolling hills of the southern Ontario countryside. It had been a long flight that left me feeling in need of rest, so spying a tall tree just beginning to sprout it's foliage, I took on the guise of a normal crow and prepared to land. What to my surprise should I discover beneath the tree but a little girl making dandelion garlands? She seemed to be perfectly content but it was a strange place to find a child all alone for it was a cemetery and not too far away from where she sat were rows of old headstones and a little old church in the distance.

Being too curious to maintain my usual reserve I had to ask, 'Why are you out here by yourself, child?'
Not the least surprised about being addressed by a bird she answered, 'I just got expelled from Sunday school.'
'Why was that?'
'The teacher told me since I wouldn't stop asking impossible questions and was disrupting the class I couldn't be there anymore.'
'Does that upset you?'
'No, I like it out here better.'
'What's better about out here than in there?'
'Out here I don't care about the questions I asked in there.'
'I see.'

I stayed nearby until her father drove into the lane near the church and she ran off to meet him. By then I'd taken an interest and planned to return.

The next time I saw her was winter, nearly Christmas, and a school pageant featuring a play written by her teacher had been planned and rehearsed for weeks. The expected captive audience of these events - parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, cousins and neighbors - were all gathered to see the children perform. As I stood in the wings waiting while they donned their costumes and all was made ready on stage I found a copy of the script which appeared to be about Santa, Mrs. Santa, toy making elves and the reindeer having a boisterous adventure on their way to meet the Baby Jesus and his retinue. Forgive me for not being able to discern a more detailed plot synopsis but it was clear the writer was never going to challenge my old friend Will Shakespeare. The good thing about it was that it allowed parts for all the children of the second grade as well as their pets and some favorite toys to be on the stage at once. The audience members were checking their Brownies and flash attachments.



The curtains parted and the play began. Unfortunately, the children had only rehearsed in daytime without an audience and without the pets dressed up with bells and antlers. Chaos ensued.

Suddenly one little girl yelled, 'Stop!' and everybody went very still and looked at her. Wearing her little fairy crown and fancy dress my little susan imperiously and in no uncertain terms told the other children they were standing in the wrong places and weren't delivering the correct lines. So they all shuffled around and started over while the audience erupted in gales of laughter. Her parents, sitting near the front, tried to hide their embarrassment.

How could I not love a little girl like that? She was going to need some help.

outsider art

Once there was a girl who decided to pack up her clothes and her paintings and fly away from her dull life in southern Ontario to London, England where she was sure to win fame and fortune. She was a self taught artist since the school she'd attended taught all sorts of subjects but not art. Everyone (mostly her parents) agreed she was very good and art school would only spoil her vision.










 
That's how I wound up in London in the mid-60's. At the time I'd been having a wonderful time with color, painting big abstracts of dancers in acrylics and enamels, which I thought were very avant garde. Dressed in my spiffy new Emma Peel style trouser suit I picked up my portfolios and headed off to the best art galleries in the city with the absolute certainty my paintings would soon be the next big thing. I was due for a surprise.

I went to half a dozen galleries that day walking from one place to another as each of the very polite owners or managers essentially said, "Oh, that's very nice work but not quite the style we're looking for at the moment. Why don't you try so and so on Sowhatsit Street. Your work looks very much like something they'd hang."



























The very last gallery I walked into was a huge, silent space where all the enormous canvasses were painted gray except for one that was gray with green spots. There were big metal objects looking like nothing I'd seen before spaced far apart around the room. I must have passed a motion sensor because once I got to the middle all of a sudden the machines whirred to life. Chains slithered around on the floor, blades swirled and slashed, wires whipped around on metal balls and there was a lot of general banging and clanging from every direction. I looked for a way out but it just wasn't safe to go back to the door.

Finally, a well dressed 40ish man strolled out from a back room somewhere, touched a button on the wall as he passed and the clatter stopped. I already knew by then what the story would be at this gallery too but I was too proud to just excuse myself out of the place so I showed him my paintings. He stroked his chin, arched his eyebrows and told me I really should go to the Green Park Gallery - that it would be just the place for my work. So I asked him directions and off I went.


























The Green Park Gallery turned out to be the grassy area between the sidewalk and the wall of London's Green Park. Paintings, sculptures and oddly dressed people filled the narrow space that stretched a mile or at least as far as I could see. Hmpff. I think I was getting the idea by then that there are a lot of artists in the world each with their own unique vision that isn't quite cool enough for hard core art galleries. There was a lot of very good work on display and a lot of bad stuff too but mostly I saw people even more determined than me to sell their stuff.

Most amazing of all were the guys doing perfect replicas of some very famous old paintings in chalk - on the pavement. I saw VanGogh's 'Sunflowers' and Michaelangelo's 'God and Adam' from the Sistine Chapel. Yow. It sounds silly to be impressed by such a thing now that we're all older and sophisticated but it was a big surprise to me and also very daunting. Quite frankly, I was depressed.

That evening found me down at the Thames Embankment looking at the moonlit Palace of Westminster and Big Ben across the river. The traffic flowed by on London Bridge as the dark water flowed by me. I was overwhelmed by how ancient and carefully made everything was. Generations of masons had worked on these buildings while living in squalor themselves on streets now burned, bombed and gone. Who did I think I was I wondered in that moment of revelation as I got ready to sling all my paintings into the water.


































Then I heard a quiet 'Ahem' from somewhere close behind me. When I turned to see who was interrupting I saw a tall, long beaked, formally dressed Crow. It seemed he knew me, although I didn't recognize him when he told me we'd met once long ago and he'd been keeping an eye on me ever since. His next words were, 'Well, today was a lot of fun, what do you plan for tomorrow's entertainment?'

I knew then it was time to find a job, maybe take some more drawing classes, make some friends, travel around Europe, see the great public galleries, museums, churches, palaces, castles, parks, seasides.. There was a lot to do and there are advantages to being an outsider. Crow and I have been friends ever since.

:)