The Crow Manifesto

We're all backward. Our machines are all modern and shit - but our minds - our minds are primitive.

James Mangold, Cop Land

'Primitive peoples are polyglots, poets, songsters and taxonomists', writes Allan Cameron in his book In Praise of the Garrulous. The primitive, as its etymology suggests, marks the first, the prime, and the original. Indeed, one only need look casually at the synonyms for 'prime' (main, chief, key, central, foremost, of the highest quality) to see that maybe we have been duped into believing the primitive somehow inferior to the modern. 

Crows are primitive. Man is not. And yet crows can fly. Man cannot.

In what way then is a crow (or any bird or insect for that matter) inferior to man? In that it chooses not to destroy and pollute the land that feeds and shelters it?

When man taps into the primitive once more, he will slowly regain the power of flight, as he will his intimate relationship to the Earth, its plants and its animals. But to do so requires a thorough re-appraisal of what modernity is doing to him, and has already done to him. This re-appraisal is at the root of these existential memos. 

In particular, man needs to reasses 4 things: Balance, Movement, Growth, and Space. And reassess them carefully, within the greater paradigm of the Earth and not just within the broken economic system of the West.

As Bruce Chatwin implies in Songlines, his study of the Aborigines of Australia, the difference between modern man and primitive man is one of outlook. Modern man is forever changing the world to suit his dubious vision of the future, whereas primitive man puts all his mental energies into keeping it the same. 

The word 'same' is key here as it has intonations of 'togetherness' (from the Proto-Indo-European root sem- 'one', also 'as one', also related to Sanskrit samah, 'even, level, similar, identical'. In other words, where primitive peoples recognize their insinuation within the very integument of the Earth 'as one', modern man does not. 

The issue at hand (or even, at foot) is one of roots.




And to me, the men in Mexico are like trees, forests that the white men felled in their coming. But the roots of the trees are deep and alive and forever sending up new shoots.

D.H. Lawrence, The Plumed Serpent


 

Sacred Plant Medicine & The Destroying Angel

Only to him who stands where the barley stands and listens well, will it speak and tell, for his sake what man is.

Masanobu Fukuoka, The One Straw Revolution

The other day whilst cycling back over the river home, I passed, as usual, the Science Centre and saw several large phallic-shaped white mushrooms in the little grass lawn to the centre's north. It was only later upon identifying them in my little field guide that I realized their significance: they were 'destroying angels' (Amanita virosa), the deadliest mushrooms on the planet. How appropriate I thought that they should be growing here, right in front of the Science Centre. 

As Stephen Buhner writes in the preface to his wonderful book Sacred Plant Medicine: Explorations in the Practice of Indigenous Herbalism:

You will undoubtedly note I take strong exception with the way scientific opinion is now commonly accepted in the world. This has caused me to question many of its uses, and this perspective comes through in some of my writing. With medical science especially I take exception. The presentation by conventional medical science that herbs are unscientific and a remnant of an earlier more superstitious age is a grave misuse of science when so much data, much of it gathered in other countries, conflicts with this view. In their search for knowledge there is an attitude of superiority that many scientists possess, which, if allowed to be expressed without proper controls, can be dangerous. Further, our culture has come to rely overmuch on scientific experts. Many people no longer reason for themselves when faced with opinions from scientific experts, and it is questionable whether such experts really understand the workings of nature any more than anyone else. The misapplication of technology, based upon the expert opinions of the scientific community, without regard for environmental consequences, has caused a great deal of damage to the Earth. I, and many others, are beginning to question whether or not science can or should play as large a role in determining the safe application of technology... But a more pervasive problem exists in the unquestioned embracing of the scientific model. Though very useful, most scientists feel that methods of information gathering other than the scientific are not valid. Adherents of other forms of learning are generally castigated by the world scientific community. This trend has caused the abandonment of many approaches to understanding the world that, I believe, we as a species need in order to successfully inhabit the Earth.

I speak as a human being who travels in sacred territory, one who travels the Earth-centred path. I speak of the territory I have found, the Earth-centred devotions that have called me, and of the sacred plant relations. It is your birthright as well to enter this sacred territory. I invite youn to hear what I share here, to go beyond the words, and feel the touch of the sacred territory that lies beyond.

Paul Feyerabend in Against Method makes similar claims. Look no further than its final chapter to see what science has really done for us.

Rupert Sheldrake, in his equally enlightening book The Science Delusion, states unequivocally and quite rightly that most scientists are at the beck and call of commercial and military interests.

Be warned, Science is not what it appears to be. It is a destroyer of the human and of the humus. And of con-science.

Hence, the Destroying Angel.... the Earth's voice expressing itself. Fighting back. The planet is a lot more mysterious than science would have it. The emergence of these fruiting bodies is no coincidence, but it takes a keen eye, and an even keener mind, to see it...

'Hmmmph!'   The Earth destroying Science with a single fruiting body. Now that's what I call power.

Trip Report

There are no conditions to fulfill. There is nothing to be done, nothing to be given up. Just look and remember, whatever you perceive is not you, nor yours. It is there in the field of consciousness, but you are not the field and its contents, nor even the knower of the field. It is your idea that you have to do things that entangles you in the results of your efforts - the motive, the desire, the failure to achieve, the sense of frustration - all this holds you back. Simply look at whatever happens and know that you are beyond it.

Nisargadatta Maharaj

The universe is not something out there... the universe is here!

You kinda understand this when you dabble in extra-curricular chemicals like magic mushrooms, that all this hankering after the outside is a form of pathology, of wrong living (or perverted living, living that has been pushed through the grinder of science and separation)... That these 'scientists' wasting huge amounts of money and energy on space exploration realize nothing of the universe that irradiates from within... from here. 

Chasing after stars only reveals the extent to which you have been separated from your own inner star, your own supernova. 

Indeed, the supernova might well be the realization...

After this, there is no uni-verse.... but a con-verse.

 

One of the great ravens of Boglairoch. When I was up at the Slacks trig point I got chatting to a fellow traveller and was telling him of the family of ravens that lives up here. At that moment he pointed out one of them in the distance. And then, something magical happened. It flew over to us, as if to say hello, and hovered right above us, the closest I have ever been to a raven. It is true that in my trips up here this year alone, as often as 3-4 times a week, I have communicated with the ravens not just vocally (I studied 'Crow-talk' for 3 years in Warsaw, the corvid crossroads of Europe, and consider myself pretty fluent!) but also bodily, with the head, the eyes, the arms. Corvids in general have a special aptitude for remembering faces, and I am pretty sure (all ego aside) that these guys recognize me, as I recognize them. It is a subtle form of communication to be sure, more often than not, but once in a while, they will come so close as to render the subtle asunder, and put a smile on your face that is difficult to wipe off.

It is then I realize that man has abandoned his power of flight in favour of being carried, and at the incredible loss that he has sustained as a result. The loss of conscience (reduced to science), the loss of contact (reduced to tact), and the loss of the contours (reduced to tours) that lead us around and up into our higher contemplative Self. The end result being the loss of 'withness', and togetherness; the loss of the ability to receive the communications of crows, the loss of correspondance in general. 

It is interesting to note that the word 'loss' comes from the Proto-Indo-European root leus-, an extended form of the root leu- "to loosen, divide, cut apart, untie, separate", which of course is the very premise of modern science. It follows then, within a world outlook based upon the modern scientific method, that loss is the inevitable consequence. And there is no greater loss than the loss of knowing who (and where) you are.

As if to highlight that point, as I made my way down the Greenside path and onto its little bypass, I spooked a couple of kestrels getting it on in the underbrush. What a flutter that was! I'm sure there's a metaphor, an auspice and an omen, in their somewhere.

Ships Passing

Just the other day whilst sitting at Clydebank reading, this enormous frigate passed me almost without my seeing it. The stealth of these big beasts is remarkable considering their size. It kind of lets you know that it is possible to be big and quiet at the same time... Try telling that to your neighbours!

Just on the right of the picture, you can see the Loch Humphrey path working its way up over the shoulder of the Kilpatrick Braes. That steep bit nearing the top is affectionately known by all those who have walked it (or tried to cycle it!) as The Bastard.

This blue beauty again passed me while I was blabbing away to another cyclist waiting for the ferry. Complete inattentional blindness on my part. It actually passed me completely before I caught it in the corner of my eye, and I was miffed, because I had just missed out on a great photo. This one doesn't do it justice.

This the Freeway / Causeway dredger in June plying the Clyde for the duration of the month. This is from Braehead with the Harbour Head crane in the background.

The dredger turning around at Greenock and heading back up the Clyde towards Glasgow.