Scærubus

by David John Drew

For reasons beyond the mysteries of existence I had been experiencing vivid dreams of a cockroach scuttling through my mind at night. That 300 million year old pest that harbored itself deep within the crevices of human civilization, and nourished itself on our waste. My skin itched even at the thought of this monstrous vermin invading the otherwise pleasant vales of my sleep, and I experienced the same twitching shock that ran through Gregor Samsa in the ‘Metamorphosis’ by Franz Kafka, when he found himself transformed into a gigantic beetle.

However, when I began to describe the aforementioned creature to my wife she said that the small iridescent bug was in fact a scarab (or ‘dung’) beetle, and that it signaled some sort of good fortune. The opinion of an objective observer can shed a greater light on a seemingly immense problem and convert it into positive power. The shimmering, bejewelled scarab piqued my interest and provoked me to search, to learn the whole undiluted tale of this mystical and mythical bug.

Paleolithic ornaments from 10-20,000 years ago indicate that primitive, shamanistic societies attributed flying beetles such as the scarab with powerful properties. In addition to being a source of food and nutrition they were worn as ornamental symbols of celestial magic. The Scarab beetle in particular was viewed as a creator of the world and humanity because of its capacity to form perfectly round balls of earth; the South-American Chaco tribe worshipped a giant scarab called Aksak who was credited with modeling the first man and woman from clay.

The ancient Egyptians revered the scarab as an embodiment of the God Khepri (God of the Sun) and the processes of birth, life, death and renewal. The Semitic and hieroglyphic connotations of the scarab in Egyptian language connect it with transformation and active creation. Carved representations of it can be seen throughout ancient Egyptian culture; worn as adornments, amulets, and jewellery. Later these precious ornaments were placed over the heart of the mummified deceased to be used on the ‘Day of Judgment’ as the final weight of justice against the feather of truth. It seems unbelievable that a small and insignificant insect with the bad habit of burrowing in cow dung and making round balls made it as the earthly incarnation of ‘Ra’ the God of light, and had a bit of leverage for the sinner before the heavenly judge. But legends grow of seeing beyond the apparent surface and appearance of a thing, toward understanding its core spiritual and symbolic essence.

Little wonder then that the scarab beetle was discretely incorporated into the common traditions of Christian believers; in the collection of Celtic folklore, the Carmina Gadelica he is dubbed ‘cearr-dubhan’ or sacred beetle and is placed as a witness to the life and death of Christ, his role preserved within the notion of resurrection. All of this mythical and legendary substance of the scarab was carried forward into the twentieth century with beautiful glass evocations created by the designers such as Tiffany of the art nouveau movement creating sublime jewellery pieces; tiny and delicately colored beetles adorning the necks of society ladies; each worn with the hope of a sparkling life filled with good luck.

One of my favorite stories regarding this creature, and particularly relevant to this tale regards the psychologist Carl Jung. One of his patients was busy describing to him a dream involving a scarab beetle, and was kept being distracted by a small knocking at the window. Entirely frustrated he jumped up to see what the bother was and discovered that a species of scarabæidæ was the one who was asking to be allowed into his consultation room. From this event he developed his notion of ‘synchronicity’; that the occurrence of two events that are not linked causally, nor linked teleologically, yet are meaningfully related. Anyway, my thoughts, reflections and research evolved into a small poem into which I incorporated some relevant themes. The rhyme echoes the Pantoum style; the constant repetition of verses, like a dream…

Scærubus

Bound on earth, enclosing warmth,
Thunder, clouds gaze into my mind,
An azure beetle, engraving round
Midnight wings, tempering my soul.
Thunder cracks, glazing my mind,
Drilling this skull, scuttling the tomb,
Midnight songs, tempting the soul,
Melody of truth, blanket of lies.
Drumming this skin, spinning a womb,
Two-faced child, weighing the law,
Monotony of truth, the burden of eyes,
Riding the sky on Crow’s black wings.
Blue-laced shield, creaking claw,
Reading the sky on Crow’s navigating,
Azazel beetle, encircling ground
Blended worth, enveloping hearth.

David John Drew