Thursday, October 20, 2011

October 20, 2011

Lechuzas… the owl—lord of the night.

Owls fascinate me. Have I already told that? And have I told you how I often dream of seeing one up close in real life some day? Yeah—“in real life”, because in dreams I see them all the time… And every day and every night I would close my eyes and make a wish upon a dream—that there’ll be an owl waiting for me out there; in the garden.

Of course, it would have to be in my garden for the magic to transpire. Any other place would lessen enchantment. It would not be the same. So I go out to the garden every day at dusk and hope and wait for “La Lechuza” to make presence…

As the wind come rustling through the lasts of russet leaves I listen to the tree’s songs; and listen to what amber leaves sweeping down from trees bring and to that what they have to tell me. And thus, slowly, magic unfolds… I am sure I can hear the mystical hoo-hooing of the owl being carried out by evening breezes. And there… over there, I can even detect a shape flap onto a branch in the nearly dark at the end of the garden. A bird with human-like, forward facing eyes and presence so fascinating I’m almost drawn to my knees.

I often wonder where these feelings arise from being that the owl was the anathema of my childhood—the phantom that marred the peace of my nights.

Folks in our little pueblo believed the owl was an ill-omened bird; they were not really owls, but some evil spirits contained in the form of an owl. Owls were the souls of the dead crossing the night sky; witches prowling the night carrying children off.

How strange the way fear is conquered as we grow in soul and years. And how the owl now invites me to peer into the dark as they can and they give me courage to accept and come to love all that I find there...

I can’t really tell what it exactly is—awe, amazement, pure enchantment perhaps?… whatever it is, the owl represent so much… their peaceful energy, the mystery they posses; posing as quiet mediators between the material and spiritual worlds; hiding some inexplicable message known only to themselves and perhaps to the shadows that nurture them.

To be truthful, I believe my admiration towards these birds cometh from fear more than anything. Fear attracts; it pulls you to face it; to conquer it whilst waiting and hoping. And maybe that’s what it all is? Even so, I’m still waiting and dreaming of the day I’d see this magnificent bird sweeping off the floors of the garden in a mythical and mysterious swooping of wigs.

I cannot think of anything more special or magical.

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