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Owl

October 3, 2016

 

The world is changing, awakening. It is a spiritual tidal shift that’s bringing with it both destruction and new life, as birth always does. Among the new spiritual beings are newly awakened humans who become understandably attached to the bliss of realization, of becoming, of truly Seeing for the first time. Many seem content to stay in this blissful state of light. This essay is no judgement against these. I don’t know their journey, how many lifetimes it took to break free of certain bonds. It may be that they need the rest, or to explore the bright and light for their days here. But I have to admit they can be a little much sometimes, to me. I am simply not wired that way. Not this time around, anyway. This essay was written during one of those times when I was a little overwhelmed by the “Love and Lighters”. Even so, may they continue to chant and dance and laugh in the sun, and may Creator continue to bless and bliss them for as long as is good for their progression. And may I be willing, from time to time, to bathe in their light.

 

But sometimes I still feel like saying the words written below.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

“You want “love and light?”

 

Look elsewhere, for I carry owl medicine.

 

I look towards the light rising in the east from the darkest part of the night and hoot calls for mercy from there. The starlight is as much as I need. The sun is too much. It burns my eyes and skin. Loneliness feeds me. Darkness holds me. I see beyond reason and reasons, and I can see for centuries. I live in caves, searching for lost parts of myself and others. I know the creatures there. I am unafraid of them. I live with spiders, stones, feathers and bones. They teach me the languages of the earth with symbols I can understand. I have no need for pixies and fairies. Joy is an unnecessary component of my life. I welcome it, but most often find it in mud and dirt and tears. For me, it is found in the work of the night; in finding the soul that is being dragged away into recesses no human can venture and live. I want to find these captives, to grab their frantic, clutching hands making claw marks in the damp soil and bargain with their demon jail-keeper to release them. I want to guide them toward their healing and help them see their salvation, and ultimately my own. For no one ventures into the cave to rescue me except myself, and no one is there, except I.    

 

Is this your work, too? Can you meet me there? If you have to ask, “Why would I want to?”, then you can’t and you shouldn’t. This is no place for those not naturally drawn to it.

Now leave me alone. Go away. I have work to do."

 

And the man in tattered clothes turns and, with back straight and head held high, stalks back towards the entrance of the great cave, bleeding. He has a leather bandolier slung across his back with various tools, pouches and weapons attached to it. In one hand he holds a rough, sacred, glowing stone.

 

It is a star from a distant galaxy.      

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