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Owl Takes Her Home
I was driving to meet up with Robert, a longtime friend, to play some music in the backyard of his home. Something we do every couple of weeks.
Nice breeze, temperature slightly on the warm side, and a breathtaking view of the valley just the other side of the fence. These get togethers along with the music provide a respite from the familiar cacophony of suburban Ashland, Oregon and the list of responsibilities we both have. The combination of being outdoors, playing music, and hanging out with a friend is always good medicine for the soul and relief from any worries of the day.
When I arrived, Robert already had his guitar out, tuned up and ready to go along with sheet music of songs we had been practicing, including Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown, I Only Want to Be with You, and Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door (the Dylan version, not the one by Guns N’ Roses).
I sat down with my guitar in hand, but before we started to play, Robert commented that his wife Jill’s mother had died a few days before. As if on cue, Jill walked into the living room, a space that we could see from the patio where we were stationed.
I expressed my condolences and through her slightly veiled tears and shaky voice, she thanked me and said she was headed to her sister’s. Jill’s father had died about a year before and Jill commented that her mother had missed him terribly and that this had undoubtedly contributed to her demise.
After Jill left, Robert and I talked further about her parents and their passing. Then he shared with me an experience with two owls that happened a few days after her death:
“I was sitting out here in the backyard just after the sun had set — you know, the twilight hour — and caught a flash of something. I looked up and a whitish looking owl passed directly overhead, letting out a screech. Just a few seconds later another similar looking one followed along the same pathway, also letting out a screech.”
He paused, took a breath, and continued.
“When I told a friend about it, he said that one of them was probably Jill’s mother on her way to the afterlife. As you know I tend to be skeptical about things like that, but it was an interesting story.”
It prompted me to recall what an aboriginal friend in Australia told me. He said that when someone spots a wedgetail (eagle) after a beloved relative dies, it’s carrying the deceased loved one’s soul into the afterlife. I had even written a song based on that tale. I told him the story, confirming what his other friend had said. I could tell by the look on his face that he got it.
“Those two owls were carrying Jill’s mother’s soul across the divide,” I stated emphatically. “You can’t prove something like this because it’s the soul’s reality, often touching us through experiences like this. It’s a different kind of truth and I have no doubt this was the case.”
He nodded slowly as if absorbing this tale, perhaps ingesting the essential truth in it.
At that point I spotted a hummingbird sitting on the fence, reminding us to be lighter, to be in stillness for a few moments. I pointed her out and told him the message I got from the Spirit of Hummingbird was to be still. So, we sat in a silent communion together, honoring Owl spirit as the messenger and the courier of Jill’s mother’s soul, and Hummingbird spirit, for reminding us of the value of stillness.
As we did, the trees started gently swaying in the breeze, whispering their sacred song, as if joining us in one of those moments of sweet reverie and appreciation.
Then we prayed.
