Owls unraveling our maps
needing a new cartography for a shifting world
dear sojourners,
to be roused in sleep by an Great Horned Owl’s call is to shed skin and fly into the night. to desire a new Moon and eyes seeing all without Sun’s dominating presence. the Great Horned Owl’s “hoo hoohoo HOO hoo” tendriling from hidden roosts invites a dreamer to go wild. to reconfigure landscaped spaces. fenced yards. mowed lawns. even designated habitats for wildlife into unfettered meadows, harvest-free forests, culvert-less streams. a gridless map. to be a creature at home aloft or treed. waiting for time to unravel.
i crack my bedroom window open. nature and city hums and moans creating the nightscape for sleeping. dream fodder. leaves rustle in the wind. trains rumble along a track making a plaintive call to no one in particular. my new nest no longer abutting a parking lot, but park. Oaks, Apples, Pears dot the Hillside crowned with Firs and Maples. before the golden hour chorus of Sparrows, Crows, Dark-Eyed Juncos, Chick-a-dees, a Great Horned Owl calls, stirring a memory of pre-dawn walks before my move. pandemic walks where Owls shared the late night wrap-up in the shadows beyond my sight. i would stop and listen. their soft calls, while not for me, still felt like message. “pay attention.”
Owl. i am (re)paying attention. what might Owl want me to know? the literal bird being Owl. the metaphorical Owl. totem Owl. powerful spiritual Owl. i forgot that Owl asked me to pay attention as this year dawned, despite having representations at various focus points and altars in my home. despite my focus poem of the year is William Stafford’s “Be A Person Here” with the opening lines including Owls:
“Be a person here. Stand by the river, invoke
the owls. Invoke winter, then spring.”
and having started reading but sidelined the book “What An Owl Knows, The New Science of the World’s Most Enigmatic Birds,” by Jennifer Ackerman, because other books from my TBR keep nosing their way in (bad books!)
still, Owl has their way of reminding. last tuesday evening as i walked with my Mazamas Street Rambles, we ambled along a stony path though a canyon in our city’s Forest Park sharing stories and companionship. it was a hot evening and we appreciated the cool air nestled in the trees. though a few days past Solstice, sunset was still 90+ minutes away. one of our keen-eyed walkers spotted a Barred Owl perched on a fallen log, maybe 100 yards away? we stopped, gawked and ooooed and took poor quality photos on our phones as Owl seemed to wait for us and then, with a few flaps of their massive wings, left for a nearby Doug Fir. had we not watched, we wouldn’t have noticed Owl, for once ensconced against the side of the Fir, feathers and bark were perfectly blended. it was truly a “wonder and awe” moment.
still buzzing from the gift of this sighting, minutes later up the path our leader spotted two fledgling Barred Owls testing their wings. gripping limbs with strengthening talons, wings would stretch and flap, stretch and flap until one lifted off, almost bouncing, almost graceful, to the next limb. i imagined it was mama we had just seen down the path, her needing to stay away to let her fledglings lean into their growing bodies. mama, out of sight, but not too far, part of her parenting her babes. it was a double wonder and awe evening!
a tap-on-the-shoulder evening. Owl giving me that wide-eyes look: “what invitations had been extended this year?” i had forgotten. so i’m going back, forward, gazing upward, sitting still, checking in.
what is the invitation of Owl in all those forms i listed above? Owl’s ability to see and be in the world that is foreign to my own. a wildness. to be in the dark. Owl is one of my teachers (i keep coming back to that, don’t i?) a guide to help me weave together some of what i’ve been listening to and reading. the synchronicity of what at first seems random. here is a sample:
a favorite podcast, 99% Invisible is doing a year long series on the book The Power Broker (one episode a month.) i stumbled into the middle (#6) but was so fascinated, have gone back through to catch up. basically how one man, Robert Moses, shaped New York City from 1920’s-forward. it has me thinking how much i don’t consider how our cities and landscapes are shaped and determined by “rules” and “regulations” and workings from times past that are close to being set in stone based in 18th and 19th century beliefs. my brain is still pondering. and there are six more episodes left until the end of the year!
then i read an article in Orion Magazine, Reaching the Light of Day, about Ghost Rivers. Rivers, Streams, and other beings of Water that have been sent underground because they were “inconvenient” when building cities. and yes, Robert Moses’s name was mentioned about one in New York City! i had no idea. human hubris around Water, which i believe is a living being, has led to real 21st century concerns around flooding and droughts. “Daylighting” waterways is not uncontroversial or inexpensive. reminded me of the ongoing conversations about dam removal projects. again, just taking in this information.
oh, and an article in the New York Times, The Mysterious, Deep-Dwelling Microbes That Sculpt Our Planet about “how the Earth’s crust teems with subterranean life that we are only now beginning to understand.” yup the Earth is really an actual living Being. not just a crust that we all live upon. microbes miles below the surface growing, changing. it is a long article but i found it a worthwhile read. here is the closing paragraph:
“For more than two centuries, Western science has regarded the origin of life as something that happened on or in Earth, as if the planet were simply the setting for a singular phenomenon, the manger that housed a miracle. But the two cannot be separated in this way. Life does not merely reside on the planet; it is an extension of the planet. Life emerged from, is made of and returns to Earth. Earth is not simply a terrestrial planet with a bit of life on its surface; it’s a planet that came to life. Earth is a rock that broiled, gushed and bloomed: the flowering callus of a half-sealed Vesuvius suspended in a bubble of breath. Earth is a stone that eats starlight and radiates song, whirling through the inscrutable emptiness of space — pulsing, breathing, evolving — and just as vulnerable to death as we are.”
the memoir i’m reading, The Eight Moon, A Member of Belonging and Rebellion by Jennifer Kabat. her personal story weaving in the anti-rent rebellions in the 1800’s in the NE US as she begins rooting herself to her new home. and wait, what? i don’t remember learning about tenat rebellions in my history classes. tenant farmers rebelled due to not being able to pay rent to their wealthy landlords. New York City is woven into this story too, as well as the financial crisis of 2008. the election of Donald Trump in 2016. i’m waiting for Robert Moses to pop up! i am not quite halfway and it is soooo well written. recommend.
it has me pondering how we live in the 21st century under 18th and 19th (even older) paradigms. how is it we still have landLORDS in america? i owned a home (along with the bank) for almost three decades. but did i really? i have mixed feeling about our western relationship with property “ownership” (my opening dream about being Owl.) how we have come to negotiate being sheltered and caring for each other in community is fraught with division. and i admit, i like my rented condo. “my” space.
i wonder how do we create new cartographies? what am i willing to give up?
so much whirling around in my inner brain/body/heart cartography. i was just going to write a little post about hearing the Owls on tuesday, because, feeling stuck. i said to a writer friend the other night “i can’t finish a thought” and she wrote me a “no pressure” permission slip. “it’s summer” she said, adding “my writing always slows down in the summer.” ah, permission. then i sat down and this all tumbled out. is it tightly woven together? nope. but my thoughts aren’t either. i’ve got a gauzy summer brain. thoughts wafting about on the breeze.
what thoughts are wafting about for you? i’d love to hear if there is an animal or other being that you’ve been listening to. what wisdom are you gleaning? if you are entering into Winter in the southern exposures, first, i’m jealous, and second how is the season of Winter settling into your body? for us Summer folks, how is the season settling (or unsettling) your body?
i’m slow reading nina maclaughlin’s “summer solstice, an essay.” her care for words shows in how each is placed in a sentence, as if she were planting an english garden. an example:
“In summer we tend skyward. It invites us out and up. We no longer hunch against the cold. We can stand outside when it’s dark and lift our faces to the sky and get spun back to childhood or swung into the swishing infinity above.”
there’s a lot going on in human spaces around the world. i feel it in my body (empath here.) can you feel it too? wherever you are, please take extra tender care of your heart.
in gratitude
anne
Love this post, especially.
Reading your thoughts and what you’re doing is really a gift to me that other humans are all around me with beautiful thoughts, and concerns,and age and opinions, etc. etc. etc.
I’ve owned many homes around the country and here in Pennsylvania.
I rent now as I like you realize owning may not be a fit for me anymore. We get psyched up to believe that owning a home is so important.
I’m also in that place of age which being wondrous, is also a time to look at how I invest my dollars. The gift of having my place, my home is a gift in itself.
I always loved camping, and any space that I could create and make it a home.
Much love to you!
What do i hear? Before school ended, and the light emerged earlier and earlier, so, too, did birdsong. A cacophony of "song" but likely a need announced: ma, I'm hungry! Where are you going?! When are you returning? Do you have breakfast? The persistent and attention seeking whistles could interrupt my slumber, but at some point, I realized the alaram bell was finite. Perhaps mama returned to break feast with her babies. Perhaps Sun rose a bit higher and her light no longer spotlighted the babes. I appreciated the rhythm, the window open to take in the cool morning air as well as the birdsong. Thank you, anne.