In Which Our Hero Talks About Visions and Owls
Thursday, October 27th, 2005So I’ve been asked to talk at our Samhain service at church this Sunday, along with the other CUUPs board members, on the topic of why I am a pagan. I had a lot of fun writing out this story and now that it’s done, I’d like to share the full length version before I start editing it to fit within the 2-3 minute time slot I’ve been allowed.
It started over a decade ago when I walked away from the LDS church. Hurt and angry, I declared myself to be an atheist or at least agnostic for a time before deciding that I really ought to go church shopping before writing off the big “G” entirely. I looked into various mainstream Christian faiths, explored Buddhism and other Eastern paths, even considered Judaism for a time. None of these felt right. Either I found major points of philosophical disagreement, or I was turned off by the structure and nature of worship, or simply couldn’t relate to the concepts of diety that I had no previous cultural or ancestral relationship with.
Then a good friend of mine introduced me to Wicca. The mythology of God and Goddess who reflect the seasons and the elements appealed to me. The worship was hands-on enough to satisfy my urge to be doing something, yet there was little to no formal structure to pique my rebellious spirit. The basic tenets of the faith such as the Wiccan Rede, reincarnation, responsibility to the land and to others, self-reliance and the ongoing quest for knowledge; these things resonated and spoke to me. So far all these reasons and more, I began studying Wicca in further depth. I even began to tentatively refer to myself as a witch.
Yet, for all that I “liked” the religion, doubts remained. Was I trying to fill an emptiness inside with something false because it looked like it would work? Had I chosen this religion for the wrong reasons? In short, I was going through a lot of motions without a lot of faith–the same situation that had eventually led to my break with the LDS church.
In the summer of 1999, I had the opportunity to spend several months in one of the most beautiful, unspoiled places in North America, the interior of Alaska. I saw wild bald eagles, ancient glaciers, vibrant and colorful vegetation, deep and mysterious fjords, and once–triple bands of rainbows stretched across the bluest sky I’ve ever known. Being surrounded by that much powerful beauty was awe-inspiring in the truest sense of the words. My dictionary defines “awe” as “a feeling of reverential respect mixed with fear or wonder.”
Sometime in mid to late summer, I had a dream. This is what I wrote in my journal: “Strangest dream last night, can’t get it out of my head. Funny thing, though, I can’t remember it. There was a hallway and a bird… that much I remember. Maybe there’s a story in it and my subconscious wants me to figure it out.”
A few days later, I wrote about it again: “Last night was my night off, so instead of spending the day in Fairbanks, I hiked out to that spot I found off the Post Office trail. That dream was still troubling me and I wanted to get out of the resort to think about it some more.
“I know we’re not supposed to wander off in the taiga forest, even this close to the resorts, but I really needed some time alone. It’s starting to get dark around 10:00 now, so it was dusky when I set out. I always feel different as soon as I cross the bridge over the Nenana and get off the Parks Highway. It’s less than 300 yards from the cafeteria, but it’s wilderness and not part of the Resort.
“Anyway, I settled into my little grove in the spruce trees. I tried to sit on the sage grass, but the ground was too cold (maybe this area is permafrost, but I would have thought the elevation too low for that). Instead, I sat on some densely packed ferns which provided some cushion at least. I tried to do lotus position and just meditate which I’ve never been especially good at.
“Anyway, I just sorta sat there and asked in my head, ‘am I on the right path? Is this what I should be doing with my life?’
“I didn’t really expect an answer. I thought I’d just give myself time to make some decisions I’ve been putting off about where to go in October. But as I sat there with my closed, I started remembering more and more of that dream. Maybe I was free associating in my head with the word ‘path’ but I could clearly see the hallway again. I was walking toward a light.
“I almost don’t want to write this down for fear that someday it’ll be used as evidence that I’m crazy, but I don’t want to not write it down and forget about it … I completely reentered that dream. It was a waking vision or whatever. It was better than a dream or a vision because I could smell things and feel the texture of the walls as I walked.
“He was there again, the owl, flying by my side. Why are owls always turning up at important moments in my life? How was there room for him to fly as well?
“We reached the end of the corridor, the light was coming from between these double doors. I pushed it open and there they were. The God was golden and handsome and his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The Goddess was silver and beautiful and her long curly hair bounced up and down when she moved her head.”
At this point I’m going to cut forward through several pages of details which are still private and personal, and come to the end. Suffice it to say that I was given the clearest answer I could have asked for about whether or not I was on the right path.
“I didn’t realize how dark it had gotten while I sat in the grove. I opened my eyes and almost panicked. It’s one thing to wander off during the long process of sunset, but to be out after full dark was like looking for trouble with the wild animals. I remembered that bumbly little wolverine Alicia and I saw two weeks ago.
“But I had my flashlight with me and I was still too amped up from the vision to get too worried. Better safe than sorry, though, so I sent out a wordless ‘thank you’ and turned to leave. There, on the branch closest to the spot by which I enter and exit the grove, were two small owls.
“Well, owlets, really. As I saw them, the one on the left (‘boy,’ my mind said, ‘with his sister’) hooted at me as if to say, ‘Oh, hello. That’s right, it was all real.’”
For the rest of the summer, the owlets never did fly too far off. I’d see them hanging out near the building where I worked, or at the far end of the guest lodgings. One couple even complained to the management about “those annoying birds” who kept them up all night and wanted to know if we could put the wild animals away after 9 p.m.
Word eventually reached me from an employee of the neighboring resort that the night before I’d been out on my own, a semi-truck coming down the Parks road had hit and killed a mother owl who had been traveling through the area with her two owlets. The park rangers hadn’t been too concerned about the babies. If they were born in spring, they were probably overdue to be out on their own.
The last time I saw them was the night before we left the park. I thought by them long gone, but while I was packing the last of my clothes into the travel bag for the drive home, I heard them hooting outside the window. I barely caught sight of them through the snow as they flew away.
In the years that have passed, I’ve looked back on that experience and tried to rationalize it away, to forget it, to claim it was an overactive imagination–but the written and emotional evidence is enough to convince me. For the skeptics and the doubters out there, I’m not sharing this story to convince you that it’s true. I’m sharing it to tell you why I believe it is. And this profound mystical experience is why I feel called to be a witch. Really, what else could I be?
I have to fit all that into just a few minutes, so feedback and suggestions for trimming would be welcome.
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