A WISE OLD OWL


On grandma's wall, hanging behind the round oak stove, was a poem, under a painted replica of a tiny owl, sitting in a tree.
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Often, as a little boy, I dozed on a couch near the little owl.
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I was drawn to that owl, long before I could read.
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And even as a child, there was something about the outside hooting of a
nearby owl. that moved me to pause, in awe.
.But, finally, as a small child, I was able to read that first poem:
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.A WISE OLD OWL, LIVED IN AN OAK.
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THE MORE HE SAW, THE LESS HE SPOKE.
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THE LESS HE SPOKE, THE MORE HE HEARD.
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THE WISE OLD OWL, IS A WISE OLD BIRD.
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After nearly 65 years, since first learning how to read about the wise
old owl, those four lines now contain words that have meanings very
central to my life.
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A WISE OLD OWL, LIVED IN AN OAK.
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For some of us, including myself, an increase in wisdom does come with
age.
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Much of it through trial and error, with our continually testing the
perimiters of joy and pain.
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This line also suggests to me that the natural thing for me, is that I
live closer to nature, to what is natural.
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Which I now do, by living nine miles from the closest town, and a block
from my nearest neighbor.
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And, there actualy are, TWO big oak trees, near the sunrise side of the
house.
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Over the years, I have heard the voices of several varieties of owls in
those oaks, and other nearby trees.
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And always, no matter which owl is speaking, (and sometimes there is
more than one, giving a hoot to each other), the hootings remind me of
Margaret Craven's novel: I HEARD THE OWL CALL MY NAME, which was also
made into a movie.
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The title came from an Indian belief that you would hear the owl call
your name, before you died.
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So, whenever, late at night, I hear their voices, I put down my book and
listen.
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It seems..... they are speaking to me.
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The awe and mystery I felt as a child, I still feel now.
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And, their voices, are also reminders for me of my own mortality.
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Increasingly, so.
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THE MORE HE SAW, THE LESS HE SPOKE.
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This seeing more is happening to me.
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It is a seeing inside oneself.
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Of.... ACCESSING ONE'S OWN INNER WISDOM, MELTING INTO ONE'S OWN PERFECT
ANSWER, AND BATHING ONESELF IN WHAT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THERE, THE LOVING
PEACE OF GOD.
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With increasing frequency, and ease, I melt into that PEACE.
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Especially when I am so addled with awe, that I am speechless.
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No words exist to express the experience of transcending into THE GREAT
BEAUTY OF THE MOST AWESOME MYSTERY.
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Words can only point a direction for the listeners' intuition,
sensitivity, and imagination.
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Intuition, to find profound meanings behind the words.
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Sensitivity, to feel The Inexplicable, that the words are only symbols
for. .Imagination, to read between the lines, and tearfully grasp, what
can only be hinted at by another.
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THE LESS HE SPOKE, THE MORE HE HEARD.
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One learns more by listening, that by repeating what one one already
knows.
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By listening to other voices.
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All voices.
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.Not just persons.
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But also the many voices of nature.
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By always observing and learning from whomever.
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Whatever.
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And wherever.
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THE LESS HE SPOKE, THE MORE HE HEARD.
.My learning curve takes a sudden dip when I am chattering, about what I
already think I know.
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But it is a high learning curve when I listen to, and observe others,
and the world of nature.
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Nor, can I hear MY OWN INNER GUIDANCE, when I am babbling, thus losing
my own personal access to MY OWN PERFECT ANSWER.
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THE WISE OLD OWL, IS A WISE OLD BIRD.
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With the passing of decades, one eventually learns that there is a
peacefulness in silence.
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And that peacefulness, becomes so important, that one goes to find it
where it is.
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Into the SILENCE OF SELF.
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THE PEACEFULNESS OF QUIET.
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The greatest gift that I can give to another, is MY PEACE.
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Peace, is also....
....the greatest gift I can give....
....to myself.
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(other writings can be found at pathwaysoflight.org under Ministers
Healing Journals)