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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. . Often, as a little boy, I dozed on a couch near the little owl. . I was drawn to that owl, long before I could read. . 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: . .A WISE OLD OWL, LIVED IN AN OAK. . THE MORE HE SAW, THE LESS HE SPOKE. . THE LESS HE SPOKE, THE MORE HE HEARD. . THE WISE OLD OWL, IS A WISE OLD BIRD. . 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. . . . A WISE OLD OWL, LIVED IN AN OAK. . For some of us, including myself, an increase in wisdom does come with age. . Much of it through trial and error, with our continually testing the perimiters of joy and pain. . This line also suggests to me that the natural thing for me, is that I live closer to nature, to what is natural. . Which I now do, by living nine miles from the closest town, and a block from my nearest neighbor. . And, there actualy are, TWO big oak trees, near the sunrise side of the house. . Over the years, I have heard the voices of several varieties of owls in those oaks, and other nearby trees. . 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. . The title came from an Indian belief that you would hear the owl call your name, before you died. . So, whenever, late at night, I hear their voices, I put down my book and listen. . It seems..... they are speaking to me. . The awe and mystery I felt as a child, I still feel now. . And, their voices, are also reminders for me of my own mortality. . Increasingly, so. . . THE MORE HE SAW, THE LESS HE SPOKE. . This seeing more is happening to me. . It is a seeing inside oneself. . 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. . With increasing frequency, and ease, I melt into that PEACE. . Especially when I am so addled with awe, that I am speechless. . No words exist to express the experience of transcending into THE GREAT BEAUTY OF THE MOST AWESOME MYSTERY. . Words can only point a direction for the listeners' intuition, sensitivity, and imagination. . Intuition, to find profound meanings behind the words. . 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. . . THE LESS HE SPOKE, THE MORE HE HEARD. . One learns more by listening, that by repeating what one one already knows. . By listening to other voices. .. All voices. . . .Not just persons. . But also the many voices of nature. . By always observing and learning from whomever. . Whatever. . And wherever. . . 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. . But it is a high learning curve when I listen to, and observe others, and the world of nature. . Nor, can I hear MY OWN INNER GUIDANCE, when I am babbling, thus losing my own personal access to MY OWN PERFECT ANSWER. . . THE WISE OLD OWL, IS A WISE OLD BIRD. . With the passing of decades, one eventually learns that there is a peacefulness in silence. . And that peacefulness, becomes so important, that one goes to find it where it is. . Into the SILENCE OF SELF. . THE PEACEFULNESS OF QUIET. . The greatest gift that I can give to another, is MY PEACE. . Peace, is also.... ....the greatest gift I can give.... ....to myself. . . (other writings can be found at pathwaysoflight.org under Ministers Healing Journals) |
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