The Owl (Cailleach-Odiche)

The Owl (Cailleach-Odiche) by Bill Worthington

Late at night, strange cries break through the vale,
And in that echo, the soft beat of wings;
A messenger from far beyond the pale,
His lesson in the warning that he brings.
With glowing eyes he peers through our shadows,
And unaffected, seeks our inner guise,
which finding, he gives keys to doors once closed,
where wisdom waits that we must recognize.
The night that shimmers secretly, his range,
and there in esoteric mists we find
that much of what we seek is not so strange,
but blurs our sense of past and future time.
A mystery to those who fear the night,
The owl patrols the edges of the light.

REVERSED:

Alone in darkness there in the cypress,
a shadow ‘gainst the moon, he travels light;
his wariness a shield against loneliness,
he withdraws from the day and seeks the night.
The lesson that he brings is to reach out,
be less discerning, holding self apart;
a cool detachment watching from without
is oft defense protecting tender heart.
There is no need for secrecy, he cries,
that we begin again is nature’s fact;
and each initiation, as we die,
brings life anew to those who take its path.
Exposing our shy hearts to loss and risk,
the owl bids us to return from the mists.

From my 2001 project to describe each of the totem animals identified in the Druid Animal Oracle, written by Philip and Stephanie Carr-Gomm and illustrated by Bill Worthington, based on its Celtic/Druidic symbolism using the English sonnet form.

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Natural Blues: a blues sonnet

Every fire begins with just a spark.
Yes, every fire it starts with just a spark;
comes out of nothing, somewhere in the dark.

Every morning starts before the dawn.
Each morning has its start long before dawn;
it stops its sleeping, has to ramble on.

Everybody’s got their cross to bear.
It’s true, each one has got their cross to bear;
no use in crying out, “It just ain’t fair.”

Every flood starts with just one drop of rain.
Every flood starts with just one drop of rain;
wets the rich and poor man just the same.

Every storm begins from a small cloud;
Tornados sure must make their mamas proud.

17 NOV 2010

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High School Reunion Musical

Someone told me once we never grow
beyond the point we turn the age eighteen:
what insecurities we carried then
still manifest themselves throughout our lives.

That makes those speeches every June
(you know the ones that say life’s just begun)
much more than naive lies, and still the truth:
depends on just how much you would believe.

I wonder if it’s like the weakling boy
who overcomes his limited physique
by spending endless hours in the gym
to change the image in the mirror,
but never runs quite fast enough to flee
the sickly shadow he would leave behind.

Could be the “eighteen” theory’s full of shit;
What would the world be if we never grew
beyond the high school notions that we held
to be so absolute and crystal clear?

A playground laid out on a global scale,
with territories marked in black and white,
a constant “them” and “us” dividing up
the haves from the have-nots, and so forth.

We must evolve.  I’d like to think we do,
although it often takes ten years or more
to come to terms with who we thought we were
(in contrast with what we had yet to prove).

How many of us reach the other side
with anything but memories left alive?

14 SEP 2009

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LJ Interests Meme Results

Borrowed from Ed Book. After reading his results, I was intringued, but did not imagine that my own results would prove equally as insightful. I’m really quite surprised at how closely this set of ten selected interests REALLY sums up a good part of who I am.

  1. bukowski:
    Poetry, in a world that discounts art, that praises mediocrity, that devalues beauty by worshipping youth, is not pretty. That to me is the lesson of Bukowski. Combine that with his general philosophy that great writers are born, not made, and I’m hooked.
  2. dictionaries:
    Words, words and more words. For a time, I used to read the dictionary for relaxation. Words have power; to know the name of a thing is to control it. Likewise, to know the origin of a word is to understand your own history. I’ve always been fascinated with learning new words, new ideas, new facts.
  3. gil scott-heron:
    The power of the word to fuel a revolution. The tangible strength of the spoken voice to connect the earth to the sky and rumble the foundations of power. I remember the first time I listened to “Small Talk at 125th and Lenox” all the way through; it was not just the stuff of revolution, it was revelation. This was what poetry, when harnessed to will and a microphone, was capable of doing. This was slam without competition; this was performance.
  4. india:
    Apparently, my first word was “elephant”. I have always been drawn to India: her people, her languages, her diversity, her religions, her extremes, her history.

    Om namah shivaya

  5. lefty frizzell:
    Wow. So far, this interests grabber is right on the money. Lefty Frizzell represents the clarity, phrasing, intelligence, humor and lyricism of traditional country. He is one of my all-time country music idols, and paved the way for many others – Willie, Merle, George Jones, Roger Miller, and me.
  6. perennial philosophy:
    This phrase, used but probably not first coined by Aldous Huxley in his book, sums up my life’s spiritual quest: to find the common threads that run through all religious traditions; to seek the truth that does not fade although its names change from generation to generation; to learn to appreciate the journey spent along the shore communing with the ocean, rather than grasping for a single grain of sand to call the answer.
  7. revolution:
    To change the world by changing oneself; to call for a reinforcement of evolution; to participate in the world at the speed of now, moving with the spheres as they revolve. To constantly challenge the status quo; to resist the urge to stay self-satisfied; to never be satisfied with “because it’s always been that way” or “you can’t fight City Hall” or “no fish ever got caught, ‘cept it opened its mouth”.
  8. sonnets:
    So short, so simple, so compact, those fourteen little lines. Ah, you can take your Milton, Steven Vincent Benet, Longfellow, Poe, Pope and other such longwinded fellows; and give it to me sweet and intricate. To master the sonnet is to understand what it means to call poetry an art form. It is to appreciate the limitations of language, and at the same time, comprehend its infinity. That’s not an easy lesson to learn, absorb or accept.
  9. vedanta:
    Two of the most influential books in my life have been “The Gospel According to Sri Ramakrishna” and “The Complete Writings of Vivekananda”. It’s my understanding that these two sources form the basis for much of what is called “modern” Hinduism. Certainly, this was the form that reached the West, and has influenced so many of the writers and thinkers that I love and respect.
  10. zen:
    The first Eastern religion that I attempted to practice was Zen Buddhism. It represents, to me, cutting through illusion and simply living in each moment; applying the principle of Occam’s Razor to each and every act, each breath, each word.

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A Moment for Peace

I’d find some peace if I just had more time;
quite often now, this notion comes to me.
Not as a nagging fault, but more sublime,
suggesting an impossibility.

But peace is built on just a second’s span
and in that tiny jot of life finds form,
requiring no deliberative plan
except to seek some shelter from the storm.

We think it so elusive that we chase
its shadows, stirring endless clouds of dust,
perpetuating our madness and stress,

instead of calmly waiting in one place,
not worried that our steeled resolve will rust,
or that we’ll give our lives a moment less.

And those great projects we cannot delay,
that we, in endless barter, trade and sell:
these too must pause; their bluster must give way
to quiet lulls and contemplative spells.

For peace cannot be found until the soul
finds in the chaos a low quiet song,
the words of which may seem mundane and droll
to those still lost in the wild, howling throng,

who judge those not in motion as great fools.
With progress, they would manufacture peace
and for a profit, offer it for sale.

But nothing will become of those whose schools
instruct in only war. Until they cease
to use the name of progress, they will fail.

16 FEB 2005

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Hearsay

If they should tell you all the world is full
of evil, and there’s nothing without sin,
that life’s bitter extent is but a test
to grind away transgression from the heart,

the better to prepare your way elsewhere,
or that salvation is beyond our grasp,
enmeshed in esoteric rites and laws
requiring a third party to reveal,

know this: they haven’t listened to the word
that fills the universe with life and breath,
but learned about the sacred second-hand.
And should they tell you that they speak to “God”,

or know “His” plan for you, just smile and nod,
and seek the source if you would know the truth.

13 MAR 2004

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Of Human Bondage

Sometimes, the human race acts so advanced,
its possibilities seem without end;
and almost every minute, some new thing
is brought into the world by our mere thought.

And yet, our evolution is not done
(it cannot be, or else that theory’s false);
with each step forward, shadows linger on,
and with their darkness comfort the confused.

The world is how it should be, they proclaim,
and man is the penultimate design;
there is no point in searching out beyond
the shallow pool of knowledge where we wade.

Ah, to be so sure the die is cast;
if only I could be convinced of that.

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