I am not religious, but I am superstitious. I guess I’m not sure what the difference is. I think I assume that religious people truly believe the teachings of their faith, though I cannot pretend to speak for them or understand. I feel no certainty of knowing what’s true or real, but I suppose I believe there’s a grain of truth in most traditions that endure, and mostly no harm done in observing them just in case.
I once received a jar of water saturated with moonlight. It joined me in the bath.
As my feet pressed against the worn ceramic, an owl revealed itself in the face plate, wings spread as my toes reflected in the grey water. I rearranged my feet and flipped the drain switch, willing her away, but she remained. I was afraid, and dried myself in a hurry.
I once lived in a very small house along a creek. I slept in a bedroom where a kind, bright light of a woman I knew once slept. When she passed away, neighbors told me, the owls that haunted the creek descended nearly to her bedside.
These neighbors were wise and sharp matriarchs, not given to frivolous notions. I believed them.
When my stepson left us too soon, an owl flew past my mother and she felt him with her. My mother is one of the smartest, most skeptical people I have ever known. I believed her too.
In the depths of winter, I rushed to ready the house for company. I finished just as my father and de facto mother-in-law arrived, and we made our way through snow drifts down to the river to visit the eagles.
Our dear old Mamadog, lame of leg and pure of heart, had gone for a wander. We weren’t much concerned, as she hated the water and always came back. But Snoop, usually by her side, was waiting for us on the bank.
As we approached, my mother-in-law cried out.
Snoopy had led us to Mamadog, who had fallen through a gap in the ice. I had seen this in a dream weeks before, and the lingering dread of seemingly irrational worry collapsed into the adrenaline of panic.
I slid through the dirt and snow and brush, hauled her soaking body from the river and wrapped her in my coat against the biting wind. My father followed and felt a pulse, so we rushed her up the bank and across what felt like miles to the house, where we covered her in blankets by the fire while Jon ran a bath. Not too hot, so as not to shock her.
We wept and swore and begged and pledged our love to our sweet lady, stroking her hair and holding her close. In the end, she left us in that tub.
I don’t pretend to know what’s true. But if there is such a beautiful place as heaven in the afterlife, I feel certain Mamadog is there. If there is such a thing as owls guiding spirits to peace, I feel certain the owl in the tub was helping to prepare a warm place for our sweet girl, where pain isn’t even a memory.
You never know quite how much you love someone, until you lose them. I don’t know if the owls I have spoken of were truly shepherding these sweetest of souls, but I don’t see much harm in believing it might be true.
Nora, this is beautiful. I believe the spirits of our beloveds, human and non, await us in the spirit world. Owls will be along to show us the way to them. Gizhawenimin, my friend. I love you. ❤️