Making Space for Peace
Two great grey owls peered down at me from the branches of a mighty pine tree, their heads twisting in opposite directions as they regarded the curious human standing beneath them. I imagined a little curiosity stirring in their hearts. A human wishing to speak with us? Why not? And with that, one of the owls opened her great feathered wings and flew down to a lower branch, settling herself where we might more easily regard one another.
I bowed in greeting, and to my surprise the grey owl began to mirror the movement of my body, lowering her great round head towards me. As she did so, something tiny fell from her beak and landed upon the forest floor. I bent down to retrieve it and discovered a small grey stone bead, intricately carved with markings so delicate that I had to squint to make them out. "A gift for me?" I whispered, turning the little stone between my fingers. But before any further exchange could take place, the grey owl and her companion spread their wings and flew away, leaving me standing beneath the pine tree with this curious offering resting in the palm of my hand.
The following morning I returned to the same mighty pine, bringing with me an offering for the owls. This time it was the second owl, the one with whom I had not yet connected, who drew my attention. There was something strangely human about her eyes. They glinted in the morning sunlight, their great yellow eyes holding the colour of fire, while her face remained as wide and round as the beautiful feathered disc through which her kind are so exquisitely gifted in the art of hearing. I stood for a while simply looking at her, marvelling at the extraordinary senses these feathered beings possess and the worlds they must perceive beyond the reach of our own.
The offering I had brought was a song, a personal prayer born from an earlier encounter with one of their feathered sisters, Eagle Owl.
During that meeting, I had felt the whispers of her ancient lineage speaking to me, their presence sinking deep into my bones.
The song was a calling to the feathered ancestors, asking that they might fly alongside us, the two-legged ones, assisting us in seeing more clearly. For our eyes dwell close to the ground, while theirs take flight through the darkness of night. Through mist and fog, beneath the cover of Mother Dark, they find their way with an ease that remains mysterious to us. I wondered what they might perceive of the pathways lying ahead, those possibilities still hidden from our human sight.
It was from this place of wondering that I spoke to the two owls, sharing my feeling that perhaps their hearts held something of the prophet, a knowing of the possible pathways yet to unfold. I asked whether my feelings were correct, whether this was indeed part of the medicine they carried.
With that, the two owls moved their great feathered bodies towards one another and closed their yellow fire eyes. As they settled into stillness, I felt myself falling into a deep and restful trance, my awareness moving away from the pine tree and into another place entirely.
The Dreaming of Great Grey Owl
I found myself walking into my SoulBird Art studio, preparing the room for a painting. Before me lay my tubes of colour, arranged one beside another, shades of yellow, rich earth browns, purples and even the tender blush of pink. Everything appeared familiar, and yet I had the peculiar sensation of having travelled backwards through time, as though I were witnessing myself in the moments before the creation of Great Grey Owl Woman. I seemed to know what was about to happen, although no painting had yet emerged upon the page. There was something deeply strange about standing within a moment that felt both re-membered and not yet lived.
As I continued to observe the studio, I became aware that I was not alone. Sitting before me was another Roberta, preparing to lay the first marks of light and shadow upon the paper. I was watching myself paint, yet I was somehow separate from the woman sitting at the desk. I looked down at my body and discovered that I was covered in feathers, great soft grey feathers that seemed to envelop my entire being. I could feel their warmth against my skin and hear the unfamiliar rhythm of a heart that was no longer entirely my own. I had merged with one of the great grey owls, and within her vast feathered form I felt strangely small, cocooned by the softness and breadth of her wings.
Very slowly I moved towards the artist sitting before me, until the distance between us disappeared and I found myself entering her body. As colour and form began to rise from the page, I became aware of the second great grey owl perched upon the curtain rail above my studio desk. She sat quietly, observing all that was occurring, her great round face turned towards us as though she were bearing witness to something she already understood.
Before long I felt my hands moving across the paper, although I could no longer distinguish between my own movements and those of the owl woman who had joined me. A pipe appeared within the painting, adorned with three seers' eyes, and from its great belly smoke began to rise, curling and winding its way through the painted world. I watched as the smoke gathered itself into soft spiralling forms, rising towards the top of the page, until, to my astonishment, it seemed to move beyond the boundaries of the painting and out into my studio.
Prayers Carried Upon the Smoke
The smoke was earthy and sweet, and I breathed deeply of its fragrance. What herb was this woman smoking? Even now I do not know, but as I watched the smoke rise, I became aware of something glimmering within it. I narrowed my eyes and peered into its delicate folds, where tiny letters made of pure divine light appeared to be dancing through the very substance of the smoke. They were prayers, or so I understood them to be, luminous little markings carried upon the breath of this mysterious herb. They rose higher and higher, filling my studio with their light, until I could feel them brushing against my skin and entering my body.
Something within my heart softened, and I breathed out a great sigh. "Everything is going to be alright."
The concerns I had been carrying about the state of our world began to drift away from my mind's eye. I watched them travel into the far distance, where the great blue arms of Father Sky reached out to gather them into his embrace. He cradled these troubles as though they were weary children, holding them close while singing a sweet lullaby to settle their restless hearts. "Hush now, child," I heard him say, and for a moment I felt the immense tenderness of a world willing to hold even our deepest fears.
The smoke continued its journey, moving beyond the walls of my studio and travelling outward across the land. It wound its way through the gardens, rivers and trees surrounding my home, sometimes rising high into the air and sometimes swooping close to the earth, until it began arriving at certain houses. There, upon the doorsteps, it gathered itself into little parcels of feathered smoke and light, as though delivering gifts to those who lived within. I understood these offerings to be prayers of peace, carried upon the breath of the owl woman and given freely to whoever might receive them.
My awareness had travelled so far beyond my body that I had almost forgotten the painting was still being created. I found myself sitting at the edges of people's gardens, waiting patiently to see what might happen when the gifts were discovered. Then, as though some unseen invitation had passed between the houses, the doors began to open. Curious faces peered down at the strange offerings resting upon their thresholds, each person gazing deeply into the heart of the feathered smoke. I knew then that they too could see the tiny letters of light. I was not alone in witnessing these prayers, for something within them seemed to be recognised by every person who looked upon them.
One by one, they gathered the smoke into their arms and breathed in its sweet earthy scent. I watched their faces soften, their bodies yielding to a quietness that seemed to arrive from somewhere deep within. And from each of them came the same great sigh of relief. "Everything is going to be alright."
The Prophets of Peace
When my awareness finally returned to my body and the two great grey owls, I discovered that many rising and setting suns had passed. The painting had continued to unfold during my absence and was now almost complete. I looked towards the page, curious to see what had emerged from the meeting of my hands and those of the owl woman.
To my surprise, a woman gazed out at me.
She held a pipe in her hand, its smoke rising towards the upper reaches of the painting, while extending from her head a single great grey owl flew towards the east. Her magnificent brown-grey wings were spread wide, their soft feathers curving around the woman's ears as though cupping them, helping her to hear more clearly the direction towards which she was facing. The woman's long flowing hair was adorned with a single dreadlock bead, within which sat a yellow eye gazing directly into my soul. I found myself drawn towards that eye, unable to look away, and wondered whether it was I who was witnessing the eye or the eye that was witnessing me.
By now I had lost almost all sense of where I began and these beings ended. The boundaries between us had become so fluid that I could scarcely distinguish my own presence from that of the owl woman who had accompanied me throughout the painting's creation. Perhaps sensing this, she began to move gently backwards, withdrawing herself from our shared body so that I might once again regain my own sovereign place and space.
Before departing, she placed her hands upon my shoulders. I reached up and patted one of them, feeling beneath my fingers what seemed to be the great talons of the grey owl. Tears began to flow down my face as I offered my deepest gratitude for her presence and for all that had been shared between us.
"Peace," I whispered.
"This is what you bring, is it not?"
She turned towards me, and together with her sister, who still sat proudly upon the curtain rail above us, began to speak.
"We bring the sight that sweeps away the fog which clouds the eyes of those who can no longer fathom the great existence of Peace. For Peace is a spirit, one in whom you must have faith. Much like Hope, she is something upon which the human heart may take flight, feeling the great life-giving winds moving against its skin. Yet you must make space for Peace to arrive, for if there is no room within you, where shall these loving spirits come to rest? Where shall they lay down their roots and begin to grow? We bring that which clears the pathways towards the possibility of Peace, and with love in our hearts for the suffering of humankind, We Are The Prophets of Peace."
I remained quiet for a while, allowing their words to settle within me. There was something in their teaching that seemed both simple and immense, for I had been shown not only the possibility of peace, but the importance of making room for her presence. I thought again of the little parcels of smoke resting upon the doorsteps, and of the people who had opened their doors to receive them. Perhaps there was something in that small act of opening which belonged to the medicine of Great Grey Owl.
The two sisters spread their wings and flew out through my studio window, their feathered forms dissolving into the great dark blanket that had wrapped itself around the earth. Mother Dark had arrived, her countless starry eyes shimmering above me, and I imagined one of them winking in my direction. "Child, you have met the mystery today," she seemed to whisper. "Well done for facing her."
I sat for some time in the quiet of my studio, looking upon the woman who had emerged from the painting. I thought of the great feathered wings cupping her ears, the eye within the bead, the smoke carrying its prayers beyond the boundaries of the page, and the strange gift of silence that had accompanied the owls throughout our encounter. There was a sense that their medicine was not simply concerned with seeing what lay ahead, but with learning how to listen for what might yet become possible, even when the world around us seemed filled with noise.
The painting you see here today is the artwork dreamed into being through this journey with the Great Grey Owl sisters.
May these great feathered beings bring moments of peace to those places where the rising noise of the world has become almost unbearable.
May their wings gently turn our hearing towards the brighter pathways of the future, helping us to perceive what lies beyond the fog of fear and uncertainty.
May we remember to make space for Peace, that she might find a place to lay down her roots within our hearts, our homes and the lands upon which we walk.And may the deep silence of Great Grey Owl guide us towards The Great Way.
Great Grey Owl — The Peace Seer
Gratitude for the use of the Great Grey Owl Photo by Azim Khan Ronnie via Unsplash