The Wild Dog and the Owl
I had a dream about a wild dog and an owl last night. I decided to write about it this morning and remembered that I'd inherited a brass owl from my grandparents. It sat in their sunny living room in Saint-Andrews East, among the other ornaments and paper weights.
When I went looking for it in my apartment, I couldn't find it. I searched for it everywhere, twice. In boxes, on shelves, in the nooks and crannies of my odd-shaped bedroom, and came up with nothing. Panicked, I decided someone must have stolen it from me, because I remember seeing it very recently. An object, that has been present my whole life, suddenly went missing and I had to blame someone else.
I've moved a couple of times in the last year, so part of me thought I'd lost it in the confusion, or accidentally gifted it to a family member, but why would I do that? It reminds me of my grandfather, who died young. I even came across a tiny clipping of his 16 year old obituary on my hunt.
Discouraged, I walked into my kitchen to get more coffee, and there it was, perched on top of my oven, among a fairy statuette and my Charlie Chaplin salt and pepper shakers. Relieved, I acknowledged its reintegrated presence and clenched it thankfully before placing it next to my writing station, which is where I sat down to write this.
Lost items always seem to appear when we stop searching for them, don't they?
We place a lot of importance on objects, but less for their value and more for their symbolism, or sentiment. The memories, the feeling of home, the familiarity of something tangible.
My dream was quick, but intense.
On a tree-lined farm at night, I looked up into the sky and saw the wingspan of what I thought was a bat, but when it swooped down I saw it was an owl. Its amber eyes were crystal clear, its calm nature was significant. Suddenly a wild dog appeared and started scratching at me, frantic and hungry for something I didn't have. My focus shifted between the owl and the dog, simultaneously noticing the owl's calculated positioning and the dog's uncontrollable fervor.
I woke up feeling warm, finally over the chill I'd felt at bedtime. Lying there, I thought about the dream.
The Owl: Wise, slow, careful, thoughtful, with a keen eye, and graceful movements, with feathers that flutter in the wind. Instinctual, knowing, strong, independent, intuitive, at one with nature. Woven into the landscape of the forest night.
The Wild Dog: Isolated, scratching, biting, angry, unkempt, fast, disorganized, frantic, panicked, frazzled and eager. Anxious, starved, young, and blind. A manic freak, who's scared, destructive and unpredictable. Foolish and reactive, a forest fire.
I thought about these qualities and recognized the duality of human nature. I thought about my past, and how my innermost being used to struggle within these two extremities, trying to find a healthy balance. On the one hand, I thought I was like the wise owl, aware of my surroundings and I gauged my actions accordingly. But the truth is, that came from a place of anxiety. I was more like the wild dog; young, naive, and longing for love, with a hunger that sent me into a frenzy when the object of my affection was out of sight. But like the owl, I have grown wiser with age, and feel melded to my world. My spirit soars, and like my grandfather's brass owl, I am present. I no longer feel the need to be affirmed by someone else, nor objectified for approval. It always comes back to love, and feeling at home in your own self.
It's easy to blame others when something goes missing in your life. But more often than not, it's because you've misplaced it. Or forgotten where it was in the first place. And when you find acceptance, it reappears, and you're ready to appreciate it even more.
When I went looking for it in my apartment, I couldn't find it. I searched for it everywhere, twice. In boxes, on shelves, in the nooks and crannies of my odd-shaped bedroom, and came up with nothing. Panicked, I decided someone must have stolen it from me, because I remember seeing it very recently. An object, that has been present my whole life, suddenly went missing and I had to blame someone else.
I've moved a couple of times in the last year, so part of me thought I'd lost it in the confusion, or accidentally gifted it to a family member, but why would I do that? It reminds me of my grandfather, who died young. I even came across a tiny clipping of his 16 year old obituary on my hunt.
Discouraged, I walked into my kitchen to get more coffee, and there it was, perched on top of my oven, among a fairy statuette and my Charlie Chaplin salt and pepper shakers. Relieved, I acknowledged its reintegrated presence and clenched it thankfully before placing it next to my writing station, which is where I sat down to write this.
Lost items always seem to appear when we stop searching for them, don't they?
We place a lot of importance on objects, but less for their value and more for their symbolism, or sentiment. The memories, the feeling of home, the familiarity of something tangible.
My dream was quick, but intense.
On a tree-lined farm at night, I looked up into the sky and saw the wingspan of what I thought was a bat, but when it swooped down I saw it was an owl. Its amber eyes were crystal clear, its calm nature was significant. Suddenly a wild dog appeared and started scratching at me, frantic and hungry for something I didn't have. My focus shifted between the owl and the dog, simultaneously noticing the owl's calculated positioning and the dog's uncontrollable fervor.
I woke up feeling warm, finally over the chill I'd felt at bedtime. Lying there, I thought about the dream.
The Owl: Wise, slow, careful, thoughtful, with a keen eye, and graceful movements, with feathers that flutter in the wind. Instinctual, knowing, strong, independent, intuitive, at one with nature. Woven into the landscape of the forest night.
The Wild Dog: Isolated, scratching, biting, angry, unkempt, fast, disorganized, frantic, panicked, frazzled and eager. Anxious, starved, young, and blind. A manic freak, who's scared, destructive and unpredictable. Foolish and reactive, a forest fire.
I thought about these qualities and recognized the duality of human nature. I thought about my past, and how my innermost being used to struggle within these two extremities, trying to find a healthy balance. On the one hand, I thought I was like the wise owl, aware of my surroundings and I gauged my actions accordingly. But the truth is, that came from a place of anxiety. I was more like the wild dog; young, naive, and longing for love, with a hunger that sent me into a frenzy when the object of my affection was out of sight. But like the owl, I have grown wiser with age, and feel melded to my world. My spirit soars, and like my grandfather's brass owl, I am present. I no longer feel the need to be affirmed by someone else, nor objectified for approval. It always comes back to love, and feeling at home in your own self.
It's easy to blame others when something goes missing in your life. But more often than not, it's because you've misplaced it. Or forgotten where it was in the first place. And when you find acceptance, it reappears, and you're ready to appreciate it even more.
The Owl
grasps
The Wild Dog
scratches
The Owl sees
forms
The Wild Dog
slashes
The Owl is
patient, calculated
And the Wild
Dog pounces
I am the owl in the forest
I am the
wild dog in a distant past.
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