The Owl

Granny always says: “No Owls.”

She tells me stories from when she was young, and when her grandma was young–alive, at least. She says every time an owl showed up to one of us, it meant someone would die. So going out looking for owls or wearing owls or painting owls meant you were wishing death upon somebody. I went out of my way to avoid any hoots or prints of the feathered creatures my whole life. She almost ripped a few things off my neck for even just resembling an owl too much. But I would never. If my grandma says owls are bad luck, then I believe her. I am one who will avoid a risk with such a dire consequence.

What is so odd is how many people retort this notion with: “but owls are good luck!” I can definitely appreciate that there are different beliefs in the world, but it made me wonder where they were getting that from. It made me wonder who told them these rules they follow, or why they decided it. Do they know the history of the adages they speak? Or do they want to shop at cliché department stores and believe it is safe or fine to wear something like this bird across their chests? It’s none of my business. Never been in my nature to convince others of my own beliefs.

But I believe everything Granny says.

I believe she can see spaceships and remember a time off earth. I believe in her sense of beauty and never leaving the house without make-up. I believe everything she’s ever told me, like that I am her favorite and the way she says I love you in her subtle and sarcastic ways. I believe her stories. Like the one when her Grandmother was young and staying in a hotel somewhere, and when she went out on the balcony to smoke her cigarette, there stood an owl. Clinging its talons to the ledge, it flapped its wings with a squawk right in her face until it flew away. Later that night, or sometime the next morning–however the story may go–her father died. It was something her mother had warned her about, these owls, and it stuck with her. She told her kids, and her kids, or just my grandma.

My grandma likes to think of herself as religious, maybe just not completely devout as some of those boring Catholics are. She is an Aquarius with an Aries Moon, so her fierceness is as real as it gets. But we are just some European mix of whiteness as far as I know. I never knew much outside of these things, or the mainstream. I just learn as I go. And one day, I was talking to a stranger who said,

“Do you know your Mayan Astrology placements?”

I wasn’t even completely aware the Mayans had an astrology system let alone what mine personally was. We looked it up right then and there.

You can imagine what a shock it was to me to find out that I am the Owl and most people's unlucky 13. For me, 13 is a great number and has always been a symbol of winning. It never bothered me what people think. Part of me really likes to be something that stands in the face of adversity. But this owl business? Sheesh! I believe the stories!

And while it felt so accurate to read about the depth of my old soul, the wisdom of my mind, the general pragmatic approach I have to life. It told me of the way I feel for things like ancient history or just the general energies around me. It was a reason why I am so good at everything I do, even if I only stick to things that have some kind of fulfillment. I resonated with it so deeply, it was almost sad. It made me wonder why owls had to be bad…

It made me wonder if Granny was just telling me…

That I’m the bad luck.

Because as my mother always says,

“If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”