The Owl and the Wiseman

The wolf moon had finally set when my brother and I took off on our great adventure; to visit the sacred stone of Shamawindu. The large monolith was tall and upright on a ridge in the Shandu Mountains. Shamawindu, the legendary wise man who told of things that couldn’t be known, was one of the few to escape during the storied ancient attacks, and vanished into the mountains.

He approached the saddle of the ridge during the great storm of thunder and lightning, and called to the gods pleading for help to save his people. At that moment the halestorm triggered a staggering crack of light. It transformed him to stone, and he was immortalized forever. The granite pinnacle overlooking the valley is now known as the Sacred Stone of Shamawindu.

My brother and I had no indigenous blood that we knew of, but we both felt a strong spiritual tug to learn about the place we lived. Shamawindu would be incredible to behold. We drove up the rocky fire road to a somewhat visible foot path. It was my second attempt at Shamawindu, a cross-country hike over steep terrain through tumbled boulders and ancient forests. On my first attempt I wasted most of two days getting lost, and turned back unsuccessful.

This time I knew where to go, but my knee was not cooperating. It was close to breakdown from chronic degeneration. I tried to ignore the usual pain, but Shamawindu had other plans. Fifteen miles in the knee buckled. I couldn’t put any weight on it. My brother helped me stagger back, and by then we both felt unwelcome. I was shut down for the second time, and I probably won’t return.

In the months that followed I rehabbed the injury without much medical intervention, and later that year I was able to venture out again with my bro. We trudged through snow and battled high winds to reach the upper lakes. From camp I could see Shamawindu snowy in the distance and thought I might go back afterall. I scanned the terrain for a route dreaming about the chance. Nevertheless, I was back and started making big plans.

I didn’t realize how powerful Shamawindu was. Just laying eyes on the spire can be harrowing. That’s the trickery about it. I was lulled into a false sense of security thinking I was “all that and more.” Through knee trouble, the pandemic, and the outrageous wildfires that ravaged the landscape near home, climbing made me stronger. Problem was, no matter how high I climbed I couldn’t get away from the truth.

My knee was shot. I’d known for a while it needed a fix, then suddenly I was forced to take action. The knee had lost all stability and wouldn’t stay in place. I could barely walk on it, or do anything else. After years of hobbling around I decided to replace it. Visions of Shamawindu haunted me. Was it a spell? The straw that broke the camel's back? How could I pay? Would the new knee work? The immediate future seemed bleak. I started to second-guess the surgery, and my emotions overwhelmed me.

I was talking with doctors as the virus surged in our community. They gave me the third degree asking questions about my mental and physical health, taking blood samples, and swabs and vital measurements, and at the end they approved me as perfectly fit to get the new knee, except for one thing. My white blood cells were through the roof, triple the normal range. They canceled the surgery and implored me to see a specialist.

In my gut all hell broke loose and my spiritual mind turned to Shamawindu. The indigenous people advised us not to visit the sacred monument. They said we probably weren’t welcome. When my knee buckled it was confirmed; a warning of things to come. Forces outside my little bubble were talking to me. Nature was speaking in ways I couldn’t explain, but I was trying to pay close attention.

On Halloween my wife and I were driving home from a beautiful dinner. We had just watched the full Blue Moon rise like a shining blaze over a glassy alpine lake. The spectacular display shot rays of light off the surface into our eyes. As we neared our neighborhood on the last stretch of road the air was filled with a fog-like smoke from the fires just eight miles to the west. I was driving moonstruck in the night haze, when suddenly a barn owl, perched on a snow pole by the shoulder, flew directly into my grill. The sound of the crunch made me sick. I was sure I killed it, but I couldn’t turn back in the dark. I was scared to face the truth.

My wife rationalized that the roadkill would be gone by morning, but I pulled into the driveway wishing it didn’t happen and wondering why. The indigenous people of the area have always revered encounters with owls as symbols of intuition, wisdom, and great change. It was a symbol of death to me. I held the fate of the owl close to my heart, and feared inevitable change. The weeks flew by and everything came to light.

The abnormal blood cells pointed directly to one thing – the big “C”. A month after watching the Blue Moon rise over the lake of glass I was meeting with a specialist who diagnosed my condition immediately; Leukemia. Driving home with my hands on the wheel, I was shocked and alone staring at my future. How could I find solace with this information? What did it mean for my knee? Was this the way it would end, dying of cancer one day? And what about the owl?

The owl was definitely a warning, in much the same way that Shamawindu had whispered to me so uniquely. “Be aware young man,” they both implored. “You need to see things clearly.” And I did. Around the last turn on the highway, down the final stretch of road to home, another full moon rose like a giant ball of brilliance. It crested the top of the mountain to the east and glowed in the darkening night. Bouncing off the cold waters of the lake near my house, the light talked to me in silence.

“You’ve come full circle,” said beams of truth that pierced my soul and made me believe things I already knew. The natural world was unfolding before me. I cried while watching the big moon rise. Not tears of sorrow, or tears of joy. They were tears of consciousness, of knowledge… of insight. Mortality stared me in the face; I’m going to die one day – just like the owl who was blindsided. I understood then and there, it was time to start living.