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| The Ruins of the Great Library of Alexandria |
From the temples of ancient Sumer to the forests of Native America, the owl appears as a frequent and remarkably consistent symbol of the spirit world.
First drawn on prehistoric cave walls, the owl can be associated with religion as early as 2000 BCE as evidenced by the The Queen of the Night Relief, a 4000 year old terracotta base relief presently located in the British Museum in London. The relief depicts a winged Sumerian goddess flanked by two large owls and the owls are not decorative but highly symbolic.
The goddess was called Inanna or 'Divine Lady Owl'. She was strongly linked to the underworld through The Descent of Innana.
The story is told on a series of clay tablet from the Queen of the Night period and tells of Inanna's descent into the underworld during the dark of the moon.
In Pagan Europe, the ancient Celts also saw the owl as a symbol of the underworld while in other cultures the symbolism centered on the soul. In Australia the aboriginal people believed owls to be the souls of women. The Ainu of Japan held the Eagle Owl to be alternately a a divine ancestor or a messenger of the gods. In Romania, folk tales say that forgiven souls fly to heaven in the guise of Snowy Owls.
In the Americas, the Aztec god of death, was often depicted with owls and the Hopi god of death was believed to be an owl. In Mexico, the Little Owl was called "messenger of the lord of the land of the dead", and flew between the land of the living and the dead. In the Sierras, native peoples believed that the Great Horned Owl captured the souls of the departed and carried them to the underworld. Several different Native Northern American traditions including the Mojave believed that the soul turned into an owl at death.
The mythology of multiple cultures places the symbolism of the owl firmly in the spirit world. His mythic role however is largely positive. As a messenger of the gods he is sacred, a bearer of divine knowledge and a facilitator of communication between the worlds. As a guide, he bridges the gap between life and death, but more correctly: the space between this reality and the next.
This is my herb garden circa 2015. Yes it is modest and right now it is a mess. But I wanted to share this image AND a commitment to share more pics when it is as I imagine it will be later this summer.
by Edgar Cayce is an A.R.E. publication which presents the Cayce readings on Atlantis, in their entirety. While not written by Cayce directly it is a direct transcription of his words, as recorded by his stenographer, Gladys Davis, and edited by John Van Auken.I was initially reluctant to order this 160 page volume because I thought it might not have enough info to justify the cost. I needn't have worried. There is no fluff in the Cayce material and, while this volume isn't especially lengthy, it delivers a wealth of highly specific information.
The book begins with readings performed for Cayce's own spiritual study group on the topic of Atlantis and progresses through a series of life reading performed for Cayce clients who had experienced past lives in Atlantis.
The past life readings are complete readings and contain content related to Atlantean and non-Atlantean incarnations. I found it interesting to trace the development of the the individual through various incarnations. A person less interested in doing this however can find the Atlantean information toward the end of the reincarnation material in almost every instance.
The Atlantis Readings proper (done for the Cayce study group) are almost entirely focused on the topic of Atlantis. The contain specific information about the long history of Atlantis, including its origin, religion, politics, culture, religion and eventual demise. The readings are surprisingly detailed, as well as comprehensive, making Atlantis a fascinating resource for anyone with an interest in this fascinating subject.
From the text:
"In this temple, we find these of large or semi-circular columns of onyx, topaz, and inlaid with beryl, amethyst, and stones that made the variations in catching the rays of the sun... In this the sacred fires burned..."
About My Grandmother
My paternal grandmother was a widow before I was born. And while I didn't realize it when I was a child, I don't think she had a lot of extra money. I guess that's why instead of visiting often or even calling on the phone she sent me things. Like letters and clippings and eventually a binder.
The binder came with only a couple pages but then she started sending me more pages to fill it. And so several times a year I'd receive a package of 2 or 3 or 4 photo album pages filled with brightly colored pictures.
Those pictures weren't anything special by ordinary standards. Most were simply cut from magazines and carefully arranged under the plastic film that covered each page in the album. But somehow those pages impressed me so much that I still remember the pictures. A pile of leaves raked up by group of kids. A little dog in a bright red coat. A school bus in the rain.
My grandmother came to visit us once or twice a year and when she did she slept in the spare room next to mine. And I remember how one Christmas Eve we sat together on the bed in that room while she told me the story of the nativity. I will never forget the chills that ran up and down my spine when she told me the story of nativity.
And I have long thought that the presence that was there with us in the room that night was angelic in nature.
My Grandmother's Gift
The next day, on Christmas, my grandmother gave me a little white Bible. I don't remember getting it and I suspect it didn't impress me as much as the other presents I received. But I did read it - off and on, all through my childhood.
I would like to say that I kept reading that Bible or that it was one of my prized possessions but that would not be accurate. What is accurate is that my life veered off the rails and I returned to the Bible my grandmother had infrequently. and that it spent most of the years between now and then in a succession of dresser drawers and boxes.
And yet, somehow, out of the things that mattered more and all things that have come and gone, that little Bible is one of the few things I've hung on to.
In 2012 I moved into a new (old) house. I was still deeply involved in New Age spirituality. But when I was unpacking I decided to put the Bible my grandmother gave me into my china cabinet alongside my tarot cards and crystals.
And, in 2017, when I began to make my way back to the Faith those things went the way of other mistakes, great and small, and the little white Bible stayed.
And there were in the same country shepherds watching, and keeping the night watches over their flock. And behold an angel of the Lord stood by them, and the brightness of God shone round about them; and they feared with a great fear. And the angel said to them: Fear not; for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy... - St. Luke 2:8-10
This video does a great job of explaining the 26,000 year global cycle known to our ancient ancestors and raises some very interesting questions!
Why I Left
I prayed a lot that week and on Saturday, the 22nd of May, 2017, I prayed more.
The next day I went to the flea market as I did most Sundays. I had forgotten to stop at the ATM on the way and had only eight dollars with me, which was much less than I usually brought. But I didn't really care. It was raining - a slow steady kind of rain that promised to continue all day - and I didn't expect there would be many vendors or much of anything to buy.
When we pulled into the parking lot I saw that I was right about the vendors. The large open area that was usually full of tables and tents was practically empty. The few sellers who had set up were spread out and the gravel lot was full of puddles. But we decided to put on our slickers and see what we could find.
One of the first things I spotted was a chalkware Blessed Mother. For some reason I couldn't really explain, I'd been wanting one of those big old Mary statues for some time. Over the course of the last two summers I'd kept an eye out. But all those I'd seen were chipped or expensive or both.
The one in front of me that day was almost two feet tall and had no significant damage. So I was surprised when the woman on the other side of the table said it was mine for five dollars. It wasn't really my style but I liked the blue of Mary's cloak and the graceful curve of her neck. I bought it without any negotiation at all.
A little further on, I saw a cold cast bronze St. Brigid's cross that had been made in Ireland. I asked the vendor the price and he said a quarter. And then, when I couldn't find any change, he refused my dollar and insisted I take the cross for free. I was happy that I was able to tell the a bit about St. Brigid and what she had done so long ago in Ireland. And I started to get a good feeling about the day.
The next thing I saw was a bright silver crucifix shining through the rain, When I got close I could see that it had a glass holy water font and a place on either side of the cross for candles. I thought that the seller would probably want at least ten dollars for such a nice item, but she didn't. She wanted three. So I got the crucifix too.
On the long damp ride home, I realized that I had bought three Christian items on an unlikely day and for a surprisingly good price. But what struck me most was that I had bought all three of them for the exact to the penny amount of money that I had with me.
So I considered it sign. And decided that I should give Christianity another shot.
I started with a church tour of several local churches. Afterwards I picked an evangelical church that was not a good fit and then a Pentecostal church I liked better. I didn't spend any real time thinking about the Catholic church I had visited in the early days of the church tour or the fact that each of the items I bought that day at the fleas market were Catholic in origin.
Until, almost three years later, just after my return from Israel.
It began with car problems. Getting to the new Protestant church I had joined was impossible. Finally, after several weeks, it occurred to me that there were two churches within a short walk of my house and that one was actually just a block and a half away.
So I walked down the street and went to Mass for the first time in what seemed like forever. And the next week I went back and I just kept on going.
As the weeks passed, I thought about the spiritual journey I'd made and the enormous circle that has brought me back to a place that is, and always was, just around the corner.
The items I bought that day at the flea market are gone and I know that there is some kind of lesson in that. And while I'm still not sure just what that is, I think that it might be that God doesn't want me to be the kind of Catholic I used to be. Or the kind of person I used to be.
I think that maybe he wants me to be something new.
Why I Returned to the Blog (2024 Update)
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| My rainy day flea market Mary |
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| Another flea market Mary that I have kind of sadly given away |
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| St. John's (our town's "Irish" church) complete with spires |
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