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Posts Tagged ‘Owls’

Well it’s happened -finally. A long day of running around with little but fumes in the tank and I’ve reached the end…. of the road for tonight. But I couldn’t forget you, or let you think I’d vanished. I wouldn’t like to think you’d had to call for the CSI team to come and look for me.. mind you Grissom is not too bad and getting inside his head would be rather interesting. If I could get him away from his bugs.

So there it is…. I’ve gone home to roost…

I simply had to do it, I mean, an orchid doesn’t really let you know it’s asleep but an owl, well an owl simply roosts in his tree and listens to what is going on around him. Its all in the posture you see.

So to one and all a very good night, I’m taking this aching body and hoping to rest.

May you all have a good one too.

Bright Blessings,

Susan xx

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There are times too many to hide

When the words seem stuck inside

When the hurt from so many feelings                    ~

Overflow like a king tide

When all I crave is to wander

The sea shore or forest glade

Or listen to the sounds of nature                             ~

High upon a mountain glade

Soothing wounds hidden inside.

~

Nature Healing
image from http://www.rgc.org.au

Far up the mountainside

Amid clouds and air so clear

No sounds of man are heard

Just bird calls and the cattle herd

Possum and Koala

Kangaroo and Cockatoo.

~

Peacefulness flows over me

Tight muscles slowly loosen

Nature Healing

image kiwiginny.blogspot.com

A restful feeling flows through me

And calm falls softly to seduce

Frayed nerves from rough abuse

~

Night falls gently like silken fronds

Stars shine brilliant as diamonds

Owls sail quietly past to see

If anyone else is with me

~

Comforted by their presence

Flying gracefully through starlit heavens

A sigh is softly heard

Slipping sweetly from parted lips

~/Nature healed once more

I sleep safely under their watchful gaze

Safe in the arms of Mother nature.

Nature Healing

image from birdsinbackyards.net

~

Blessings Susan x

© Susan Jamieson 2013

Nature Healing

image from wallpapersus.com

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image from bigoldhouses.blogspot.com

In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me, shaped and perfect in attitude and action. I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to the other eyes as mine see it. Michelangelo

.

England has more than a small number of old houses, mansions, priories, castles and so on, many having their own tales of haunting or ghosts. Whilst I have my own experiences of wandering through these places, including my feelings walking round Port Arthur, this tale is purely anchored in a vivid dream. All I will say is that the house of my dream is one I ‘know’ and have ‘been to in the distant past’ even though I cannot recall the details of it yet.

It was drawing close to winter, the weather had turned cold and a keen wind had whistled around the house for days.  It found any small crack or crevice to keen through and bring goose-flesh to your skin. It was easy to hear strange noises or perhaps whispered voices once the sun had set.

I was at my babysitting job on this bitterly cold Saturday night. I had stayed up late watching the old horror movies starring Vincent Price and Peter Cushing. They seemed perfectly suited for such eerie surrounds. When I was taken home again  had to make my way to the back of the house to get in. Behind me was the skyline of the old woods, trees writhing in the wind and bats silently flitting between the scudding clouds.  I was in a hurry to get inside.

image from theinsideofmyheadd.wordpress.com

It was late and I was grateful to climb between my warm sheets and pull my eider down under my chin. I was sure I would be asleep in minutes. Yet from there I slipped into  a strange land somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, or so I thought.

I saw this old house, so familiar and yet I knew, in one part of my mind, that I had never been there, yet. It had a dark and brooding feel to it, as though it had been long-deserted and had an unhappy history. I heard footsteps, a careful measured tread and with some surprise realised they were mine. I walked up the long and overgrown driveway towards the front door of the house. It felt as though the house was waiting… for me or someone else, I really don’t know.

There were six steps leading up to the front porch. The scroll work railing around the patio was rusted and dark, clinging vines wrapped around it all withered and dry, rustling eerily in the wind. The house had been empty for years, windows broken, boarded over now with jagged edges, the holes gaping into the blackness beyond.

My footsteps creaked on the wooden portico as I approached the door. The wind had picked up in intensity and the door creaked loudly as it moved slightly on its rusted hinges. Without conscious thought I saw my pale hand reach out to slowly push the door open. The screech of rusted metal protesting was loud in my ears and a nearby owl hooted as it flew off into the trees.

I did not want to enter that house so why were my feet pulling me forward?  Some intangible force seemed to be drawing me inside, deeper into the dark recesses of the house. The wind whistling through those jagged holes in the windows blew dried leaves rustling across the floor as the door opened further.  It made a sound like shuffling feet creeping across the floor.

image from cindi.ccfoss.com

I moved slowly forward, towards the old staircase. I could see it would have been beautiful when the house was in its hey day, but now was as broken down as the rest of the house.  As I stood there at the foot of the staircase I thought I heard a whispered voice calling from above. I couldn’t make out what it said and my tongue was clinging to the roof of my dry mouth. My legs had turned to jelly yet were rooted to the spot.

I hadn’t noticed that the little light which had been coming in through the door and windows had grown less. The wind was howling more strongly and I could hear thunder crashing off in the distance. Each time it sounded a little closer and the old house seemed to shake in the rumbling echoes.  Lightning suddenly flashed off in the distance, throwing an eerie light into the house.

The moaning of the wind now began to sound like the moaning of someone in pain, a sound which was getting louder by the minute. Another crash of thunder seemed to rattle the old house to its very foundations and the following lightning flash flared brightly. In the peculiar afterglow I thought I saw a figure silhouetted tat the top of the staircase. A woman in a long dress seemed to be staring down at me.

The crash of thunder pealed directly overhead followed immediately by the whip crack of lightning. Between the wind howling through the windows, the deafening noise of thunder and actinic flare of lightning the shape coalesced into the form of a woman, apparently floating down the stairs. I certainly could hear no footfalls.

Whether I could hear anything or not I no longer wished to be there. Without conscious thought, without moving I found myself once more tucked up in my bed, breathing heavily and drenched in perspiration, my heart hammering to its own beat.

I suppose one should expect strange dreams if one is watching horror movies! After all, it was just a dream – wasn’t it?

I have never seen this house and yet I know it. Another lifetime perhaps, only time may tell, it felt real at the time. I could smell the lightning and the dead leaves, the musty old house. I could hear the wind  and thunder, footsteps and was it a voice moaning? At the time it was real as all dreams or otherworldly experiences are real. It is up to you to decide. Whatever lesson I have to learn from this is still to be revealed.  Perhaps the message was for you?

.

image from style160.blogspot.com

“I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”
Albert Einstein

Blessings  Susan x

© Susan Jamieson

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The moon is fat and full tonight

I hear my brothers and sisters call

Wolves know deep in their collective mind

That something just isn’t quite right

Am I free to run with them in rushing flight

Am I free to follow them into the night.

image from aftergadget.wordpress.com

The owls sit in their tree

Watching the place where I sit

They watch with silent intensity

Searching to see if I’m free

Am I free to fly through the moonlight

Far away into the pure cold night

Nature it seems surrounds me

They know how these things should be

They know when a heart has been broken

They know when it’s time to be free

How do I ease these raging torments

That rend me apart deep inside

Like fangs or beaks ripping flesh apart

Or a storms waves crashing fiercely against the shore

Only to rear back  and pound forward once more

The past it carries our memories

To ensure we remember mistakes

Til we no longer need reminding

What repeating them will from us take

We can try to forget if we’re foolish

We can try to deny the truth

But sooner or later our memories

Return like a forbidden moonlit spell

To remind us of what we can’t tell

Tears can no longer quench

The burning deep in my soul

No answers can ease the agony

Can no longer make a heart whole

image from ipad.wallpapersus.com

So what is the answer you ask yourself

To move forward into the light

To leave forever this darkest of nights

Lit strangely by this bright moonlight

And forge ahead with all my might

I have no answer inside me

I have no-one I can ask

Solitary I must walk in this misery

For who would I burden with this task

So that I may run howling with my friends once again

Or fly free over forbidden plains

Lost I shall remain

Until a miracle removes the stain

And I need stand no more in the rain

Hiding tears which show all my pain

Til once more I’m at peace, in the sunlight again.

image from ivoryblushroses.blogspot.com

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“I’ve always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed.”    David Benioff, City of Thieves

In between bouts of insomnia or restless sleep due to the nasty bug reactions I’m having, I am now sleeping really soundly.  That in itself may not seem like a big deal, but for someone who has spent the past decade sleeping in micro nana naps it really is something special.  It also means that I’m dreaming again, and an even greater gift is that I’m remembering them.  Of course that doesn’t mean they’re all full of fluff and puppies, there are some quite unreal and surreal dreams happening too. That’s what happened the other night.

The evening had been really nice but unremarkable. We had watched a little light tv and read for a short time before lights out.  I remember hearing the birds calling at one point, which I thought was quite unusual. Way off in the background I heard an owl calling and thought that he had upset the local Currawongs.  At least that’s what I thought at the time.

I suddenly found myself deep in a dream, a dream I remember vividly even now.

Even though it was daylight I could hear an Owl calling softly on the breeze.

I was ‘with’ a group of young people who were on a final outing before they finished their high school year.  It was a special trip to what appeared to be an island. There were sandy tracks and a largish building like an old timber schoolroom with tables and chairs inside. There were room dividers and blackboards on the walls, chalk on the side table and of course a teacher. I don’t remember how we reached the island, we were simply there.

The strange thing was the ‘teacher’ wasn’t teaching a normal subject. They were talking about preparing for entering the ‘real world’, the ‘adult world’ and how they needed to prepare themselves to ‘fit in’.  The girls were being told how to wear the correct clothes, make up and how to speak correctly when they were ‘outside’.  The boys on the other hand were off on the other side of the room being spoken to by a man, who I presumed was a male ‘teacher’. At times there would be some noise, laughter that was quieted and then one of the boys would vanish ouside.

It all seemed fairly normal…… but there was such an air of unreality to it that I started to take a little more notice.  Even though I was there, no one spoke directly to me. I could see the girls scribbling and doodling on pieces of paper but I didn’t have a seat, nor was I ‘teaching’. I was, in a very real sense, simply an observer.  It was almost as though I was watching over them and yet I couldn’t work out why, and all the time I could hear the Owl mournfully calling.

The girls were getting restlesss. They wanted to return, although I had no clear idea where they were returning to. The ‘teacher’ was starting to look a little menacing, which was more a feeling than anything she did.  However I noticed that the boys who had gone outside hadn’t made a reappearnace.  It felt really strange to be moving towards the doorway. I wasn’t walking, there was no sound of footsteps on the wooden floor. In fact, the entire time I had been there I couldn’t recall any sound of footsteps on the floor. The only sounds were those of the youths as they talked amongst themselves and became more unhappy at staying where they were.

As I went outside I heard a strange thumping noise and the sound of soft crying.  Rounding the side of the building I was met with a horrific sight. One boy was crouched in a tight ball near the building, trying to stifle his sobs. Meanwhile there was a thud which brought my eyes round to a scene from a torture chamber, but in a terrifying modern setting.

There was a contraption fixed to a tree which was hauling an old car body into the air by thick ropes. After an achingly long time, or so it seemed to me, there was a clunck as a ratchet let loose and the car body dropped onto the other boy kneeling in the sand. His head disappeared inside the car body, the car itself seeming to rest on his shoulders.  Although I gasped there was no reaction from the man, and the boy simply sobbed softly. In horror I saw the car body rise and the boys head reappeared. He seemed unhurt, his clothing torn, but scared almost beyond endurance.

Hearing a noise inside I turned to look through the door. Inside I was met by an eerie sight. All the schoolkids were arrayed around the table, exactly as they had been when I first saw them. Behind each person was the spirit of that child in ghostly outline.  They were all sitting there smiling happily, yet of the two adults, the ‘teachers’ there was no sign at all.

The only sound I could hear was the soft hoot of an owl telling me all was well in the world. He was keeping his watch and all was well.

I cannot explain my dream, perhaps over time the meaning will come to me. Until then, perhaps you may have an idea. Perhaps its message is meant for…. you?

The Bat that flits at close of Eve

Has left the Brain that won’t believe.

The Owl that calls upon the Night

Speaks the Unbeliever’s fright.” William Blake quotes

All is well in the world. We are all being looked after.  Blessings.   Susan xx

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