When Peace Falls from the Skies

It was that kind of 5 am dawn with a blueish gray sky that has not yet let go of the mountain tops. Crested Butte in late fall holds its high, snowy peaks in a kind of quiet suspension. They will glisten once the clouds lift but for now, my mood matches the fog. My car is humming and the heater is just beginning to warm, my bags are packed and nestled in the back. I begin my journey a little sleepy, with a hot coffee by my side and good tunes, the kind of company that makes for a great road trip.

As I orient my car to travel down my long driveway, my headlights cut through the thick air and a flutter catches my attention. To my right, over in our yard, there is a waving motion, camouflage with the surroundings, wispy and yet powerful. Something inside tells me to stop the car. As I emerge and walk around the passenger side , I glance out across the bits of snow beginning to gather between some patches of frosty autumn grass. My sight sets upon the white, feathery wings of a snowy owl, struggling, attempting to regain strength enough to fly. It is clear she is wounded.

I stomp my boots across the terrain to head inside my house to stir my husband awake. By now, slivers of sunlight are poking through the clouds showing me that my timeline is ticking for take off and I remain fully committed to the task at hand. My husband is exactly the person to beckon forth to save the day. The gentle giant, lover of nature arises, layers up to stay warm and tromps outside with me, easily. We agree it is a case for calling DNR and any other wildlife care in the area. He promises to take care of it, and I am sent on my way, toward Sedona.

We will later learn she is a female, and the injury occurred from encountering a telephone wire while in flight. She fell from the sky with a gash across her face and wing. By the time the DNR arrives, our 6 year old daughter, Galena, is awake and in her cozy layers outside with her father, immersed in the rescue. She is delighted to learn that the DNR will take care of this owl and when she is ready to fly again - they will bring her back for release into the wild - from our yard (or nearby). Galena learns that snowy owls have a mate and this one’s love will await her return. It is important that she is set free near where she is found.

For now, my tires have 11 hours ahead for me to ponder the stunning presence of this animal while feeling the emotional worry I carry for her as well. It is the fall of 2021 and in this recurring season, grief has a way of finding me. The loss of loved ones has hovered in the changing trees and silver mountain peaks shining in the chorus of bugling elk. This particular fall of 2021, I am taking myself to the portals of Sedona, carrying my heavy heart, a growing illness and a mind in search of some answers and support.

This trip would signify a leap in my intuitive abilities. I sought a mentor to help me through what was the beginning of a big awakening. I just didn’t know it yet. What I did know was, my perspective and intuitive senses were broadening beyond their usual electrical hum that I had lived with since childhood. A return of psychic abilities that I could not turn off this time. The deep inner wisdom making its way through a dense set of bones and skin to shine before me, so I could see it, with all 3 of my eyes.

The third eye had always been a space of both mystery and natural trust for me. Most of my life, when I sought for something outside of myself - a savior, a support, a hero - I was met with nothingness. From a very young age, I had learned to lean in. To listen deeply. And to move from there.

This training in Sedona would crack me open to so much of my inner power, that soon after, my life would burn down and rebuild itself. We don’t return from inner excavation unchanged. Something dies. Something is born.

I had come here for something to die. There had been a pressure growing at the center of my forehead, like a thumb pressing from the inside. It throbbed when I tried to ignore it. Intuition carried me across state lines, sending a wish to the skies that I may better understand the clutches of this internal expansion. And ride the discomfort of what would turn out to be years of cracking open and allowing in the light.

My prayers must have been heard. The portals of this sacred land vibrated through my being from the moment I had arrived. The hum of the canyon, the call of the crow, the stark landscape drew me inward. A perfect place for an identity death.

For these days in Sedona, I began to find surrender, bit by bit, to the softening. The suppleness required to hear the heart speak. The place where truth is revealed.

The profoundness of it all is too much to bear at first. And once we see the truth, we cannot unsee it.

The whole story rose like a symphony building toward its crescendo. The natural home birth of my daughter years prior had struck the first deep note in my root. My belief in survival had been roaring like an electric bassline that never stopped soloing, drowning out everything else. Discordant ancestral harmonies pulled the pitch off key. And beneath it all, the steady beat of my heart kept trying to bring the song back into tune.

The more I quieted and listened, the sweeter the melody inside me became.

And there, in the throes of ceremony, that white owl was carried directly into my view. Wings syncing with the beat of the drum. She lands before me, her grandeur breathtaking, a completely healed feathery goddess.

I fell to my knees and began to cry. I asked for forgiveness before I even understood if there was something I had done. Somewhere inside me, I had decided the injury was mine to carry.

With a realness beyond measure, my body was remembering this ancient tale of misery. Somewhere in my flesh guilt and shame had sunken its teeth in and held steady. I wailed in agony, inside my soul, for being the reason for her suffering.

I had been taking the blame for the skies falling since I was a child. Of course this would all be my fault.

I sat in stillness, holding the pain of these collected memories. An eternity - or maybe 5 minutes - went by before any sense of calm found its way to me. I recognized that this release had brought great relief, while still the embers of sadness continued burning. Sorrowful notes of cello strums gave my heart a space to dance.

Allowing the meditation to come to an end, my mind came back into the regular plane of existence. And my feet carried me directly to the labyrinth on the land. Fresh air and a circling mind that mirrored the maze under my steps.

I walked and walked around and around, the marked pathway allowing me to simply follow and cease any energy of decision. An irony that adds to the magic making of this sacred, ritualistic symbol. I focused my questions directly to source. A prayer circulating in my skin and bones, the portals opening each step I took.

I am open to understanding this pain and allowing the process. I am open to the messages from the owl. And I am open to less suffering.

I could find no other words or thoughts present in the echo chambers of my chanting breath. My steps making a crunching sound as I steadied my pace upon the scattered desert rock bits. This rhythm continued as the labyrinth spit me out, and I dragged my tired frame toward a nearby bench to rest.

I sat overlooking the canyon, a view from the edge, I imagine dangling my legs right over the side. I was almost near enough to do so. Across the vast space from me to the other side, I scanned the rock faces, the spires and the dark trees that manage to grow on these dry, hard hillsides, in awe. Complete presence can be such a superpower.

And, I felt a shift. A slide of time and air so subtle until every sensory organ uplifts and electricity is running through the veins.

Sparkles. There were sparkles everywhere. Close up as well as far away, 3 dimensional like falling stars. Little orbs of lights floating around every periphery of my view. It was impossible to gain regular focus. I could not see beyond them, only through.

I blinked purposely. I rubbed my eyes and still, when the backs of my hands let go, the world before me sparkled. It was like being seated inside of a snow globe that had just been gently shaken. Dancing, twinkling stars everywhere.

And joy, an overwhelming sense of happiness washed over me and gratitude became the very air that I was breathing. I could hear small cries of “thank you” and my heart leapt with the sound of this new song. And seemingly newfound company. I was not alone.

Finally, the white owl appeared inside my third eye once again, beaming with brilliance and ease. The perfection of her wings perfectly matching the sparkles in view. “Peace,” Galena had told me over the phone. “Mama, I named her Peace.”

A deep knowing came over me, a message trickling its way from the windy canyon depths right into my ears. The great white snowy owl, offering me peace.

“You are not the cause of harm, dear soul.

It was never your fault.

You are the one who saved me.”

Thank you for reading. These stories are dear to my soul. As I bring them out into the world, my health returns fully bit by bit. Magic needs to breathe. I am giving it the space.

adgeofwellness.com & Rebel Heart Revolution ~ for more ways to connect, learn and heal together.