Of Owls, Dreams, and the History of Britain  − 9 March, 2008

I sent my father a copy of Dreamed of an Owl. He returned a thoughtful and provocative reply.  He thought that my translation from hawk to owl suggested that the dream was very significant.  The way he sees it, the owl is more suited than the hawk to work something out in a nighttime dream, since the hawk needs light and (he says) “the outer world to express itself”.  The owl, on the other hand, sees clearly in the dark.

What I remember about the owl is that I didn’t know it was an owl at first.  Its head was turned away from me.  I thought it was probably a hawk, and was hoping it would turn its head to reveal its identity.  I had to wait for a long time.  When it finally turned its head, it was in that smooth, uncanny way that owls swivel their heads.  The owl’s steady gaze settled on me.  Then the dream ended.

Perhaps what was significant about the dream was what came before the owl.  Or perhaps it was the anticipation, of not knowing the true identity but caring quite a bit.  I wanted the bird to be a hawk, but I was not disappointed that it was an owl. The feeling I got from being gazed upon by an owl was more settled than I think it would have been had the bird been a hawk.  Knowing, in the dream, that the owl is rarely seen also cause me to enjoy even more the brief moments I shared with it.

The hawks in the History of Britain documentary were mesmerizing.  Perhaps because I am such a visual person, when they were on the screen, the visual part of my brain overruled the verbal part.  The historian’s voice receded and for me it was only about hawks, not about Henry II or Britain or Normandy.  I was fascinated by the hawk’s predatory face, and by the way it greedily consumed recently alive flesh.  

I suppose one downside of the very engaging History of Britain is that the visual aids can be so distracting to some that the history is lost!

Here are some beautiful photos someone took of young hawks. By contrast, here is an owl.