Omens and portents

This year's spooky season is, well, actually kind of spooky.

“When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurly-burly's done, When the battle's lost and won.” - Shakespeare, Macbeth

I woke up crying at 4 AM this morning, covered in sweat and feeling some of the most profound sadness—bordering on a palpable desperation— that I’ve ever felt in my life.

Upon regaining consciousness, I did not remember the details of the dream, but I did notice the hooting of an owl right outside of my bedroom window.

I haven’t heard an owl for years.

In my family, the owl is a harbinger of death. During the last three nights of my grandfather’s life, an owl hooted outside of his windows. This was such a profound experience for my grandmother that, upon getting close to her own transition to the other side, she ordered various plastic owls to be placed around her property in a hilarious attempt to ward of death itself.

It didn’t work, and the night before she died, some of my relatives heard the owl again.

Early this morning, I listened to the owl for about 20 minutes before waking up my husband so that he could listen to it, too. Just as I did— and just as he leaned to hear it— the sound stopped.

It was so strange. It had been hooting for the better part of a half hour but, when I invited someone else to listen, it suddenly ceased.

Was the owl even there? Was it a physical owl, or a spirit disguising itself as an owl? Was the message not for him or anyone else, just me? And, more importantly, what did it mean?

Since waking, the energy of the day has been the heaviest I’ve ever felt. My chest feels compressed and my joints feel unbearably stiff. Somatically— and devoid of any real reason— my whole body is on edge. I caught myself pacing in the yard earlier, not realizing that I must have looked like an absolute crazy person.

Decoherence, and what we call “clash” energy in Feng Shui, have been rampant in the intervening hours. I’ve received more than two dozens emails and messages from clients and friends in the energetic shit, so to speak, desperately seeking solutions.

After putting out several small, metaphorical fires (furniture delivery scheduled for the wrong day, issues with my podcast tour, etc.), I finally sat down to relax and recalibrate my nervous system.

(What is that old saying about good intentions, again?)

Just then, I saw the news being filtered to me via text message from friends, who had shared links to stories covering:

Mentions of World War 3 as Iran bombs Israel.

Port Workers Strike underway, potential crippling the import and export of goods into our country.

Two “moons” being photographed next to each other in the night sky.

More people dying and languishing in North Carolina as a result of recent floods, largely ignored by the corporate media and, it would seem, our federal government.

“Well, there goes my nervous system recovery,” I thought to myself as I put my phone down and opened up my laptop, convinced that I will feel some relief if I put proverbial pen to paper.

Now, I’m not suggesting all of this is doom. End times. The sky falling. Etc.

But what I am suggesting is that this— whatever “this” even is— is certainly something.

Something big and novel and very, very real. In fact, it’s so substantive from an energetic perspective that I can feel it in every bone in my body, as though someone is putting a current of low grade electricity through me. And not fun electricity. It’s not the nice kind.

But there is comfort. A small silver lining.

Or, I should say, there is at least for me. And that’s in the Woo of it all.

Earlier, I went outside to check on a tree sapling— our Acacia Tree, aka the Burning Bush of the Bible— that we had our friend and helper Eddie plant for us in the backyard yesterday. I noticed an object next to it, in the dirt. I bent down to pick it up, worried that it was some garbage left over from yesterday’s gardening effort and concerned that the chickens would eat it or get hurt.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was a child’s toy. In fact, it was a small, plastic gardening trowel from some kind of children’s gardening play set.

Just then, I knew it was a gift from the fairies. They must have watched us dig through impossibly hard soil in intense heat, and they wanted me to know they appreciated the effort to provide them with yet another home: a magical tree rooted in the earth, not being stifled by some garden planter.

The trowel, as it were, seemed to be fairy language for “dig”.

This is just one of more than a dozen gifts from the fairies that I have received in the last year, which also include:

• A Barbie witch hat

• A beautiful, small clear crystal cluster

• A small tile (probably from someone else’s garden), featuring a gorgeous fleur-de-lis flower design that looks exactly like our Black Mirror irises that bloom in the spring

The fairies and nature spirits are definitely out there. So are the bigger spirits, and the ancestors, I decided, holding my new fairy gift.

And the owl, which for whatever reason relentlessly serves my family as some kind of gloomy newsreader readying us to lose one of our own to the other side.

The owl is out there, too.

And, in a super f*cked up way, this was very, very comforting to me.

So, if you are feeling this terrible energy, waking up crying, or just nervous or frustrated by the world’s events, please remember:

Spirit is real.

Spirit sees all.

And we have support from the other side.

The omens are portents aren’t looking good, but they’re also helping us navigate the inevitable.

What matters now is not trying to control everything around us. That is a fool’s errand.

What matters now is what is real and within our control: eating good food, sleeping, feeling our feelings, slowing down, connecting with spirit, petting our dogs, and getting our own house in order. Doesn’t that linen closet need rearranging, anyways?

Today might be a great day to busy our hands with the ancient meditation:

“Chop wood. Carry water.”

And, perhaps when all of that fails, we go outside to converse with the fae, who at the very least are funny and generous.

I have a feeling that whatever is coming is not something even the most psychic and vigilant among us can circumvent entirely.

When the monsoon lands, we’ll just have to grab our surfboard and ride, trusting that spirit will ensure a safe and smooth landing on the other side.

The omens and portents suggest we are in a time of surrender and release.

Don’t waste your energy fighting existence.

Live within it.

And, if you want to read more about the my hilarious dead grandmother, who attempted to evade death with plastic owls— or the flower essence named after her— check out these previous posts on Substack here:

-Rachel