When I was little, my grandmother owned a booked the title of which intrigued me greatly. The name of the book was The Owl Called My Name. Curious about the story within the pages, there was a day when I asked her about the book. She told me that there was an ancient Native American belief that held if a person ever heard an owl call their name it meant they were going to die. The book was based upon this mythology.
I never read the book. I cannot tell you why. The title, however, has always stayed with me, never ceasing to speak to me.
I’m very honest about my longing for death. If you’ve read very many of my posts, you’re used to me sharing this about myself. I’ve always been waiting to hear the owl call my name. I’m still waiting.
What do I do while I wait? Well, you know, one of the things I do is write songs; I sing, I make music.
It was inevitable that I would eventually write this song. Today’s the day I’ve chosen to share it with the world… something to do while I wait.
Some, I know, won’t like it or “get” it at all. For the rest of you – you who are with me in the waiting room of life – this is an anthem of the waiting, aching soul; it is my story…my story then, my story now…my story until I hear…well, you know.