Jonas and the Owl

The Unhinged Irony of Letting Go

Jonas awoke from a dream to the screech of a barn owl silhouetted in the moonlight. Hurried and pensive, as if beckoned to greet the forest and provoked by its sudden invitation, he sat up in the army tent he’d stolen from his father in a final act of rebellion. Jonas had grown weary of the monotony of his former existence and all the tired routines prodding and reminding him incessantly of his “different-ness.” Beguiled by the prospect of an escape into the unfamiliar, he’d been plotting his secret departure for quite some time.

The night was cold but not too cold. Damp but not too damp. The tall oaks and pines stood like a fortress of quiet restitution around him. The owl screeched again — a metaphor perhaps, of his inner state, granting him the permission of outward silence in the midst of near constant frustration. He was 17 and curious, yet disillusioned already and eager for the opportunity to stretch beyond the conditioned world he’d been so carefully groomed for. Unzipping the door and stepping outside, he could feel the vastness of the darkness around him.

Closing his eyes, he imagined himself gazing through the lens of this owl’s eyes. “What does it see when it looks at me?” he pondered. “Can it sense my racing mind dancing in dissatisfaction? Does it screech to wake me from my shaken dreams or is it calling out to something?” He abandoned his questions and blinking, decided to embrace the metaphor of the moment. Standing amongst the canopy of trees, he found his angst quieting and just for a moment, forgot the familiar feeling of Jonas Cavanaugh. Then suddenly, he found himself looking down as if from above. There was a boy, he was that boy, in the midst of this wide space seemingly infinite. Yet now he was an owl.

He could sense the others perched in perfect stillness as well. He could feel the sky above and the ground below, hear the rustling of worms, insects and rodents scurrying below. It was like a sixth sense, he could even feel their fear. Screeching once again, he pounced, catching a small furry thing in his mouth then lifting, rising, cascading and disappearing into the cacophony of leaves and branches.

Then in an instant, he was back again. Back to Jonas Cavanaugh, standing outside his tent now with a body that was tingling with the feeling of being unfazed by the luminous darkness. As if in a trance, he began walking and before long, heard what sounded like the crackling of a fire and the laughter of strangers contrasting the mysticism of his waking dream. He passed them, ghost-like and inspired by something he couldn’t quite conceive of, their voices echoing in the night and fading into the backdrop of moonlight. It was too dark to make out the form of the path—he was walking in feeling, avoiding fallen branches and bushes, ignoring the presence of eyes and other critters.

The path began winding upwards, linking into a cliff-side, the tree line diminishing and the sky spreading in hints of clouds. He kept walking faster and faster, forgetting the purpose, the destination and the need to know. He no longer cared whether he would return before sunrise, or whether he would return at all for that matter. He felt half human, half animal—a creature of his own, defined by the reckless wilderness.

A sudden and heavy breeze wafted toward his face. He breathed in, his lungs stretching to greet the moisture in the air and stopped to stare at the sliver of moon upside down, like a half smile, peering on the brink of the cliff-side. He had never allowed himself to really meet the world like this before. There was so much expectation in his life. School, work, family, future. He hated that feeling—the pressure to gain the approval of those with whom he fundamentally disagreed. He felt liberated as if from someone else’s nightmare and desired only this moment and its sovereignty. Leaning up against a tall tree, he looked up and “screeeeech!” The owl was just above him again, it's face motionless, staring out. Mesmerized, he became so captured by this creature, he didn't realize that someone had approached and had been standing next to him.

A girl, probably a year older than him, stood with her back to a tree. His eyes lowered and connected with hers. ”Beautiful isn't she?" she proclaimed. He nodded in agreement. "I've always loved owls. It's the only bird with eyes on the front of its face. Like a metaphor from nature, a symbol of the willingness to really look deeply at things,” she said. He liked that. She paused then continued "Sometimes when I hear it screech, I feel like it's a part of me expressing itself better than I even know how. Like when you want to scream but you don't know how to make a sound. We've all been trained to live in a counterintuitive way for so long that we've forgotten natural expression, so we leave it to these secret performers. Nature is an extension of us, even when we have forgotten.”

“That's a very interesting way of putting it" he found himself saying. “It seems to me that you’re doing that very thing for me in this moment. Like magic, you’re saying everything I’m feeling. He paused, then said “I’m Jonas by the way.” “I’m Val,” she replied, still looking at the owl. He continued “Maybe that’s our problem in society. We’re so addicted to the known that we forget the simplicity of who we are and how to connect with each other without the pretense of expectation.” She smiled. They turned to face each other. There was something so familiar, yet they had never met before. “Come over to my camp," she said. "I’d like to show you something.”

As the two walked over to where the fire and laughter had been before, Val explained that she’d been away from home for some time. She’d been hiking the PCT but had stayed on in the fringes of the wilderness, unable to find the will to return home. She had however, managed to find a few other travelers and wanderers, who like her, either refused to return home or had none to speak of. When they reached camp, the others at the fire suddenly quieted and stared at them. “This is Jonas” she said and before he could utter a word, she was placing something in his hand. “Here,” she said. “I think you should have this. Keep it safe. It’s an owl feather given to me long ago by the forest herself.”

He gently twirled the feather in his fingers, contemplating its structure by the glinting firelight. The two sat by the fire for some time. The others in the group carried on their loud conversations while Jonas and Val sat apart, mostly staring at the red embers. Val pondered what to do with this strange encounter. Every piece of advice in the book would dictate not to trust a stranger. But she’d stopped following all the rules in all the books long ago. Something told her, perhaps it was the look in his eyes, that she could trust him. Living out in the wild, the mechanism of her instinct had grown sharper. Besides, she thought to herself, he seemed a bit lost, perhaps not prepared for the true wilds of Eastern Washington.

What an interesting girl, Jonas thought. He was sitting at the fire, doing his best to not give away the immeasurable magnetism he felt towards Val. He was trying to figure it out. It wasn’t the usual kind. Sure she was beautiful but it was something else, something in the way she looked at things. Like a secret flash in her eye. As if she was in on something typically unnoticed to the average onlooker. What was that? He watched her as she tossed a piece of wood into the fire and glanced at him for a second, winking with her smile as she said something into the ear of her friend next to her. She laughed. Something about her felt so youthful and vibrant, yet at the same time old and wise beyond her years. He felt like a child around her yet when she looked at him he felt that deep old wise hidden piece of who he knew himself to be, uncloaked by her simple and momentary affirmation.

“Hey you should camp over here with us” Val said. “On nights like these we sleep under the stars, no tents. I got an extra sleeping bag if you need one” she added with a smile. Jonas couldn’t lie, the prospect of a warm fire and new friends seemed far more hopeful than the cold grey canvas tent he had left behind earlier in the evening. “I’d love to” he said, trying not to appear too eager. It didn’t matter, Val could see right through him. And as the night wore on he could feel his old life slipping farther and farther away until there was nothing but the flicker of the fire and the tall branches towering above.