Phenomenal Owl from the Abbey

The chickcharney (also known as the chickcharnie or chickcharnee) is a legendary creature in the folklore of Andros Island in the Bahama Islands. It is said to live in the forests, is furry or feathered, and about 3 feet (0.91 metres) tall, with an ugly appearance resembling an owl. In common legend, if a traveller meets a chickcharney and treats it well, they will be rewarded with good luck, while treating a chickcharney badly will result in bad luck and hard times.

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chickcharney [accessed 19/01/2022, 04:52]

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Pray, sleep, pray, eat, pray…

This happened in England in the 19th century during my visit through the ages and events.

Father Cleophas (in Greek: ‘vision of glory’) has already done his rounds in the monastery this morning. His personal biological clock woke him up before dawn before all the creatures living in the abbey had had time to think of anything terrestrial. He was responsible for feeding the monks and their sensational owl with everything that grew in the abbey’s bountiful gardens. The plants were cultivated in exactly the same way as when the garden was established in the medieval era. There has never been room for anything artificial here, let alone additions to the natural and divine order. The same was true for animals. Pigs, ducks, chickens, turkeys, and rabbits walked freely in a specially designated pen, they could leave their faeces wherever they wanted, and they experienced violence only at the end of their earthly life. Even this was the hardest thing to do by the most peaceful people you could meet in the close vicinity of the monastery, but it was just a necessity, and it didn't happen every day, only once in a while. The monks were omnivores, but their daily meals consisted mainly of groats, eggs, bread, and butter, and the meat matter mounted up only on special occasions, such as reunions of kings, queens, patriarchs, lords, and barons. That’s probably why they were cold in winter almost all the time, but you might be grateful for a heated room where everyone could gather by the fire that kept their trembling bones warm.

Father Cleophas carried the lantern across the sidewalk surrounding its wall, covered with richly carved stone columns protecting the yellow and red mosaic floor tiles from the harsh weather, especially the rain that often hit these areas. On his way, he encountered the enormous figure of Father Oberon (in German: ‘noble’ and ‘bear-like’) nibbling on the first spring crocuses. He wanted to tell him that saffron would be added to the evening dinner, but the Benedictine silence clause laced up his lips. Father Zachary (in English: ‘God remembers’), the abbey’s abbot, visited them today, so this created an opportunity for better food for at least one day. The brothers also had to have something from life, not all meals had to please just the owl. ‘Not today, I’m afraid’, Father Cleophas sighed heavily, drawing water from a well in the cloister.

Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something.

– Plato

He found this quote scratched with a claw on a piece of paper and attached to a tree. That owl! Sometimes he thought that they should let her go, let her fly to the nearest tree, into the forest, where she could live with her race for a change, not make fun of people.

Raquel (in Spanish: ‘innocent’), an old barn owl named by the monks, was laboriously and loudly inhaling air into its lungs, then released it with even more steam. Usually she was a patient bird, but sometimes she was most exhausted when she struggled with bothersome human problems. And there was a lot going on these days because she was an expert in bringing long-awaited children to sterile couples, wealth for the poor, healing the sick, beyond dealing with more complicated diplomatic affairs. Most of the time, when people came to the abbey to visit her and ask for miracles she could do, she perched on a branch of one of the trees, and this was the only time she was allowed outside her nest in a huge chapel. She could spread her wings wide, stretching old bones. Breathing in fresh air always allowed her to respawn as if it were the only antidote to mortality. It seemed like she would never get old, as if her destiny had spared her all the troubles of earth in this department. It was so long ago that she came here.

Raquel was brought to Europe in the 12th century by Gypsies travelling from Asia to the Old Continent. The voyagers did not know exactly what the properties of a bird were when it was transported over the distance of many miles and times. All they knew was that they could not leave it in their home country, because the Civil War would handle it on its own. So, they lugged this extra load until they reached European land and were smitten with the plague that engulfed it all. Owl survived, immune to human diseases, and after some time one of the monks, Father Barnaby (in Old English: ‘son of consolation’) found her and became her teacher and translator. She only spoke the Greek he was teaching due to her inability to learn other languages. Everything she said or wrote about was painstakingly translated by Father Barnaby, and since he was proficient in reading and copying Greek books in the scriptorium, he had no trouble understanding the owl. The only problem was that no one could answer her, and also her sharp tongue, faster than lightning and unstoppable in its power that usually caused more trouble than the brethren could have imagined.

When the oldest creature in the abbey spread its wings that evening, everyone knew it would cause trouble. She acted as if she had drunk nepenthe, the drug of oblivion mentioned in Greek literature and Greek mythology. In their garden there was a plant named after it that caused as much trouble to spiders, slugs, lizards, frogs, and small insects such as ants. Forgetfulness is an extremely dangerous weapon. Raquel stood high in front of the window lattice – and so did I, the Raven created by Edgar Allan Poe – as if she wanted to prove something to us. She proved her ignorance and disrespect for the abbot, as well as for the hospitality of the monastery that fed her and cared for both her and her health.

She opened her beak and loudly and clearly said to Father Zachary giving a speech on social education, ‘Be silent or let thy words be worth more than silence’. These were the words of Pythagoras conveyed by her at this point. Oh God, let all brothers be saved, because now is the time to reap the fruits of this hard life and pray. Pray that she will not be expelled from the abbey this time. It almost happened the last time with Letitia (in Latin: ‘joy, gladness’) who was transferred to the dormitory after she passed out. The woman was so infatuated with the owl that she entered some sort of secret ecstasy and, not knowing what to do, the brethren took her to the dormitory. It was highly forbidden as she was a woman, but it was also forgiven due to the special circumstances surrounding our bird with magical abilities. Raquel to our abbey is like a goose that lays golden eggs, to banish her would be to kill the only treasure we possess. Where will she go? This is certain death for her. Let's hope it doesn't happen this time. Someone has to provide eternal life, and she is the brothers' bargaining chip. With her gone, life in the abbey would never be the same again.

The Raven

– THE END –

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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