Short history, Part 2

It was in the very same chair a few Sundays later, after church, I had another life altering dream. It opened with the residents of a suburban neighborhood (similar to the one I was living in) gathering for a recreation of a Native American ceremony. The feel from the people gathering at this event felt forced, put on. However, there we were, sitting in metal folding chairs all facing the edge of a large field with tall pine trees.
The Indians were about what you would expect, with the "traditional" garb, dancing, drumming. Shortly into the ceremony I noticed that there was a shallow ditch dug into the ground at the front row of the ceremony. As the ceremony continued people watching got up from their chairs and dropped to their knees in front of it. They would then take their heads and rip them off their bodies, placing them in the ditch as an offering and testament to the power of the ceremony. I was shocked! To me, this was a trite re-enactment at best!
It was at that moment that a bald black man with white smudge paint on his face broke out of the center of the dancing Natives and walked over to me. He picked up his hand and blew white dust in my face. For one moment, all was blank, and as I came to I saw that I had fallen off of my chair and my arms were raised toward the sky. Then, one gigantic owl followed by three smaller owls flew over the tops of the pines and I could feel their power. I know it sounds odd but I could feel them. It was a mix of awe, humility, and ecstasy.
After their passing, I stood to see that others had not seen this and were split into two groups. Those that did not understand why these people would lose their head at such a show and the people sacrificing their head just to experience something. I went to speak with a woman and man, their arms crossed and indignant, to tell them that you did not have to lose your head to feel something here. I woke up and once again told my mother about the dream.

A few days later my mother told me that she had shared my dream with another woman at the grief crisis center and that she was coming over to the house to meet me. To meet me!? My mother said she just wanted to meet me, period. So....sure enough some time, either that day or shortly after, a woman (short in stature, short brown hair) arrived at the door and said hello to my mother and myself. My mother left the room and she and I sat on the sofa to talk.

She looked at me and said, "You have some Indian blood in you?". I said, "Yes, one tenth Canadian Indian (my father's side)".
She then said that some animals have medicine and belong to our spirit. She then pulled out some cards and showed me one with an owl on the front and, on back, the meaning of the owl spirit. She said it was the shamans animal and I should never give energy in the wrong manner when healing people. WHAT the hell was she talking about!!?? I stayed quiet.
She said a spirit she was friends with told her to stop by and say hello. "He speaks with an Irish accent", she told me.
She then shared how selfish suicide can be to others around them. Her son had committed suicide and her spirit broke open. She then began to see like I could see. This is what she shared.

Ok, so here I am seventeen........none of this information was applicable nor made sense nor WAS going to make any sense in my mind. I kept still, listened, and soon after she left me with a hug. It was not until eight years later that everything she shared with me came into being. And, to this day, every place I settle becomes a nesting ground for owls. Every crackish slum I have ever paid rent. How odd and wonderful. I never saw her again.