The great owl door

Text: Tom Goldthorpe

Hidden deep underground there is a huge carved door in the shape of an owl. It is said the great owl door can answer any question put to it, its answers accurate and true. But the door has been silent for living memory. Travelling alone from the very top of the world, a little boy and his mother make such a journey. Longing for answers. Desperate in their solitude. 

After some time they reach the entrance of a cave that marks the beginning of the path to the great owl door. It descends, steep and winding and treacherous deep into the earth below.Far above them water drips in splashing drops that echo in the still air. Pools collect, edges crusted and calcified, growing larger in size until they trickle into a stream that soon rushes and gushes growing in strength and volume as it tumbles its descent. 

A dim light filters through from high above fissures and cracks, reflecting on the surface of the flowing stream. The air here feels different, the boy thinks, and for the first time feels a little scared, wishing it was not just him and his mother making the journey. He remembered larger rougher hands holding his, a deep reassuring voice that used to calm and quiet his nerves and fears. 

The sound by now is a roiling crashing firmament and a sharp breeze whips his hair into his face. His mother’s hand tightens on his and without warning she stops and pulls him close. As she moves aside he sees why; a great void stretches out before them. Water rushes and tumbles past, crashing and cascading into the abyss. The cave roars with the echo of tormented water. 

‘We must climb now’ Says his mother, carefully turning to pick her way down the soon sheer sloping rocky outcrop. ‘I’ll go first, try to follow my steps’.The boy is frightened at this and asked his mother to tell him a story to distract him from the thought of what would happen should they falter or fall. 

‘This waterfall is known as Great hopes leap’, she said, her soft voice reassuring and calm.‘It is said that long ago, before the great owl door was known in lands as far as ours, a goat herd entered the cave looking for one of his flock. He followed it’s hoof prints down-stream, calling its name all the while. Eventually he came upon the goat which was anxious and confused in such unfamiliar territory. He called for it to be still as he tried to reach it, but his voice echoed and bounced in the cavern and the scared goat cantered towards the lip of the waterfall and leapt out into the void, expecting the darkness to hold and clasp it tight, an embrace that would return it to the safety it had known above.’‘

And did it?’ The boy asked, his fingers and toes searching for purchase in clay and rock as he mirrored his mother’s route edging slowly down the rock. ‘No one can know for sure’ his mother sighed. ‘The goat-herd searched but never saw the animal again.’ The boy pondered this a long while, his mind distracted from cramped and aching muscles until at last they reached a plateaux where they stopped to rest a while.‘Do you know what you will ask the great owl door?’ Said the boy, though it was not the first time this had been discussed. ‘I have so many questions my love, but only seek one answer.‘

They paused a while to rest after the steep climb down and shared a loaf of honeyed bread, tearing chunks with fingers sticky and sweet. The boy thought he could hear other voices now and his mother explained that they were not alone in this pilgrimage, that people travelled far and wide to bring their burdens and lay them before the great owl door.

They gathered themselves up and began again their journey, descending further still into the gloom of the cave.The light murked and wavered until the boy could barely see his mother in front of him. In the distance he thought he could see a dim orange light and was relived that this seemed the direction they were headed. The further they travelled the greater it grew and bloomed until at last the boy realised that light reflected and arced across the great carved surface of the owl door itself.

Other travellers thronged before them, each picking their way towards its towering face stretching hundreds of feet high above them. The ancient wood was illuminated by a hazy glow that detailed its intricate relief. Countless feathers etched deep into the wood led up to two huge round eyes that stared out above a sharply curved beak. There was nothing friendly about the fierce face, its gaze unwavering and intense as it looked across the milling crowd snaking out in front of them. They had slowed to a stop now, every so often packs would be gathered and shuffled forward.

The boy could hear people mumbling questions, practicing their tone and delivery nervously as their turn neared. His mother however remained silent. Eventually they drew close enough to see a rock that jutted out below the door. One by one people approached to call out their questions, waiting in hope of an answer, before being pushed aside by the impatient crowd behind them. The great owl door remained resolute, steadfast and silent. 

At last the crowd thinned and before them a space opened. His mother gripped the boys hand tight and together they strode out on to the rock, the inscrutable face of the owl towering above them.The mother gathered her voice and called out her question, loud and clear. But not all questions have answers. And not all stories have the endings you hope for. 

#Thegreatowldoor #TomGoldthorpe