Wedding Poem

Our Whole Lives

I.
We said we would
Call the OWL:
March down the I'll,
Ring the bell and each other's
Fingers,
Vow ourselves into oblivion, wholeness, etc.
And die.

II.
The OWL has special wing feathers that quiet its flight,
So the prey never detects the predator.
One noiseless flap, two, and the small mammal is caught.
As out of the soul’s dark night, love is suddenly there, upon us:
Talons and beak.
We succumb,
And turn our bodies over to the nourishment of a grander thing.

2000 May, 2009 Apr

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LoraKim's and my wedding on 2000 May 20 had an Order of Service, on the back of which we printed this text I'd composed for the occasion. The above is my 2009 revision.

Our Whole Lives

The owl has special wing feathers that quiet its flight,
So the prey never detects the predator.
One noiseless flap, two, and the small mammal is caught.
As out of the soul’s dark night, love is suddenly there, upon us:
Talons and beak.
We succumb,
And turn our bodies over to the nourishment of a grander thing.

The owl, wisdom, sits upon stern Athena/Minerva’s shoulder, icon for those have philia of sophia, love of wisdom, or say they do. “When philosophy paints its grey on grey, then has a way of life grown old.” That’s Hegel. Which, by the way, in French is pronounced exactly the way eagle is. He meant, I think, that by the time the philosophers pretty much get something figured out, it’s over – or that articulating what we are all about is the final impetus that makes us into something else. So Hegel concluded, “The owl of Minerva flies at dusk.”

In the owl we, today’s wedding celebrants, come together.
Erstwhile bird person,
Erstwhile philosophy person.
We come together for Our Whole Lives –
which, by the way, is also the name of a Unitarian Universalist religious education curriculum.
Flying.
Into the know-not-what,
Undefined future –
and thus must must also be said, just because we are Trekkies:
Boldly going where we have not gone before.
Flying.
On silent wings.