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I sat in the grass on the hill behind where I live today. It offers the perfect spot for contemplation and solitude. If I look to my right, through the trees and across the road, I can see a log home nestled in the trees, but I choose to not look in that direction and I am rewarded. Ahead of me are only fields and woods and hills, and the only sound is of the cicadas singing. I cannot see the homes behind the treeline, or the farms nestled in the valley...only God's green Earth before me and blue sky above, and I can pretend there is no civilization. In that sky, on almost a daily basis, is an aerial ballet performed in slow-motion by a group of red-tailed hawks. There are days when I hate being human - the guilt and complicity are too much to bear. The news lately is unfathomable: children snatched off the street, raped and murdered; priests accused of sexually abusing children; an American President determined to depose another madman with an action akin to tossing a match into a powder keg; companies lying about their finances, going bankrupt and leaving thousands without an income or pension; natural disasters, war, genocide, infanticide, murder, crime, abuse, neglect, violations of human and animal rights. Daily, I announce I cannot hear any more of it and daily I do. When I cannot see or hear anymore, when I can no longer stand to watch our Earth being raped, or observe man's inhumanity to man, or the abuse of creatures who cannot speak for themselves, when I can take no more of the killing, I retreat to my hilltop. The vantage point it offers and, especially, the exhibition of aerial mastery by the red-tailed hawks renews my hope and spirit. There are usually at least a dozen in the air at one time. They glide in slow circles at different altitudes, some directly overhead, some as much as a mile away. I can see forever from where I lie in the grass and the grass has a lemony, pungent smell. It holds its own netherworld of insects climbing blades of grass or toting burdens of food or encased eggs. Sometimes these denizens of the vegetation are able to divert my attention from the hawks, or a herd of deer will walk from around the edge of the neighboring cornfield and occupy me for a while, but eventually my interest always returns to the hawks How do they do it? Not fly - I understand something about aerodynamics and their awe-inspiring construction - but fly without care? While chemical poisons threaten them, while hunters and poachers are hiding in the bushes, while drivers mow down anything in their path as hawks feed on a road-killed squirrel, while maniacal heads-of-state imperil our very existence - how do the hawks forget, ignore, let go of worry and soar? How do I be in this world without harming this world, and be of this world without allowing it to taint me? I can feel how strongly their talons grip a sturdy tree branch when even the strongest squall cannot unperch them, as I struggle to let go of my humanness and the thought processes of a human mind. I hold a certain grudging admiration for atheists and barbarians - how could anyone watch a hawk soar in a blue sky and perform dives and swoops and circles, and not believe in some higher force that exceeds our understanding? We can recognize without comprehending; the hawk can comprehend without caring if he understands. I can feel my wings extend and my eyes flicker in anticipation. I feel the flight feathers attached to each separate muscle as they align in place and feel the tail feathers at the ready. I am synergy and I have the assurance before I push off from that branch of everything I need to know - the wind speed and direction, the humidity and temperature, and anything that has to do with air without a single admission of gravity. I spring forward and the air is there, as I knew it would be, and it carries me, as I knew it would, like a mother's arms, it has presence and substance and lift, and I am airborne! I have joined them, the enviable ones. We are aware of each other's presence, but we each occupy our own space, the space of our choosing. There is no rivalry, no one-upmanship, we are confident that we are each the best and we have nothing to prove, except to ourselves. We sail the air currents, we take chances, we fold our wings and dive, knowing full well that something as fragile as feathers out-thrust can break our fall, and that the Creator's hand waits below should we be foolish enough to exceed our abilities. Eventually, I will have to return to my reality. I'll note that the grass should be mowed, I'll hear the neighbor's car turn into the driveway across the road, and I'll wish the deer would go into hiding before hunting season opens on land I do not own. But I can take the lesson of the red-tailed hawk away with me as I walk down from my hilltop and march toward problems and uncertainty with my head held high. When you are without hope, when someone has betrayed your trust or disappointed you, when you've been blamed unfairly, when the pressure and the problems are too much, when you are about to lose someone or something important to you...and when the world and the news seem absurd and incomprehensible, close your eyes for a moment. Exhale slowly and deeply. Inhale fully. Spread your arms. Let go of your humanness. Spread your
wings and feel the sun on your back. Feel your flight feathers extend
fully and your tail feathers fan in readiness. Allow the breeze to run
through them, teasing at first, tugging, pulling toward the heavens, compelling
you to let go of the branch. Inhale the lemony scent of grasses carried
to you on the wind and then let go of your branch and soar. Surprise everyone,
laugh at gravity and fly free. It matters little if anyone else believes
in you, because you believe in yourself and the power of the air, and
you know the secrets of the red-tailed hawk.
We're pleased
to announce publication of Jim's new book: NOW AVAILABLE
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