The hawk found me first.
Yellow eyes pierced through the veil, unblinking. Watching. We stood, me on earth, it in branches, separated only by a few feet and an ancient knowing. It bobbed its head side to side, as if measuring my spirit, reading the threads I couldn’t yet see. Then, as if satisfied, it left.
Later that day, I heard the story of a hawk death. I was called to find it on the road, but this time there were no eyes watching—only wings stilled by impact. The body lay quiet, crumpled, and I knew without knowing that it was him. I carried the hawk from the asphalt like an offering, whispered a prayer, and looked to the sky. His mate circled above, screaming grief into the wind. The sound wasn’t just sorrow, it was a summons.
I answered.
In meditation, I became the hawk.
Eyes sharp. Sensing the rumble of fate approaching fast. Wings straining against time. Then collision. Pain so sudden and real it shook me out of my body. I jolted and absorbed the trauma, only to discover it was swiftly gone, replaced by boundless peace.
White, wide, beautiful peace. A stillness so complete it undid fear itself. I released the water from my eyes and felt its soul transition beyond the veil.
Death, it turns out, is not the punishment. It is the release. The return. The challenge is living with your eyes open.
Later, I read about the Hawk in my animal spirit deck.
“The sharp eyes of the Hawk watch our every move. This keen-eyed bird has the ability to see every little detail as well as the bigger picture. When this card appears, fate has its eyes on you, and the winds are shifting. It is said that the Hawk carries news upon its wings and is sent from divinity itself to deliver it. The message should not be taken lightly… though it may seem small or insignificant, it will eventually redirect your course.”
The message wasn’t in the death.
It wasn’t even in the vision.
The message was in the moment I was seen.
Because when something sees you that clearly,
you can no longer pretend you don’t exist.
The hawk didn’t die.
It delivered its message.
And I became the one who listens.
