Eyes Like A Hawk



You may notice a hawk sitting near the top of the tree. It was late fall and winter was beckoning. Early one sunny morning I got out for a cool walk. The glow of the morning with such a nourishing solar bath illuminated everything including my mind. I was delighted that day to be outdoors and really taking in the moment. I enjoy many moments such as this. Sun is nutrient to me and inspires creative ideas and music. Toward the end of the trail as I was heading back to home base I noticed far off this bird. I waited until I got closer to get a picture but I was quite a distance from my shot here when I initially noticed it. Is it an eagle? A Hawk? I knew it was something because it was so big. I wondered about him for several days until one afternoon while on the deck talking with friends and watching the swollen Bear Creek down the bank, there appeared in the thick woods of the yard, perched on a low branch, a hawk. My friend and I stood up to the rail and just watched him. We were stunned. I said hi. Haha, I did, and it occurred to me this might be the same bird. After all, I know other birds exist, but he was the highest one in the trees that day, the only one actually that I saw in the whole forest that morning. So, I didn’t have my phone handy and not wanting to disturb that moment, I just looked at him. I saw his eyes, yes, they were “Like A Hawk” because he is a hawk and I saw his eyes.

It sounds elementary and it is. But it is also symbolic for me personally. I was transported back in time to third grade elementary school, the year was 1969. My teacher, Mrs. Miller, was instructing another student on a reading assignment and I was sitting next to the other student, I didn’t know how to read and was quite lost academically and needed help myself. She saw me looking at the other students paper and rebuked me and said “You have eyes like a hawk”. It startled me, what? I just need assistance about the lesson! But, she didn’t like me, or maybe she associated me with my trouble-maker older sisters. But, why would a third grade teacher demonize a child like that? Public schools on the East coast can be brutal. I was not stupid but I did have trouble learning to write and read because I was left-handed amongst a large right-handed classroom full of children. I distinctly remember, however, writing songs at 4 years old on the family’s small tape recorder. I even knew how to spell my name. It wasn’t until my family saw what I was writing, it was pointed out to me that it was correct just in the reverse order. I wrote from right to left across the page the letters of my name and my “stories” which I knew were songs. For two more years I was in and out of hospitals with illness and didn’t attend the public school until I was six years old. It took another 6 months for me to stop sucking my thumb and speak out loud in the classroom. A student teacher tutored me and made comments like “someday you will talk and once you do you will never stop”. I did attend frequent music classes with Mrs. Weiss with her upright piano. She taught us simple songs about kites and apple blossoms that were interactive. Within a few months she selected me to sing the lead for our First grade Christmas performance before the school. I guess if I wouldn’t talk, at least they could get me to sing. And I did. I have not stopped yet and don’t plan to.

These are not mind memories. These are cellular. I recently lost 60 pounds of weight over a period of 18 months. The last 2 months were a fasting period for me and not surprisingly, I lost more weight, this time on my upper body. I didn’t realize I was carrying so much weight in my chest, shoulders, arms, torso. This must be where these memories were stored. My heart chakra is in this region and my throat; the place where music and language come from; no coincidences. My arms, as well, are much thinner and the memories of getting confused about left and right are surfacing. I still do that now but I was born left-handed and had to re-orient and switch sides at six years old to accommodate the school. Initially they taped my left hand to the desk to try to teach me to write with my right hand. That’s probably when I went mute. I don’t recall how that happened. I spoke at home but I had a loud, large and chaotic family so I didn’t dare make proclamations there either. It sounds like torture. It wasn’t pleasant but I feel endowed with treasures by these stories because I have overcome a lot of bizarre situations which would shock most people.

I have shrunk in size and am very petit now. My 29 year old son commented how he doesn’t remember me being so tiny after visiting a few months ago. Neither do I. I always felt like my presence in any situation was undeniable. Maybe the 3 cardinal signs in my natal chart is why that is; sun, moon ascendant, (water, air, earth) all cardinal and Saturn and Jupiter are quite at home in the first. It’s a tall order, but then again, I have always been known to bite off more than I could chew. Maybe Mrs. Miller could see that and felt threatened. I must have been a handful.

But why am i thinking of this now? It took until much later for me to feel at ease with writing but once I did I excelled. Emotionally, however, I was scarred and had low self-esteem, understandably. That has taken decades to fully manifest and become something new to build on. I discovered many scars and now that I am down to my base weight, I am getting re-acquainted with my physical body. My point is, there are cells in my body now that are getting light shining on them for the first time in four decades or more. They are revealing the memories they were stored then, re-visiting these experiences and cleaning house. Some are disturbing like Mrs. Miller. Some, however, are enlightening; like how I instinctively wrote from right to left. My past life was obviously in a different part of the world, I don’t doubt. Like how Music saved me in first grade and has continuously ever since. I cherish those memories, I even cherish Mrs. Miller who was more a reflection of the times and was probably paranoid as hell about “da russians, da bomb, da germans, da mafia” blah blah blah…Whatever the reasons for these things, I won’t be-labor trying to get more understanding about that. I want to know the stories and let them have a voice now. My creative output really took off almost twenty years ago and indeed, my teacher’s aid was right; I won’t ever stop.

Have a great week!


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