A Message From the Hawk

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a true story of how a hawk sent me a message to help me get a grip on my life

Submitted: February 09, 2015

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Submitted: February 09, 2015

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I saw the hawk as I traveled down the country road  towards work in the early morning. It flew first in front of me and across to another branch that hung over the road. It had gotten my attention. Then it lifted its wings straight up and flew in front of me as I traveled the dirt road, glad that there would be no traffic to interfere with my attention and watched this majestic scene as it finally flew up into the sky and over the trees.It had came and left without the fanfare it deserved.
Native Americans believe that the hawk is a messenger and when it crosses your path you are either supposed to give a message or receive a message. Having learned to respect the ways and beliefs of  “The People,” this majestic bird gave me pause to stop and think, to keep in mind  the hawks message.
My day at work was the same extremely very stressful day with not enough time to do the required amount of work. And a client list with poor senior citizens who always were in need of  well deserved help. It was my job to make their last days the best. I had a county full of them and for some, I was all they had. I needed more than 28 hours a week to properly do my job and yet my pleas were constantly rejected by corporate headquarters.  I had made myself a nervous wreck worrying about my people, always doing my best which never seemed to be enough
The day went by too quickly and my time was up and I regretfully headed back out to the woods, I turned off the pavement and back to the dirt roads and up the mountains. It was here, where my thought and prayers went back to the people who needed help that I had not been able to give.
And then again it happened. The hawk swooped down in front of me, almost showing me the way home for a few minutes. I had not given a message today nor had I received one and I had forgotten the hawk, but it had not forgotten me.
 
That night we were to go to a dinner party at a neighbors and I was really tired and did not want to go but perhaps it would take my mind off of the tough days which plagued me relentlessly. When dinner came that night we sat around a long table with about eight people. Across and down from me was an older gentleman, named Steve, that I had met only once before. He had long white hair which hung in a braid down his back. Different conversations were going on around me and Isat amused at the comradery.
And then I heard it. “You can’t push a river, you gotta let it flow.” I looked over and saw that  Steve was the one who was giving me the message. He had said it slowly and drawing it out.  Someone distracted me and took my attention away with a question about work. The conversations continued and as quickly as I could, I finished my answer and sat back and listened to someone else. And then my attention was drawn away and I heard him telling someone, “You can’t push a river, you gotta let it flow.” I stared over at him. He looked over at me and smiled.
I was glad when the evening was over and was later able to get back home and relax awhile before bed. And it hit me like a brick. I had been pushing a River called Corporate, who was never going to budge on the issue of giving me the time I needed to do my job. I was doing a better job in the short time I had been working for them than others had in years.
There was no need in me trying to push a river. It was not going to change its course and I could feel myself desperately drowning in it. The more I had tried to push that river, the deeper it got. I needed to let go and take a deep breath. I had to get out before I drowned. So as the days and weeks followed, I just did the best I could, and remembered the river, as now I walked beside it, not always happy where it took me.
A few years later I have found myself again, trying to push another river. This time my husband reminded me about the river as I had forgotten, and was starting to go back in the old patterns. One evening he said it to me, “You can’t push that river.”
I turned to him and said, “I’m not, I’m just moving a few rocks so someday maybe it will go a little more my way.”
So for those who are out there, trying to push their own rivers, I hope they take a deep breathe. 


© Copyright 2019 Karen Ament. All rights reserved.

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