Letter Twelve: Final letter

Hawk, Hawk, Hawk … Hawk, Hawk,

I have never seen you without feeling wonder and affection as you soar in the open sky, perch on a limb among the trees, make your high-pitched call in the distance. As you saw in my video, I wanted to be like you and fly. Clearly I am not a hawk. But you can appreciate the effort; I had great fun!

Today I woke up to a beautiful spring morning, and I felt a sense of spaciousness as I might in the treetops of a forest. I remembered a year ago, you made a journey from your park in Queens to Manhattan. And as I heard the first siren of this day and then a mourning dove, I realized something and I felt a moment of loss. This was like the wax man touching the linden leaf and then letting it go—not because he wanted to, but because the energy of the leaf was to keep moving, against gravity, upward, and then the wax man felt the grace to let it be so.

Hawk, I’m releasing you, to be exactly as you are: daring, beautiful, and free. I cherish your happiness and freedom and the delight you bring. I am releasing you from the confines of my imagination into the openness of it and beyond.

You have taught me an important lesson. If I can have deep affection for you, Hawk, I have the potential to connect to all beings in my art practice, my spiritual practice and daily life. Thank you, Hawk. May your appearance always remain in flight and freedom, passing through trees and in the sky, and I will always speak to you.