Hawk over Hoboken Dec. 20, 2023
Supposedly, the hawk I saw perched above the 9th Street
station of the Light Rail is a good omen, although with the trains running
whacky, I didn’t think so at the time as I waited for five trains to pass the other
way on the wrong track traveling south, before mine arrived.
The Bible refers to the hawk as a sign of God’s power and
authority, while for Native American it is a symbol of strength and protection,
although had I see it in a dream, it might have been an ill omen.
In Africa, the hawk is seen as a symbol of faith, and courage
in fighting for a noble cause.
The hawk sat in branches across the tracks from where I waited,
in the trees that rose up the side of the Palisades so that people on that side
of the track, protected by a roofed waiting area could not have seen the
creature, but even those on my side of the track seemed not to notice, too busy
glancing at their cell phones and getting steamed at the wait for our train.
I have often seen hawks in this neck of the woods, although further
north, just beyond where Burr shot Hamilton, and generally, I looked down on these
creatures in the trees below as I stood along the stone wall the bordered the
top of the cliffs. Mostly, I saw them swerving in the wind over the river and
the townhouses that bordered it, constantly moving, constantly on the hunt.
It seemed odd to see this creature so far down and so near
human occupation, as if he had come down for a purpose, and I took it as a good
sign, even though I had no indication as to what that sign might signify.
This was on my way home after dropping my car off at the
shop, and later, I got a different kind of omen when I saw the amount of the
bill for repair that equated exactly to the number of the beast.
I’m not normally superstitious, though I ache for some
spiritual guidance, some spirit from beyond that might show me the way or
indicate some more positive future.
My grandfather was extremely superstitious, and perhaps for
good reason since he and his brother had the misfortune of starting their
construction business just prior to the collapse of the Stock Market in 1929
and spent the next decade scrambling to survive, often forced to live in the
houses they build because they could not sell them, and eventually, facing foreclosure,
they moved back in with their mother in Garfield.
My grandfather called my uncle, Frank, his good luck baby
because Frank was born on Easter Day in 1938, convinced that this was a sign
from God that his luck was about to change. It didn’t. Or at least, not in the
way he thought. When the war broke out, he horded raw materials in order to
keep his business going, a violation that his mother reported.
His real turn around came with his mother’s death in 1944
when he and his sibling inherited wealth that allowed each to buy their own
homes and start their own businesses – my grandfather making his fortune off
the construction of bungalows in places like Toms River to accommodate the new
trend for families to go to the shore each summer.
The hawk, of course, feeds into my own desire to find signs
in the world that all is well, such as when I search the sea for signs of
whales and dolphins. Indeed, seeing the whales off the Asbury Park beach early
this fall had special significance, partly because of whom I was thinking about
at the time, and how such creatures had helped me endure some of the worst
moments of my life, especially a decade ago when I saw schools of dolphins off
the coast of Cape May at the exact moment I needed to see them.
My life is filled with such moments, and so, standing there
waiting for a train that I suspected might not come, I felt a sense of hope
again, as if not everything was going to hell in a handbasket the way it
seemed, and that if I keep faith things will once again returned to a state in
which we can live peacefully.
All of this is too much to expect from seeing one poor hawk.
But hell, if that’s all I got, I’ll go with it, especially because my car is
back on the road, and I’ll eventually be able to make the trip west to see my
kid again (I sent money and paid for a book she wanted) which is all I could do
until I got mobile again.
But I guess, I’ll never stop looking for signs, whether they
be dolphins, whales or hawks, small items in this vast puzzle we call life to
help serve as guide posts. If the hawk means faith, then I’ll accept that as a
gift.
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