Language of the Soul

This afternoon I ran 11-miles while I considered the "birthday" of two dead people in my life. On March 10, 2005, my client was executed. I celebrate his birthday each year on his execution date. He was set free by the needle, an irony of proportion, in light of the needle tracks on his arms the day he was arrested.

I associate the hawk with my client and when I see a hawk, I feel his presence in a metaphoric sense. I recently read that metaphor is the language of the soul. This is true, which is why I can see the metaphor even in a pile of crap.

You see baby, I've got soul, and lots of it...

Not long ago a hawk hovered over me. It faced into the wind and my back was to the wind. I was alone on a long corridor next to a very large water canal. I had taken my rosary out of a pocket and I can only imagine that the glisten of the gold in the sun attracted the huge hawk. The sun was behind this hawk and so I could only see a dark silhouette as time stood still. I stopped my run and gazed for what seemed an eternity at this giant hawk which was approximately 8-feet from my head.

I asked the hawk what he wanted. If the hawk answered me, my spiritual density blocked the message. It was as though he was warning me of something and time needed to stand still for him to convey the message.

Approximately 3-months later, I pulled into my driveway with my 2 children in the car. A hawk larger than the one which had hovered swept down over my windshield. It swooped close to the ground, up my driveway, and into my backyard. This hawk was obscene in his gestures. I told a friend that I was warned by the great hawk, but that I did not know what the warning was.

My sister was in a car wreck 6-nights ago. She was 46-years old--three years my senior. She died 2 nights ago. I had the gift of her last fall, for a few brief days, when we walked the beach in Florida and sat before the eternal sunset as we discussed life and love and God and our childhoods. One day, we floated together on one raft with our legs dangling and our arms hugging the raft. She shared her secret with me and I took it from her and kept it in a safe place.

My sister suffered since age 17 with bi-polar disorder and at times it got the best of her.

I loved my sister, but I hated her illness. She helped me to understand the mentally ill and this has impacted my legal work. I learned from her that the mentally ill do not belong in jails and prisons. I learned from her that the mentally ill have souls and fears and loves, just like the rest of us, but that they are obstructed from sharing their gifts with us at times.

Prior to her death 2 nights ago, I had not spoken to my sister since November, 2007, because she went from floating on that raft with me to her illness before I could say goodbye.

She told me that my running around in circles was senseless, and that I got nowhere.

She stayed awake until 3 a.m. and left at 6 a.m. "to watch the sunrise", even though the sun does not rise on the Gulf of Mexico. It sets.

It was not her. It was her illness. I simply drew my clear boundary to protect myself.

I lost my sister well before her car accident. I began letting go of her months ago when her illness showed itself to me. I knew then that she was headed for a path of destruction and I feared for whomever might be with her on the path when it happened.

For whatever reason, my concerns were lost on others. I did no convincing. I knew what I knew. I knew that my sister had driven me down an airport runway at 11 p.m. one night and that she had no idea what she had done until I screamed her back to reality. I knew she wanted to be free of her illness so much that at times she left her lithium in its container, with the prayer that perhaps she would not need it.

It was not my sister, because she was sweet and loving and harmless and she was a perfect mother. She was the most thoughtful person I knew. She was a beautiful sister.

For me, my sister died when her illness took her for the last time.

I was sensitive to her illness. I knew it well. She showed it to me in a way she did not show it to her other siblings. I have to believe there was a reason for that. Perhaps deep inside she knew I would protect her from danger, or I would locate her in the dark when no one else could or would.

She knew that I knew her illness.

I did not save my sister this time. I did not fight her and pull her in my direction toward safety. I closed myself away from her illness this time.

Now she is dead.

Goodbye my beautiful sister. I love you. I pray you are now free as the hawk.