The Hawk Returns: Days One Hundred Forty Three - One Hundred Fifty-Six

I haven't seen the hawk for several weeks. Then, a couple of days ago, I heard a familiar caw caw caw caw caw. I ran outside and just caught a flutter of large wing sift along the tree tops. Yesterday he (or she, not sure) was perched on the peak of my roof. We looked at each other for a moment. "Tell me," I said, but my hawk just stared. No response. No flutter of wings, just a stare down.  We have a relationship now, my hawk and I.  I have no affinity towards birds.  Pet birds, hostages in their cages, their little beaks poking out between the bars, make me nervous.  But this hawk is a magnificent creature and the fact that it chooses to set up shop on my roof makes me wonder about his perspective on my life.    Not that I should assume he has one, but I like to think he thinks about me as much as I think about him. As far as my meditation practice goes, it has gotten a bit spotty in that I no longer meditate daily even though I consider myself to be someone who meditates on a regular basis.  I skip days here and there, but never am away from it for more than three days.  If I miss three days, I start to feel unsettled and uncentered. That implies that I have become a centered person and really that's not the case.  I'm more focused and more centered than I was before I began to meditate, but my desk is still a mess, I watch too much TV, and my reading to-do list grows in geometric proportion to the number of books I finish reading.  Oh, and my golf score is horrendous.  This list of non-accomplishments goes on and on, but for twenty minutes each day, I allow myself to not attach to the critical rampage that goes on in my head.  There's always time enough for that later.