On December 26, 2022, I passed my front door precisely on time to witness a hawk swoop low then glide across my street before disappearing. It struck me as a sign: the work I’m grounding in this physical dimension must originate in aligned, decisive action.
Later that day, I learned about a practice called “The Omen Days” from Laura Murphy, an Irish poet. (Find her on Instagram @everose). This practice comes from Celtic lore that views the 12 days from December 26 to January 6 as a portal.
As Laura explains it:
“Each of the 12 days corresponds to a month in the coming year. Each day, you watch for a sign that will be the omen for the corresponding month.”
(Have you tried this? I’d love to hear more.)
Framing the hawk’s message as one specific to January resonated for reasons I’ll share shortly. Curiosity sparked, I decided to engage. On my walk at dusk, four geese flew overhead. This stood out since four is my special number. Then a flock of five passed by. I knew six more were coming next. Sure enough, the passage of a few minutes brought a glimpse through neighborhood trees. Afterwards, the sky went silent.
Right away, this felt significant because 4-6 are middle numbers in the cycle of 9, and I’m currently in the midst of two long-yearned-for undertakings. The sequential increase also portends a specific kind of progress, the kind that results from taking one next right step at a time. All of this perfectly complemented my hawk omen.
Throughout the 12 Omen Days, a variety of sources gifted me signs: nature observations, direct communication with my guides, pulling cards. Sometimes a synthesis of seemingly random images and words that stood out to me throughout the day.
Here’s what the remaining months offered me, whether advice or invitation.
FEBRUARY: Rebirth and hope.
MARCH: Normalizing change to protect growth.
APRIL: Stripping bare offers clarity of sight.
MAY: Stop. Notice. Gather resources.
JUNE: Untapped potential.
JULY: Feel how you are held.
AUGUST: Open to possibility.
SEPTEMBER: Homecoming. What you do in January will land.
OCTOBER: Hidden messages revealed through exposure to heat.
NOVEMBER: Reassurance. Whatever you’re worried about—don’t.
DECEMBER: Reflect in stillness. Flashes of unexpected insight.
Hawk surprised me by returning to deliver September’s omen. Again, I watched them swoop low and glide across a street, just like for January. This time, though, I saw them LAND in a tree, perched for observation. My heart’s desire for 2023 is to find a publishing home for my book. I’m choosing to interpret this sighting as confirmation it will happen.
It’s a bit scary to proclaim this publicly. What if I’m wrong?
Experience has taught me signs often come true in unpredictable ways. That’s OK. Naming my prediction doesn’t mean foreclosing other possibilities for it to materialize. Maybe what comes home in September concerns something else I do in January and has nothing to do with my book at all.
Even if it does involve my book, it could evolve in a different direction. Maybe I’ll make a decision by September to forego traditional publishing and release my book myself. That no longer feels inferior or like a failure. Trusting nudges to stay indie for Song of the Grandmothers instead of pursuing publishing helped shift my perspective. I have no regrets about that decision (and feel eternally grateful to all of you who made it possible).
Even so, it’s taken well over a year to process an overwhelming influx of emotions, fears, and insecurities around the how of birthing my book. Finishing my current draft a few weeks ago unexpectedly enveloped me in peace. Putting my inside journey of the last ten+ years to paper supported releasing parts of myself that no longer serve me. Not by casting them out but by absorbing them, through loving witness. They’re no longer separate aspects challenging the Me I now know myself to be.
I’m proud of where I am, right here, right now. It feels important and nourishing to say it aloud. I tend to equivocate, to dance around outcomes and dim my confidence for protection.
So many friends have encouraged me in this path and cushioned my growth. One of them recently told me, “You know it’s OK to say you think your book is good, right?” (Thank you, Betsy.)
Sometimes I feel naked without my familiar blanket of self-doubt. I honor what it taught me— both in the wearing and the removal. I deeply appreciate all of you who messaged me or commented on my last post, when the doubts cloaked everything.
I’m not saying I will never question myself again, but these last few weeks helped me cross a threshold. I’ve anchored greater certainty in myself and why I’m here and what I want to do. The resounding feeling from my spiritual support team right now is that I can no longer afford to indulge my doubts. They are not the truth of me. I have work to do, and I need to get on with it.
Grandmother Spider, my beloved wordsmithing guide, gifted me an important visual that helped fuel this shift. Last month, I asked her to show me what is true. Here’s what I wrote about her response for my book:
In answer, she sat on my head, like an oversized hat, with her legs hugging the side of my face. She showed me a ball of yarn at my core, in my belly. The end of the yarn is already in my mouth. Using her two front legs, Grandmother Spider pulled the yarn from my mouth. It’s made of words, so many words. The words unfurl from me, landing on my laptop screen. Her voice is faint. See how easy it can be? You have all the words. They’re already here. They’re already ready. You just have to let them out. With the release, I cry. At the relief and the remembering. In gratitude. Thank you, Grandmother.
Later, I ask her to show me what the words say: I love you. She’s showing me not only that she loves me but also that what I’m writing is a love note— for you.
Yesterday, Hawk delivered one more sign, an exclamation point to my story. I watched their upward flight to a street light with food dangling from their mouth. They landed and started to eat. This tells me someday I will hold my book in its hands— along with anyone who chooses to grab a copy. Words as nourishment, my favorite fuel.
I wish you the best for physicalizing your own dreams in 2023! If you need a place to write them down, you know I’d love to hear more in the comments.
Like Mitle, I can appreciate your reflections on self-doubt and for me working through that as I self-published my first children's book many years ago was really about whether I was "worthy" or not, though it would take me a few more books written and healing during that time that I'd come to realize I am worthy. Self publishing that long ago had more of a stigma it seemed, where as today, it's about being the leader of what you wish to share with the world in your own way - at least it's how I see it. I loved the insight about the Omen Days also and your insights from that. It reminds me of how in the past at the beginning of each year I'd pull an animal oracle card for each month of the year. When I looked back at the year and each animal card pulled, I could see clearly how each played out for me - it was quite fascinating. Which is nudging and reminding me I need to do that for this year too. I look forward to reading your book! All my best to you with that endeavour!
Thank you so much for your sharing. I particularly appreciated your reflections on self-doubt; and that line "Sometimes I feel naked without my familiar blanket of self-doubt" touched my core! I noticed this weekend that I put it back for protection but really, I have outgrown it. And wishing your book a beautiful landing. Thank you xx