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Content warning: This essay discusses sexual violence.

Birds, across cultures and time, hold a rich tapestry of symbolic meanings, entwining life and death, omens and auguries, angels and spiritual guides. They are often seen as carriers of the departed souls, and at times, they are believed to embody those spirits. Adam McLean, a Scottish writer on alchemical texts, notes, “The essential thing about birds is that they have as their domain the air element, mediating between the earthly realm and the heaven world.”[1] This essay aims to elucidate the role of birds as intermediaries between divine entities and humans, highlighting how their distinctive abilities and capacities are employed according to their taxonomic classification and skill set. This will be explored through human encounters with birds, including my own and one by Dr. Lisa Miller, and by engaging with limited mythological and biblical texts.

Intermediaries

As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I believe that birds can serve as celestial intermediaries. These winged emissaries, divinely appointed and summoned, function as conduits for conveying messages of hope, profoundly touching human souls in unparalleled ways. Birds, thus, act as mediators, vehicles, and gateways, revealing a shared world beyond our own. This concept aligns with ornithomancy, the practice of interpreting omens from the actions of birds, such as their flight patterns and calls. Regarding birds as integral members of our community and perceiving them as living beings rather than mere objects allows us to engage with ornithomancy, interpreting signs, symbols, and synchronistic events in a spiritual context. Interpreting these interactions cultivates dialogue concerning the divine phenomenology inherent in such experiences.

Consider first such postulations found in both Greek philosophy and in the Hebrew Bible. Plutarch, the Greek philosopher and priest at the Temple of Apollo in Delphi, wrote about birds within communal relationships.

It is, in fact, no small or ignoble division of divination, but a great and very ancient one, which takes its name from birds; for their quickness or apprehension and their habit of responding to any manifestation, so easily are they diverted, serves as an instrument for the gods, who directs their movements, their calls or cries, and their formations which are sometimes contrary, sometimes favoring, as winds are; so that he uses some birds to cut short, others to speed enterprises and inceptions to the destined end. It is for this reason that Euripides calls birds in general “heralds of the gods.”[2]

Here Plutarch examines ornithomancy, the ancient practice of divination through birds, as a significant method of discerning the gods’ will. He views birds, with their swift reactions and environmental awareness, as divine means of communication. Their movements, calls, and formations are interpreted as signs of divine favor or opposition, shaping human actions and decisions. Plutarch references Euripides to support this perspective.

Additionally, I turn to the Hebrew Bible to view Elijah’s experience with a raven acting as a divine emissary.

Now Elijah the Tishbite, of Tishbe in Gilead, said to Ahab, “As the Lord, the God of Israel, lives before whom I stand, there shall be neither dew nor rain these years, except by my word.” And the word of the Lord came to him: “Depart from here and turn eastward and hide yourself by the brook Cherith, which is east of the Jordan. You shall drink from the brook, and I have commanded the ravens to feed you there.” So he went and did according to the word of the Lord. He went and lived by the brook Cherith that is east of the Jordan. And the ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning, and bread and meat in the evening, and he drank from the brook.[3]

In this narrative, ravens serve as divine emissaries, delivering crucial provisions. Their behavior, known as “caching”—the act of scavenging and storing food in temporary caches—renders them uniquely suited for this role. It is clear why they, above all other birds, were selected for such a sacred task by God.

The Red-Tailed Hawk and Eagle

In my forties, I was caught in an inescapable vortex. I finally relayed my history of being sexually violated as a child to some people in my life. From a young and vulnerable age, I existed in a world that felt like a battlefield—one I didn’t understand and couldn’t escape. The trauma of those years shaped me, leaving scars that defined who I became. Stifled by alexithymia, a condition marked by an inability to identify or articulate emotions, I drifted through social interactions with peers like a ghost, my profound distrust of others anchoring me to isolation. This emotional detachment, paired with deep-seated fear, perpetually stranded me on the fringes of human connection. Thus, I came to rely heavily on the presence of divine beings and dreams, which cultivated an acute sense of spirituality in my life. In this process, I developed an innate affinity for connecting with birds and the divine Mother Earth, which has served to counterbalance my distrust of humanity and lack of social integration. Whenever certain birds appear in my life, I am compelled to introspect on the significance of their presence, scrutinizing the timing, context, and emotional resonance or feeling-tone of the encounter.[4] I seek to decipher the message being conveyed through the interaction, inquiring about the purpose behind our convergence and the wisdom being imparted. I believe, as illustrated in the life of Carl Jung—a Swiss psychiatrist, psychotherapist, and the founder of analytical psychology who was also a victim of sexual abuse as a child—that such trauma is inherently linked with spirituality.[5]

In that context, at the time, I was deeply worried about my eldest daughter’s future, which was precariously at risk by someone close to her, due to the trauma drama being played out in my family’s life. My ecclesiastical minister, David F. Holland, was acting as an intermediary, helping to provide some measures of safety and protection. While driving my youngest daughter to gymnastics, I was highly agitated by the situation and unfolding events. As I turned onto the interstate, a large red-tailed hawk suddenly appeared, mere inches away from skimming across my windshield. At that exact moment, my phone lit up with a call from President Holland. The synchronicity of this event—the hawk’s near collision and the call—left me stunned and bewildered. In my shocked and confused state, I did not answer my phone.[6]

My symbolic associations with hawks were informed by the Native American spiritual beliefs, specifically those of the Cherokee people, who regard the red-tailed hawk as a protector spirit. Although I was aware of this cognitively, my heightened stress level prevented me from integrating this knowledge to soothe my soul. After dropping my youngest daughter at gymnastics, I proceeded to the temple, my sanctuary for therapeutic intervention. Upon completing an endowment session and spending time in the celestial room, I experienced an overwhelmingly powerful and peaceful sensation. The feeling while sitting in the celestial room was a palpable impression of being surrounded by divine angels. Upon leaving the temple, I turned on my phone to find a text from President Holland: “Suzie, I feel angels are surrounding you tonight.” How could he have known? How could he perceive this intimate personal experience in the temple? We were miles apart, and I had not communicated anything about my encounter with the hawk or the angels in the temple with anyone.

The psychospiritual imprints of this event have compelled me to reflect deeply on the mysteries of the universe and the boundaries between humans, birds, angels, and our divine parents. In a profoundly impactful moment of vulnerability, when I found myself in dire need of support and hope, it became strikingly evident that a higher power was attempting to communicate with me through various manifestations: a bird, President Holland, and angels. President Holland subsequently conveyed that measures had been taken to ensure the safety and protection of my eldest daughter. The simultaneous appearance of a hawk and the illumination of my phone serve as a poignant reminder of this divine communication, reinforcing my belief that loving divine parents watch over us, imparting not only one but several messages of reassurance that all would ultimately be okay. This encounter is indelibly etched in my memory, not only for the physical proximity and sensations or embodiment of being in contact with a hawk and angels, but also due to the emotional and psychological state I was experiencing at the time, a state wherein I was seeking power and assistance beyond any earthly kind.

Birds, often regarded as symbols of hope, have historically been noted to appear in times of peril, during battles, or prior to embarking on challenging journeys. The reception of a favorable avian omen from the divine during significant life events constitutes a profound experience that uplifts the spirit and elicits feelings of relief. Homer’s Iliad provides several illustrations of such occurrences.

And they, when now they saw that sent of Zeus
The bird had come, leapt on their Trojan foes
More fierce, and turned their spirit to the fight.[7]

Thus did he pray, and father Jove pitying his tears vouchsafed him
that his people should live, not die; forthwith he sent them an eagle,
most unfailingly portentous of all birds, with a young fawn in its
talons; the eagle dropped the fawn by the altar on which the Achaeans
sacrificed to Jove the lord of omens; When, therefore, the people
saw that the bird had come from Jove, they sprang more fiercely upon
the Trojans and fought more boldly.[8]

In Homer’s works, the social interaction of birds and humans is exemplified as a potent catalyst for hope, thereby empowering warriors to engage in battle with renewed vigor. This phenomenon underscores the profound psychological impact that birds can have on human behavior.

Early in the morning, I ventured out to tend to the chickens, housed in a coop situated near a tranquil body of water in our backyard. The sun’s first light began to pierce through the dense fog, casting an ethereal glow. My burdens were heavy at the time, having recently embarked on an overly ambitious endeavor to establish a nonprofit aimed at preserving and providing access to Catholic parish records across Italy. Having been a stay-at-home mom for more than twenty-five years, I now found myself in urgent need of employment. This path was ludicrous, fraught with risk and uncertainty, yet it felt right.

Simultaneously, I was recovering from severe PTSD symptoms, stemming from accusations I had made against my father regarding child sex abuse. As such, I was hypersensitive to every movement and sound. As I approached the coop, I detected an approaching presence from my right. Turning, I witnessed an eagle soaring past me, mere feet away. Most likely the bird had not seen me due to the thick fog. The physical proximity, the rush of air, and my direct view of the wingspan brought a heightened awareness as I heard the words come into my mind: “Keep looking up Suzie, keep looking up.” I understood this to mean that I should persist, push through the pain, the darkness, and the uncertainty. I perceived this encounter with this eagle, at this moment in time, as a spiritual omen, symbolizing the necessity to attain a higher perspective, transcend my limitations, and look beyond my myopic viewpoint with courage.

Lisa Miller and the Mama Duck

To further illustrate the phenomenology of avian encounters, I share the experience of Dr. Lisa Miller, which she recounts in The Awakened Brain.[9] After years of attempting to conceive, Lisa and her husband turned to IVF treatments. Following several unsuccessful attempts, Lisa returned home from another treatment, burdened with doubt about its success. Upon opening her front door, she found a mysterious black object on the doorstep. She picked up the wet mass only to discover it was a duck embryo, with a beak and tiny webbed feet askew. To Lisa, this symbolized another failed IVF attempt. However, a few hours later, she heard a tapping at her door and found a full-grown female duck, offering a poignant personalized message. “I opened the door and found that the mama duck had brought me a gift: a plump, juicy worm. She dropped it on the threshold and waddled back toward the river.”[10] Lisa further explains: “[M]y inner life and outer life lined up in a way that felt significant, too improbable to have happened by chance. I felt guided by something, a larger order or life force. In that moment, I saw the mama duck as evidence of the deep connection possible between living beings, a feeling of oneness. Even hope.”[11]

In Lisa’s experience, a profound communal connection involving a human, a bird, and the element of care is observed. Ducks symbolically embody good luck, nurturing, bonding, transformation, intuition, and spiritual ascension. The juxtaposition of the lifeless duck embryo and the subsequent tapping at the door by the mother duck constituted significant physical encounters and symbolic signs. These were undeniably meaningful to the recipient. Despite another unsuccessful IVF attempt, Lisa and her husband eventually adopted a child and simultaneously conceived naturally, experiencing blessings beyond their imagination. This encounter with the bird bridged conscious and unconscious realms.

Phenomenology

When individuals encounter such phenomena, they often experience a profound sense of disorientation, frequently accompanied by an unwillingness to disclose these experiences due to concerns about being perceived as irrational or unstable. However, acknowledging these encounters through a phenomenological lens—a qualitative research approach focused on analyzing lived experience and the structures of subjective consciousness—provides a more grounded framework. By examining how individuals perceive and interpret phenomena without dismissing them as unstable or illogical, phenomenology allows researchers to credibly explore these experiences as meaningful aspects of human understanding.

Avian encounters, as reflected in collective memory, provide significant insights, as the collective memory of social groups closely parallels the structure of myth.[12] Myths typically emerge from oral traditions, wherein narratives are transmitted through generations via oral communication. Over time, these narratives can evolve and adapt, ultimately becoming entrenched within shared cultural narratives that explain various phenomena or human experiences. Consequently, individual stories or lived experiences can coalesce into a broader cultural process. Therefore, phenomena such as encounters with birds should not be dismissed as implausible but rather recognized as meaningful aspects of human experience.

The phenomenology of avian encounters might be conceptualized through the following analogy. Jung made the decision to disclose his experiences of childhood sexual abuse. He had been Freud’s up-and-coming protégé. His eventual split with Freud stemmed from a fundamental disagreement with Freud’s theories regarding sexuality. Jung’s work then gravitated toward themes of mythology, spirituality, archetypes, and the exploration of both conscious and unconscious realms.

The structural dismissal of subjective phenomenology across clinical and spiritual domains reveals recurring patterns of epistemic violence rooted in hierarchical systems of validation. Freud’s systematic negation of female patients’ abuse narratives, framed as pathological fantasy rather than embodied testimony, demonstrates how institutional authority can weaponize theoretical frameworks to delegitimize marginalized accounts.[13] This mirrors, though does not equate to, the exclusion of spiritual encounters from dominant epistemologies, where claims of divine or numinous experience are frequently relegated to the realm of delusion or false consciousness. Both contexts expose how hierarchies of credibility, whether privileging psychoanalytic interpretations over survivors’ accounts or materialist empiricism over metaphysical phenomena, operate through systemic exclusion. The enduring cultural legacy of such epistemic gatekeeping lies in its capacity to naturalize specific ontologies while rendering alternative modes of perception illegible. It is imperative to recognize that the phenomenology of spiritual encounters—whether with birds, angels, or the divine—should not be dismissed as mere illusions or false consciousness. Instead, these experiences warrant consideration as manifestations rooted in a more tangible, communal framework, representing a divine network that collaborates for the betterment of humanity.

Drawing on Jung’s concept of meaning matrices, they frame the integration of inner subjective experiences and outer objective realities as a psychic matrix. My application of this to birds is that birds function as a bridge between the universal realms of signs (objective) and symbols (subjective). Our comprehension of the external world is inherently constrained by subjective limitations. Jung posits that a matrix is formed when unconscious content, manifesting in various archetypal forms, reflects our objective reality and becomes consciously accessible to us. Thus, when one encounters a bird, the experience is not merely an apparition; rather, it is an engagement with a distinct entity, creating a mutual recognition and obligation. These encounters with birds are perceived through our individual objective lenses. Christopher M. Moreman asserts, “As such, the entirety of the bird can never be known, but instead one can only ever truly know what the bird means for the individual experiencing it, or, archetypically, what the bird might mean for humankind.”[14] Moreman elucidates that birds transcend mere symbolic representation; while they are indeed powerful symbols, our understanding arises from the intricate interrelationship between the bird and the observer.

As a survivor of child sex abuse, my admiration for birds has been engendered by the profound role they have played in my life as a source of inspiration and guidance. These precious beings have communicated divine messages, bolstering my courage and fostering hope during challenging times. I make a conscious effort to acknowledge and express gratitude for their presence, whether they serve as a warning or convey messages of hope. The phenomenology of avian encounters warrants greater recognition and appreciation within our broader understanding of the communal relationship between divine beings, humans, and birds.

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^[1] Adam McLean, “Birds in Alchemy,” The Hermetic Journal 5 (1979): 15–18.

^[2] Plutarch, De sollertia animalium, “Whether Land or Sea Animals are Cleverer,” in The Loeb Classical Library, vol. XII (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1957).

^[3] 1 Kings 17:2, in The Hebrew-English Interlinear ESV Old Testament, edited by Thom Blair (Wheaton, Ill.: Crossway, 2014).

^[4] Martine Batchelor, “Vedanā or Feeling Tone: A Practical and Contemporary Meditative Exploration,” Contemporary Buddhism 19, no. 1 (2018): 54–68.

^[5] See my forthcoming article “Spiritual and Metaphysical Components to Healing Child Sex Abuse,” in Jung Journal: Culture & Psyche; Deirdre Bair, Jung: A Biography, 1st ed. (Boston: Little, Brown and Co., 2003), 72, 112–14; Barbara Hannah, Jung, His Life and Work: A Biographical Memoir (New York: Putnam, 1976), 22; William McGuire, ed.,. The Freud/Jung Letters: The Correspondence Between Sigmund Freud and C. G. Jung (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1974), 94–95.; C.G. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections, Edited and recorded by Aniela Jaffé (New York: Vintage Books, 1961), 10–14; Edward Santana, Jung and Sex: Re-Visioning the Treatment of Sexual Issues (New York: Routledge, 2017), 109: Dean Bonura, Beyond Trauma: Hope and Healing for Warriors: A Guide for Pastoral Caregivers on PTSD (Bloomington, Ind.: WestBow Press, 2016); Deirdre Bair, Jung: A Biography, 1st ed. (Boston: Little, Brown and Co.: 2003), 72; William McGuire, ed., The Freud/Jung Letters: The Correspondence Between Sigmund Freud and C. G. Jung (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1974), 94–95.

^[6] Suzanne E. Greco, The Stone Sphere (Kalamazoo, Mich.: Ekpyrosis Press, 2025), 134.

^[7] W.C. Green, trans., The Iliad of Homer with a Verse Translation (London: Longmans & Co., 1884), 331.

^[8] Green, The Iliad, 329–31.

^[9] Lisa Miller and Esmé Schwall Weigand, The Awakened Brain: The New Science of Spirituality and Our Quest for an Inspired Life (New York: Random House, 2021), 89.

^[10] Miller, The Awakened Brain, 89.

^[11] Miller, The Awakened Brain, 89.

^[12] Jeffrey C. Alexander, et al., Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 67.

^[13] Judith Herman, Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence—from Domestic Abuse to Political Terror (New York: Basic Books, 1997), 10–20; Noreen Connell and Cassandra Wilson, Rape: The First Sourcebook for Women (New York: New American Library, 1974), 65; Florence Rush, The Best Kept Secret: Sexual Abuse of Children (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1980).

^[14] Christopher M. Moreman, “On the Relationship between Birds and Spirits of the Dead,” Society & Animals 22, no. 5 (2014): 496.