Raven Song Healing & Consulting

05/29/2026

05/21/2026

Where the Horse Keeps Her Sorrows

The white horse came to her
on a quiet moon night,
when the rivers were sleeping
and even the wind spoke softly.

He lowered his head beside her
as if he already knew
the weight she carried inside.

“Why do you walk
with so much sadness in your spirit?”
the horse asked.

The girl touched his silver mane
and answered:

“Because I have loved deeply.
Because I have lost things
I cannot call back.”

The horse stood silent for a long while.

Then he said,

“The earth loses the leaves every autumn,
yet spring still returns.
The moon disappears,
yet she always finds her way back to the sky.”

The girl closed her eyes,
listening.

His breath was warm as cedar smoke.
His heartbeat sounded
like distant drums beneath the mountains.

“My people once believed,”
the horse whispered,
“that sorrow is not meant
to be carried forever.
You must place some of it
into the hands of the earth.”

So she leaned her forehead against his,
and little by little,
her grief flowed out
like rain returning to the soil.

The stars watched quietly.

And before dawn arrived,
the horse spoke once more:

“You are not alone, daughter of the earth.
Even wounded spirits
still deserve to run free.”

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

04/18/2026

The Crone is the most misunderstood aspect of the feminine cycle. In the Maiden–Mother–Crone triad, she is the final phase often associated with age, endings, and death. But in myth and tradition, the Crone is not decline. She is completion.

Figures like The Cailleach in Celtic lore embody winter, storms, and the shaping of the land itself. She is ancient, powerful, and not bound by youth or beauty. Her role is to strip the world down to its core. What cannot survive her, was never meant to.

The Crone does not nurture like the Mother.
She does not seek like the Maiden. She sees. In many traditions, she is the keeper of thresholds the one who stands between life and death, illusion and truth, past and what comes after. This is why she is often linked to witches, seers, and those who live on the edges of society. She has nothing to prove.

Nothing to gain. Nothing to lose. And that is what makes her powerful. The fear of the Crone is not really about age. It is about what she represents.

A version of the self that no longer performs. No longer seeks approval. No longer hides behind softness or expectation.
She is the phase where identity is no longer shaped by the outside world. Only truth remains.

In myth, winter always comes. Not as punishment. But as a necessary end to what has run its course. And the Crone is the one who brings it. Not to destroy.

But to reveal what is strong enough to endure.

12/11/2025

12/04/2025

🖤🩶🤍

11/25/2025

It's a nervous system that no longer remembers what safety feels like

11/15/2025

💕

There is a stubbornness to it.

The beauty of the world even now, even soaked in the sound of despair.

Still the magpie holds onto its midnight blue sheen and its velvet dark wings.

And try as we might, there is nothing cliché about noticing the magic of birdsong.

Even in grief, the winter sun finds every blade of glass eventually, the result a diamond-like rhapsody.

The august stag still visits the frosty, hushed forest and this will continue till the day his body gives itself back to where he was born.

It is a reminder that so much of what withers and dies was once a sublime beauty.

That though it may seem obscene, it is necessary to witness all of it, the beauty and the terror.

To remember even in despair, how to be alive.

~ Nikita Gill

Art by Amanda Clark
earthangelsarts