Crow and Flame

There is an old Native legend about the Rainbow Crow.

Long ago, the world was locked in endless winter. The animals were starving, the land frozen, hope buried beneath ice and silence. The Creator called the animals together and asked who would travel to the heavens to bring back fire.

One by one, they refused.

The journey was too dangerous. The cost too high.

But the Rainbow Crow stepped forward.

At that time, Crow’s feathers shimmered in every color—reds, blues, golds, violets—brighter than any sunset. Crow flew higher and higher, wings burning as he carried the precious flame back to the earth. By the time he returned, the fire had saved the world… but Crow was forever changed.

His feathers were scorched black.

His voice turned hoarse.

The beauty he once carried on the outside was gone.

But because of Crow’s sacrifice, life returned. The ice melted. The animals survived.

Crow was no longer colorful—but he was sacred.

I think about this story often when I think about mental health.

About trauma.

About depression.

About anxiety, grief, and survival.

So many of us start out full of color—dreams, softness, laughter, hope. And then life asks us to carry something heavy. Something burning. Something that changes us forever. Trauma does not leave us untouched. Healing is not clean. Survival is not pretty.

Sometimes we come back changed in ways the world doesn’t understand.

Our voices are quieter or strained.

Our joy feels muted.

Our bodies carry the memory of the fire.

And yet—we are still here.

Crow & Flame exists in that space.

It is about the fire we carry and the cost of carrying it.

It is about the truth that survival can leave scars and still be sacred.

It is about honoring the blackened feathers instead of longing only for the colors we lost.

Mental health is not about returning to who we were before.

It is about learning to live as who we are now.

There are days when the flame feels too heavy—when panic rises, when urges resurface, when hope feels distant and thin. On those days, I remember the Rainbow Crow. I remember that carrying fire does not mean we failed. It means we loved, we tried, we endured.

The crow is not broken.

The crow is not weak.

The crow is not less beautiful.

The crow is a reminder that even after the fire, we still have wings.

And the flame?

The flame is still ours.