Crow and Flame

We are constantly receiving information from the world around us.

Every second of every day, our bodies are hearing, seeing, feeling, smelling, and interpreting far more than we consciously realize.

The chair beneath you is supporting your weight right now.

The air is brushing against your skin.

Your clothes rest against your shoulders.

Your lungs are expanding and contracting.

Yet most of the time, none of these things have your attention.

Not because they aren’t there.

Not because they aren’t real.

Simply because your mind has directed its focus elsewhere.

You may not notice the chair until it becomes uncomfortable.

You may not notice the wind until it becomes strong enough to steal your breath.

You may not notice the temperature until you become too hot or too cold.

The sensations existed the entire time.

Your awareness simply hadn’t settled on them.

Our emotions work much the same way.

Feelings often arrive long before we acknowledge them.

A flicker of sadness.

A small sting of disappointment.

A quiet sense of loneliness.

A subtle feeling of joy.

Anxiety humming beneath the surface.

The emotion is there, moving through us, but we continue with our day, focused on work, responsibilities, conversations, errands, and obligations.

Then something happens.

The feeling grows.

Or our attention finally lands on it.

And suddenly we say, “Why am I feeling this way?”

As though the emotion appeared out of nowhere.

But often it didn’t.

It was there all along.

Waiting to be noticed.

Waiting to be acknowledged.

Waiting for us to listen.

The Crow has a tendency to scan the horizon for danger, always watching for what might be coming next.

The Flame invites us to turn inward and notice what is already here.

Not every feeling needs to be fixed.

Not every emotion is an emergency.

Sometimes awareness itself is enough.

To sit quietly and say:

I notice that I am sad.

I notice that I am anxious.

I notice that I am grieving.

I notice that I am hopeful.

I notice that I am healing.

When we stop fighting for our attention and simply offer it, our emotions often become less frightening.

Like the wind, they were always moving around us.

Like the chair beneath us, they were always there.

The moment we notice them does not create them.

It simply allows us to experience what has been present all along.

And sometimes healing begins not when we change what we feel, but when we finally notice it.