Intro: The Spiral of Thought
Anxiety doesn’t always arrive like a storm. Sometimes it begins as a single thought — small, harmless, a whisper of worry. Then it circles. And circles again. Before long, it becomes a whirlwind inside your chest, a tightening behind your ribs. Panic creeps in, disguised as logic, disguised as care.
Overthinking feels like control — but it’s really the mind trying to protect us from what it cannot fix. I know the sound of that fluttering panic all too well: the heart beating too fast, the shallow breath, the spinning thoughts that won’t land.
In those moments, I’ve often turned to the image of the crow.
Not as a dark omen, but as a teacher of awareness. The crow doesn’t fight the wind — she rides it, learning its patterns, letting it lift her higher until she can see the whole landscape.
The Spiral
Crow circles above the field.
She watches the same spot from many angles — the place where the noise is loudest, the shadows longest.
She does not dive. She waits.
She knows the sky always steadies again.
Understanding Panic and Overthinking
When a panic attack begins, your body believes it’s in danger — even when your mind knows it isn’t.
It’s like the alarm bells go off without a fire. Your breath shortens, your thoughts quicken, and your heart races to keep up with the story your nervous system is telling.
Overthinking is the mind’s attempt to rewrite that story — to find the threat, fix it, or prevent it from happening again. But in doing so, we feed the panic. We fly in circles, exhausted and disoriented.
I’ve learned that healing begins not by stopping the thoughts, but by changing how I meet them.
The Watcher on the Wire
Crow perches on the telephone line,
balancing between tension and stillness.
She doesn’t silence the noise — she listens until it quiets itself.
Grounding in the Body
When I feel panic rising, I place my hand over my heart and whisper:
“You are safe.”
Then I take one slow breath — in for four, out for six — and imagine the breath flowing down into the soles of my feet.
Sometimes I hold a small stone, feather, or leaf in my hand — something from the earth that reminds me I belong here.
I remind myself that thoughts are not facts.
They are weather passing through the mind.
You can do the same:
Feel your breath. Feel the ground beneath you. Name what you can see, touch, hear. Let your body bring your mind back home.
Flight and Return
When the sky stills, the crow opens her wings.
She does not flee the storm — she moves through it.
Each beat of her wings says, I am still here.
Overthinking is a sign of a tender, intelligent mind that cares deeply.
Panic is not weakness; it is your body asking to be heard.
When we stop fighting the noise and start listening, we begin to heal.
The crow teaches us to pause between thoughts — to find that silent perch within ourselves where breath and awareness meet. From there, peace doesn’t need to be chased. It comes home on its own.
Crow and Flame 