Tag Archive for: miracles

Love Her is What I Still Do

Publishing a memoir has paradoxically pushed my personal life more inward as if somehow I can counteract the effect of my innermost thoughts being so public by making my current motivations hidden. It is challenging to meet people for the first time and know they’ve had access to some of the most raw moments of my life. I hold my realtime vulnerabilities closer. They are more precious to me now. On the other hand, I know it is my candor, my willingness to show my imperfection, that helps people connect to their own stories and their own guidance.

So, here I am, ready to share more. Today, in the simplest of ways, my heart broke open. I was in yoga at work in a room with co-workers. Our instructor Margaret invites us to have an intention for what we’d like out of the time there. Sometimes I adopt a focus. Other times I rebel and enjoy the opportunity to let go of the drive of the workday. Today I wasn’t passionate either way, so I haphazardly chose open-heartedness. Then as I laid in shavasana the grief came. I had a simple thought that unraveled me.

I should probably write down everything I enjoyed about my time playing with Cherokee before I forget.

For those of you that don’t know me too well or that have been successfully shielded from my private life, my current animal muse is an 1100 pound bay mustang mare named Cherokee. She’s been in my life for over seven years now. She started out like the harrier hawk Thalia I tell the story of in my book Gracious Wild: A Shamanic Journey with Hawks. When I met her Cherokee was just like Thalia, deathly afraid of humans and ill equipped to manage the perils of captivity. I spent a year gentling, hand walking, and befriending her before I saw her eye soften for just a moment in my presence. I remember the day I looked over into Cherokee’s face and exclaimed to my friend Sue, “There’s the horse! That’s the horse that’s been there all along and just now I finally get to see her!” Little did I know that it would be another three years before that softness would settle in for good.

But my mission here is not to tell the tall tale that is the history of our relationship. That would encompass another volume I may write someday. For now, I’m here to capture this one moment in time, this instance in which my grief has resurfaced. Cherokee is well. She may have many more years of life ahead of her. I keep reminding myself to be grateful that she is still in my life. I continue to push back on that gratitude.

Earlier this year the vet discovered significant arthritis in Cherokee’s front feet. As we began to diagnose the severity of the problem I started to see what had likely been creeping up on us for months, if not years. I am no longer free to ask my playmate to run with me and jump even the smallest of obstacles for me. I can’t even ask her to trot. Walking down a hill or taking a sharp turn exacerbates the problem. Nothing  alleviates her condition, not pain medication, not acupuncture, not herbs, not specialized farrier work and not chiropractic. Prayer is a way to honor her sweet soul, but so far has not had an effect on the physical. Cherokee is not excessively old by horse standards, she’s 18, but the neglect she’s experienced in her life before I met her may have contributed to her body aging sooner than I’d like. It could have just been in the cards for her. I’ll never know why her athleticism has been taken from her what seems like too soon.

She lights up still when I even hint at play. Her neck arches, she sets her head perfectly, and her ears lean expectantly forward. She lifts into this incredibly light-footed trot. It pains me that I have to retreat and pull away from the magnetism that is this incredible horse. I so want to jig and egg her into a canter, ask her to go one way so she’ll dart another. She is a riveting playmate with a fantastic sense of humor.

When we used to play she would be contrarian and sassy at the start, living out loud how big and strong she was by kicking out at me and tearing off at a gallop. She never left me mentally however. She always had an eye or ear on me waiting to see if I was being drawn in. She’d find higher ground, turn to me with her head held high, and snort a big “huff” my direction pushing at me with her nose. My favorite thing was to beat her to the punch and “huff” at her first with a bob of my head. She’d then stand there indignantly as if to say, “well, I’m still bigger and faster than you.” I’d smile and she’d smile back with her whole body. After some time tearing about and countering every request I made, she would come to me and link up, no ropes attached. Then whatever I asked she would offer. If she didn’t get it right she would try again. That horse has a lot of try in her that few have given her credit for. The trainers saw attitude and/or fear. I’ve had the benefit of her full engagement and confidence. There is nothing better than that gift.

If I went out to the pasture right now, I could have all of this again. She would forget the pain and hand herself over for the joy of the play. I’ve given in to temptation and opened the door only to have to close it abruptly. I have the unfortunate talent of foresight. I know how much she will hurt tomorrow from a luxury taken today. She has a memory like an elephant, but, alas, foresight is not a capacity she possesses.

So, I mourn the loss of the freedom of indulgence in the play we shared together. I have friends optimistically tell me she’ll get better, but they haven’t been through countless vet visits, mounting vet bills, and numerous dead ends. Aging happens. It is an unfortunate circumstance that comes with the opportunity at life. It is so odd to mourn the loss of what we had together and still see her every day. I feel like I am dishonoring her by grieving. She is more calm, sweet, and affectionate that I’ve ever known her. Those who knew her years ago would have never described her as affectionate or, even, friendly. All is more than well.

If I had the gift of laying my hands on her and bringing a miracle about with her arthritis, God knows I would have done it, but my gift is not in that kind of healing. I work with the spirits to mend broken hearts and souls. Cherokee and I already worked our miracle, the miracle of turning fear around into fun, and we’ve tasted the sweetness of success. What a heart wrenching experience to come into wholeness and experience true happiness so that this cloud can come and cover my heart. It seems an unfair agony to find such play that brings unfurled bliss and then to have to deny it. I am not sure why the universe works the way it does, and this is not from lack of trying. I too have a lot of try in me. Every day finds me trying, trying to continue to engage even though it hurts, trying to trust in the process even though I despise it, and trying to be grateful even though I am sad. It might be easier to close the book on it all and turn my back on my best friend, but I vowed to love her and love her is what I still do. There’s no trying needed there.

If you’d like to read other stories about Cherokee and I, here are links to other posts about lessons from my big girl:

Hopefulness in the Face of Hardship

On Immediate Results and Real Consequences

On Leadership

Photo credit: Petra Christensen, Red Horse Coaching

PRESS RELEASE – Gracious Wild

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

(PDF VERSION)

A quest into the wild and important spirit messages and soulful gifts gathered from animals while there… 

Gracious Wild: A Shamanic Journey with Hawks

Stacey L.L. Couch

“A highly recommended, beautifully written story of power and transformation.”
Kay Kamala, editor for A Journal of Contemporary Shamanism

“This exquisitely written book warmly touches hearts and gives flight to the soul, while offering opportunities for healing and cathartic release. Don’t be surprised if Gracious Wild moves you to tears and helps you experience some spontaneous healing of your own.”
Colleen Deatsman, author of The Hollow Bone: A Field Guide to Shamanism

“Stacey’s heart-warming, at times heart-wrenching narrative scintillates with possibilities the modern human mind normally embraces only in dreams.”
Linda Kohanov, author of The Tao of Equus and Power of the Herd

Gracious Wild is the story of Stacey Couch’s incredible journey out of the mundane world of science and reason into the vast shamanic realms of creativity and inspiration.  Readers will travel on this intimate exploration of what happens when one woman allows the messengers of nature to guide her. These winged guides wrap her mind up in the mysteries they present, leading her to a richer, more fulfilling life

Stacey’s tale begins on an isolated island where, as a scientist, her main responsibility is to care for a couple dozen foxes in captivity. As a result of a series of ecological tragedies, the fox population is on the verge of extinction and a novel hawk species begins nesting on the island for the first time in recorded history. It is during her time watching the nesting hawks alone in nature that her real quest begins – a series of hawks become her guides; rousing life’s biggest questions like “why am I here?”

Gracious Wild weaves Stacey’s relationship with the hawks alongside her study of shamanism with a good deal of information included for those seeking more details about this spiritual path.

From the book:

I was running from my own shadow, and through my fear; my shadow had the upper hand. This time I couldn’t run. I had to solemnly live the nightmare. I relied on a grounding intuition that under­stood that this marsh, this fear, was only one portion of the island. If I could walk in, I could walk back out. There was no quicksand, no swallowing mud, only my annoying distaste for myself. The terrain changed. A gently sloping spine of ten-foot hills rose on both sides. Now my path was more defined. I looked up. A pair of piercing eyes stared back from a mysteriously dark, circular face. The hawk stood still, perched atop a bush, the shield of her cinnamon breast in full view. She wore a dark chocolate cape. Is she a mirage or has she really allowed me to wander so close? I felt a soft strand of hope spiral between us. The young harrier hawk looked like she had been standing there for cen­turies, waiting for me to pass. The intimacy of the snug valley was consoling. Then she turned her dark face to something over the crest of the hill, opened her wings, and lifted away.”

Stacey’s belief is, “that wild animals are trying to speak and interact with us every day.  To listen to them is to listen to that which is divine within each of us.  Their calls mirror our own inner calling to a greater purpose.”

Gracious Wild offers a vivid and candid tale of a woman who loses then rewrites the meaning of her life at the same time showing readers their own humanity; how being open to spirit messages from animals can provide important and beneficial (life-changing) guidance.

About the Author

Stacey L. L. Couch describes herself as a shamanic cowgirl who works as a publicist and journalist for Mother Nature. A pioneer at heart, she empowers people with the ability to explore life’s big questions. She aims to show how to form a real connection with our own souls through the natural world. A life-long student of nature, she has a biology degree in ecology and conservation as well as a 2-year shamanic certification. Her home on a 38-acre ranch is in Pagosa Springs, CO. She offers shamanic healing and teaching services at www.wildgratitude.com.

Gracious Wild: A Journey with Hawks

Stacey L.L. Couch

Turning Stone Press

Paperback, $21.95

ISBN: 9781618520692

November 2013

Available wherever books and eBooks are sold or directly from the publisher:

1-800-423-7087, orders@rwwbooks.com, or www.turningstonepress.com

PDF VERSION OF PRESS RELEASE

Spirit Animals: MAGPIE the MYTHOLOGIST

Magpie goes about her business, chattering to and fro. Both of the old world and of the new, she wears her black and white costume with her brothers and sisters going on about life as if everything were normal. Then a ray of sunshine glimmers over the tips of her wings and tail and a burst of royal blue radiates. She knows this and she is clever. She does not worry if the rain will come or go. Magpie is the rain and lightening. She is the drought and wind. She carries on as if neither were of consequence, full of joy and mirth, warning of nothing and foreshadowing everything. Magpie knows that she and her tribe are bigger, louder, and brighter than the others, and she knows stories about the others. She is an artist at knowing these stories.

The Rebel in Biblical Lore

Magpies are found around the world from the western half of the United States to China to England and Africa. Their association with humans goes back a long time as they followed nomadic people scavenging leftovers from hunts. There is a story from biblical lore that survives today that the magpie would not go into Noah’s Ark, but instead insisted on riding out the storm on the ridgepole of the boat, chattering the entire time. There are some references to the fact that the magpie either did not attend or refused to mourn Christ’s crucifixion. This pairs this cunning corvid with the archetype of the rebel.

Magpie spirit animal reminds you to ask: What beliefs did you adopt that now act as blocks in your quest to find your divine self?

Magpie Funerals

These birds are related to crows and ravens and are a member of the jay family. They mate for life and are dedicated parents. A pair can spend up to 40 days building a large covered nest and they often are seen in small groupings of 3-5 birds as they travel about in their undulating flight looking for food. “One of the most notable Black-billed Magpie behaviors is the so-called ‘funeral’—when one magpie discovers a dead magpie, it begins calling loudly to attract other magpies. The gathering of raucously calling magpies (up to 40 birds have been observed) may last for 10 to 15 minutes before the birds disperse and fly off silently.” [1] This speaks of the ability to call on the help of your tribe in times of mourning.

When studying the meaning of magpie symbolism, it may be time to watch how you congregate with your kind and remember how others can help you with a death. This could be a death of the ego, the self, a way of life or a loved one.

 

Find your spirit animal workshop. Painting of red-tailed hawk.

 

Magpie Helps with a Healing

This September, I started to see two or three magpies with my horses on a regular basis. My horses would cock a back hoof so the magpies could clean the underside. The magpies would jump up and cling sideways to the horse’s legs to pick bugs from their fur. Other times the birds would be perched atop my mustangs cleaning bugs from their ears, manes, and backs.

Cherokee and Legend seemed to enjoy the attention. I was absolutely caught up in the beauty of the scene. I started working with what the birds’ appearance meant in my life and began to discover a link between their presence and my process of breaking down myths I held about other people. We all attach stories, judgements, beliefs and meaning as to why other people are who they are and what they represent in our lives, but ultimately these myths keep us from truly connecting with people. The myths stand in the way of us truly seeing them and truly being seen. I started to notice the birds every where: at work out the window, on my drives home, at my house, and with the horses.

Then, last week Legend, my white mare, feel gravely ill. A large portion of her colon had flipped 180 degrees and gotten stuck between her kidney and spleen. I went on a three day mission to save her life and the magpies were no where to be found. But, I felt their presence still haunting me and haunting Legend.

Magpie Omens

In British and Scottish folklore magpies are believed in different numbers to foretell death, a funeral, and bad luck. I learned the popular saying about magpies: “One for sorrow. Two for mirth. Three for a wedding. Four for death (or birth depending on the origin)”. [2] 

As is the way of things, Chinese folklore portrays magpies of omens of good luck and sometimes I had seen the fortuitous two or three birds at a time, so I tried not to be overcome with foreboding. I waged an inner battle with my fear and superstition.

Here is when I realized that my fear of my loved one’s death was keeping me from my ability to channel healing for her. I had adopted the myth that “I can’t really channel healing that makes a difference on a physical level” because I feared what would happen if I surrendered myself fully to grace and had her die anyways. I didn’t know how I would recover from that kind of grief, but I couldn’t both protect myself from utter devastation AND surrender to divine guidance. As I broke this myth down I went through waves of intense fear, doubt, and suffering. I showed up for Legend to channel the healing power of grace in a way I never had experienced before and she survived.

Less Myths and More Meaning

On the morning of the fourth day, I checked Legend over endlessly to absolutely convince myself that she was okay. A single magpie came to her corral and landed on a fence post. As the black and white bird with a long tail looked at me with her shiny black eyes, she christened me back into the world of the living, a new world with less myths and more meaning.

Seeing one magpie is supposed to be an especially grave occasion as the popular saying goes “one for sorrow”. I knew the death and sorrow had happened in me.

I was a different person now. Legend was well and healthy. I opened the gate to let Legend out onto her pasture and life went on.

The Mythologist

This is why I have come to think of the magpie as a mythologist. Magpie spirit animals can help us study myths we have about spirituality, the universe, others and ourselves. Magpies are known for eating anything as is indicated by their scientific name “Pica“, meaning to crave things unfit for food, and they remind us how we can crave and eat odd stories that aren’t true in an attempt to secure nourishment and safety or to feed the small fears that protect us from the big fears.

Ultimately it is not important to know why we adopted those myths in the first place, but to understand the role of myths in our lives and to treat them lightly. There’s no need to crawl inside the ark and hide away from the storm for the storm of fear and suffering is of our own making. We can light upon the ridgepole of the boat and find humor and humility in the art of rebelling against that which we thought we ought to always know.

I would like to finish by quoting a favorite song of mine by Neko Case that takes on a deeper meaning now. It’s from her album Middle Cyclone and is called Magpie to the Morning. I have to say that Legend was always the closest to death in the mornings…

Magpie comes a calling
Drops a marble from the sky
Tin roof sounds alarm
And wake up child
Let this be a warning says the magpie to the morning
Don’t let this fading summer pass you by
Don’t let this fading summer pass you by

You can listen to these lyrics on her website: http://nekocase.com/music/discography/middle-cyclone/

References: [1] http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/black-billed_magpie/lifehistory [2] http://www.wisdomportal.com/MagpieNotes.html

 

Find your spirit animal workshop. Painting of red-tailed hawk.

 

 

meaning of mouse spirit animal

Spirit Animals: MOUSE the MONK

Mouse Symbolism

There in the dried grass and leaves was a brown field mouse. He was only a couple steps away, nearly under our noses. Poised on the doorstep of his den, he stood twitching his whiskers at the woman and the hawk. He looked like a country mouse lost in the city of towering thistle stalks. The mouse’s brown coat blended in with the ground cover. If it weren’t for my sharp-eyed hawk companion I’d easily have missed the daring rodent. The mouse stood, whiskers waving, his black eyes fixed with ours, and then was gone down the hole.” (from my book Gracious Wild: A Shamanic Journey with Hawks)

Mouse Spirit Animal Sees Details

Mouse has only that which is right in front of his eyes. He reaches up to grab a stalk of grass and pulls it down towards him, bowing the blade. Then mouse sits for what seems like hours inspecting and picking every last morsel of seed off the stalk with his dexterous little hands. Mouse has many predators, too many to count. Rather than overwhelm himself with the complexity of watching, listening, and smelling for his enemies far and wide, he paradoxically does the opposite.

His focus comes forward and stays on what only is near, and somehow, some way, that which is near warns him of danger. Mouse is safe in the details, safe to live out his life, raise young, and make a comfortable home underground. This alone is nothing short of miraculous.

Mouse in the House Meaning

So many see a mouse in the house as a sign of living in filth. People get really, and I mean really, shook up. We must not curse his intrusion in our house and into our lives. This sweet, soft, and so very clean little creature is bringing you a message. The meaning of mouse may be the most important message you will ever receive in your life. Please, please don’t excuse it!

Now is the time to evaluate your attention to detail. Are you drowning in your own need to control every little detail of your life? Are you trying to control the details in other people’s lives? The spiritual meaning of mouse in the house is about letting go of the details. It may even be as literal as stopping your obsession over cleanliness and organization. Instead pause to appreciate the beautiful home and life you have. Start a list of things that you are grateful for. Learn to dismiss the list of details that annoy you.

Mouse spirit animal teaches us the discipline of releasing overwhelm. If you are feeling overwhelmed, realize that this could be a badge of honor for you. Have you ever felt like you were competing with your friends to prove who was the most busy or exhausted? Mouse symbolism is a stark reminder that multitasking is a sure way to find catastrophe. Stop trying to do everything at once, and focus on one thing at a time.

Mouse power animal comes to visit us to remind us that the power is the details, but not in the way we think. It is not through controlling every nook and cranny of our house and our world, but through appreciating the small things that brings us peace.

 

Find your spirit animal workshop. Painting of red-tailed hawk.

Is the Devil or God in the Details?

Ever heard the phrase “the devil is in the details”? Then the details are something to avoid right? The details are something to fight and resent. We end up hating doing what has to get done. The errands, chores, and menial tasks wear at us and take precious time and energy away from what we’d rather be doing.

The phrase “the devil is in the details” actually originates from the phrase “God is in the details”. Let me say it again on behalf of our quiet-as-a-mouse little friend that doesn’t always speak up on his own behalf. God is in the details. Now sit with that. Changes things doesn’t it?

What if you started to see God/Spirit/Source in the details of things? When you stop to say good morning to your daughter/sister/friend take in the radiance of the light in her eyes. Let the moonlight capture your imagination when you take out the trash late at night. Allow the breeze to bring the scent of lilacs to you as you walk out to your car.

What if when you flung that huge desire to live a life full of purpose out to the cosmos you received an answer no bigger, no louder than a mouse? Would you notice it? Would you be grateful for it? Or, are you waiting for a wizard to come, wand in hand, and make your dreams materialize in a shower of sparks and magic?

Meaning of Mouse the Monk

Mouse symbolism serves so many. The greatest sacrifice mouse will ever make is his life. His flesh with likely turn to fox flesh or hawk flesh or snake flesh. We must not miss that key of mouse medicine. His little, seemingly insignificant life, is important. Mouse spirit animal teaches us about the power of humility.

When looking at what does mouse mean in your life, know that the little helper is here to remind us that more often than not our wishes come true in between the lines and inside the ordinary. Answered prayers are between blades of grass and inside fine heads of seed.

The universe is conspiring to shower you with tiny, quiet miracles every single moment of your life. Mouse spirit animal knows this. This is what makes mouse a monk. If only we all could know this. Mouse in his quiet, unassuming way prompts us to remember that miracles make sense in the quiet where nothing else clouds our thoughts. Miracles make sense when living a tiny life in a tiny universe. Mouse knows this. This is what makes mouse a monk. If only we all could know this. When we stop looking far and wide and outside of ourselves for the answers and, instead, truly focus on what is right here with us, we begin to see the Divine in the details.

One last message from mouse spirit animal – remember the mystical law that “what is small is really big”.

 

 

morning walk from gracious wild

"Morning Walk" from Gracious Wild

This excerpt from my book Gracious Wild tells of how a female northern harrier hawk began joining me on my morning walks on a lonely island I lived on. Her presence was one of my first confirmations that my encounters with the wild had a broader purpose:

Every morning, I walked into the coreopsis forest to check on the harbor. I followed the trail through the chest-high field of golden blossoms to the crest of the cliff overlooking the bay. There was a large opening in the coreopsis forest here, and an assemblage of large rocks topped by a stone cross stood in the center. This was a monument to a Spanish explorer famous for his exploits in the region. I’d try to get here early while the island was still at rest so I could linger, take in the view of the quiet harbor, and enjoy the short, meditative hike.

Along with the burst into color on the island, I acquired company on my walk to and from the stone cross. Each morning as I crossed the runway and started on the trail, I would hear an approaching keen. At first her cry blared then faded, but as it got closer, it turned into a ceaseless yelling. The female harrier hawk Morappeared coursing straight at me, her dark eyes piercing mine and her brown wings flapping sharply. She came right at eye level set on running me down, mouth open, screaming like mad. The trail was gently sloped, bearing me hard upon her. Just as we were about to collide, I abruptly swiveled on my feet to follow the turn of the path downhill. She immediately pivoted on her wingtips to mirror me.

We then traveled in tandem, my feet and her wings falling in unison. She hovered just 10 or 15 feet above my left shoulder. At times she’d have more to say and I’d turn to her with some smart quip. Wonder where I’m going this morning madam? Other mornings we’d travel in silence listening to each other’s movement and breath. She became so accustomed to expecting me that I often found her waiting at an old fencepost at the turn in the trail. She’d lift off as I approached and take position at my left flank. Her mate was usually in attendance, but he hung back and watched from afar.

The morning company of the harriers brought me limitless solace. Not only did they offer me much yearned for companionship, but they sparked a sense of magic in my being that I hadn’t remembered. I felt a kind of wonder that brought me out of the scientific detachment I clung so desperately to. With the harriers, I didn’t have to pull away and remain swirling in my intellectual dialect. I wasn’t required to pose theories and assign numbers to their movement. I was afforded the opportunity to respond and offered the chance to be a part of the experience.

During my enchanting walk each quiet morning, I re-entered a childhood of the natural world. My movement into hawk territory was no guilt-heavy intrusion into a place I didn’t belong, but rather a visit home. Here I acquired a sense of awe akin with the wild ones. The maiden harrier’s banter was calling me to something bigger than myself, to a purpose I felt stirring in my soul.

 

immature red tailed hawk spirit animal

Animal Messengers: IMMATURE RED-TAILED HAWK

Before I completely lose the sensation of summer, I wanted to honor a message I received recently from a young hawk. One afternoon I was out orienting a new volunteer at the horse rescue when I was approached by another volunteer. “Hey bird lady, there’s a hawk with a broken wing out in the east pasture. Can you go check it out?”

So, new volunteer in tow, I rounded up a pair of gloves, a towel and a rubbermaid tub. We traipsed all the way out there, through the weeds, and along the fence lines. No hawk. I must admit, I was relieved. It is a paradox to receive a message from the spirit world carried on the back of a suffering animal. I feel humbled in the gift and smacked with my ignorance, not to mention the heartache of my empathy for the animal. Somehow I always wonder, “did I not hear the message the first time?”

I figured, wrongly, that the hawk had wandered onto the neighbor’s property to die in peace in the brush. The next morning I was approached again, “Hey bird lady…”

I drove out into the pasture in the golf cart with a pair of adult red-tails swirling and screaming overhead. There was the small beast standing stoic in the shade of the horse shelter. He had no fight left and the terrible stench of rotting flesh about him. His right wing was fractured. The dead, black bone stuck out an inch. A marble-sized colony of maggots had laid waste to the wound.

Immature red-tail feathers. I know them so well. An old friend of mine was in that plummage for most of the year we spent together. My dear Graccia often had that same determined look in her eye. There was no taking her off course.

“Just give up the ghost,” I said to the injured hawk as it stood in the box staring at me. There was no flesh left on his body. All the energy he had remaining was put to standing there, staring at me.

He died later that afternoon and my husband buried him under the old cottonwood.

So… the message? The active principle (right side wing) was broken, long dead, in my life. The effort that I had put forth into the world (the pair of hawks fledging a young hawk) had failed at its moment of glory. I had been stubbornly sitting on this failure too long (rotting wound). Put in plain terms, my inability to live in the season of summer, live in the fruition of my dreams, had become a systemic problem that had grounded me for way too long and that threatened to destroy my entire way of life.

Sounds dramatic, I know, but, wow, this hawk gave his life. We often hope for angels, miracles, and beams of light from heaven. We think divine messages come on wings, and, guess what? They actually do.

 

Want to learn more about spirit animals?
Visit the Spirit Animal Guide