When Spirit Speaks Through Clay and Feather

Some weeks the threads of life weave themselves into patterns too perfect to ignore.

My sister recently said goodbye to her beloved 20-year-old cat — a companion whose presence had shaped her daily rhythm for decades. It was a tender, heartbreaking moment.

That same day, an image of one of my very first pottery pieces resurfaced on my Facebook feed. A raw clay disc, fresh from the kiln, carrying a tree-woman crowned with leaves and moon, guarded by panthers, watched over by owl and eagle, encircled by serpent and rooted in the yin-yang of eternal balance

I hadn’t looked at that piece in years. And yet there it was, arriving again, as if to whisper: endings are never really endings.

The Woman in the Tree

When I shaped her, I didn’t realise she would become a kind of altar. She rises from the earth, her body and branches entwined, crowned by the crescent moon. Around her gather the allies: the white and black panthers who once came as power animals, the owl who has always flown with me, the eagle whose clarity cuts through everything, the serpent who winds her way between worlds.

At her roots curls the eternal yin and yang, reminding us that life and death, grief and renewal, belong to the same dance.

A Blessing for the Journey

So when this piece appeared again — right as my sister’s cat slipped into the great cycle — this is the blessing that came through:

Owls at My Shoulder

Later, I found myself looking at a photograph of me in the bush, with owls swooping in from both sides. Yes, they were added in afterwards — but their presence felt completely natural. They have always been there.

It made me smile. Because whether in clay or feather, memory or synchronicity, Spirit has a way of reminding us that we are never truly alone.

Pottery, photograph, timing, memory. They all wove together this week into a message of continuity.

And perhaps that is all we ever need to know in moments of loss:
that the ones we love return to the great circle,
and that their essence never really leaves.

If these words and images touched something in you, you’re welcome to share them with someone who might need comfort too.
Sometimes a blessing doesn’t belong only to us — it travels on, carrying its own quiet medicine. 🌿