11:11 Shifting shadows: A Raven’s guide

When the clock strikes 11:11 the Raven awakens your subconscious between both the physical & spiritual realms and allows a transition….

Lucylu

It is true that it’s often the experience of losing someone that allows you to begin exploring death in a deeper way, to try to understand it. Death is complex—you don’t quite realize how much you don’t understand about it, or how much it is woven into your life, until you’re faced with it. We talk so much about how long we will live, but not nearly enough about how to live well, or how to accept that one day this journey will end.

As a Portuguese girl, I’ve grown up in a culture where loss is felt deeply. It’s not that life isn’t celebrated, but when someone passes, the mourning is profound—devastating in a way that changes you, because you know that person will never be part of your life in the same way again. Still, I truly appreciate the idea of celebrating life, because the truth is, longevity isn’t guaranteed. Reaching 70 and beyond is a blessing, something we’re fortunate to experience. But even then, death doesn’t become easier. It never does. When you lose someone you love deeply—someone who is part of your everyday life—nothing can prepare you for that. The loss settles into you, deep in your veins, like blood moving through your body. It’s an attachment that doesn’t simply disappear, even when we understand that death is a natural part of life.

One thing I’ve come to realize is that loss doesn’t automatically bring families closer together. The people left behind have to pick up the pieces, to find a way through their grief, and in doing so, old dynamics can resurface. Sometimes, instead of bringing people together, grief can pull families apart. It takes a strong mind, but more importantly, mindfulness—a deep awareness of your thoughts and your words. And that’s one of the hardest parts of grief, because you’re navigating so much pain at once.

This year, I’ve come to understand loss in a way I never had before—through losing my father, my best friend, and in many ways, witnessing the gradual loss of my mother as she lives through her own grief. My sister and I are okay, but so many dynamics have surfaced. Grief has ignited things we didn’t expect, and we’re only three months in. It’s still unfolding, and it will be interesting, in its own way, to see where things go from here.

This isn’t about telling my whole story, but about opening a conversation around death and how we live alongside it. As a herbal witch, I don’t shy away from death. In that practice, death is not separate from life—it’s part of every ritual, every spell, every act of intention. It connects us to those who came before us: ancestors, great-grandmothers, grandmothers, all those in our lineage who have passed on. Through them, there is a sense of continuity—a passing down of strength, wisdom, and, in a way, magic that still lives within us.

That’s part of why I’m drawn to the raven. A raven carries a quiet intelligence, something almost otherworldly in its gaze. It feels like a messenger, moving between spaces we can’t fully see, bridging the living and what lies beyond. In that symbolism, there’s a reminder that death isn’t only an ending—it’s also a form of connection, one we’re still trying to understand.

A raven, through a witch’s life, is a messenger—and Raven is my familiar spirit that guides my practice. It’s through this presence that I do my healing, that I tap into ancestral energy. In my dreams and in my sessions, the raven becomes a bridge—something that moves between worlds, helping me reach into the wisdom of those who came before me and bring that guidance into the present.

In many traditions of witchcraft, especially those rooted in herbal and ancestral practices, animals like ravens are seen as spirit allies or familiars. They aren’t just symbols; they represent intuition, transformation, and the ability to move between the seen and unseen. The raven, in particular, has long been associated with death and rebirth—not in a negative sense, but as part of the natural cycle of life. It’s often understood as a guide through shadow work, helping you face grief, uncover hidden truths, and transform pain into something meaningful.

Herbal witchcraft, or herbal magick, is deeply tied to the earth. It works with plants not only for their physical healing properties but also for their energetic and spiritual qualities. Each herb carries its own vibration—some are used for protection, like rosemary or sage; others for calming and heart-healing, like chamomile or lavender. When combined with intention, ritual, and ancestral connection, these herbs become tools for grounding, cleansing, and restoring balance.

Raven magick, weaves those elements together. It draws on the raven’s symbolism as a messenger and protector, while also anchoring the work in ancestral healing. Dreamwork is often a big part of this—because dreams are seen as a space where the conscious and unconscious meet, where messages can come through more clearly. In that state, your connection to your raven guide can feel stronger, more direct, and more intuitive.

There’s also an emphasis on lineage in this kind of practice—honoring ancestors not just as people who have passed, but as sources of strength, memory, and knowledge. The idea is that healing doesn’t only move forward; it also moves backward, tending to what was left unresolved and allowing that release to ripple through generations.

Dark Raven: Wisdom activation spell:

Begin by finding a quiet space where you feel safe and undisturbed. This can be indoors or outside, wherever you feel most connected. If you work with herbs, you might bring in something grounding like rosemary or lavender—something that carries meaning for you.

Sit comfortably and close your eyes.

Take a few slow breaths, letting your body settle. With each inhale, imagine you are drawing in calm. With each exhale, release tension, grief, or heaviness you’ve been carrying.

Now, bring your awareness to the image of your raven.

See the raven clearly in your mind. Notice its presence, its stillness, its intelligence. This raven is not separate from you—it is your guide, your familiar, a reflection of your intuition and your connection to those who came before you.

Imagine your Raven approaching you, not as something outside of you, but as something walking beside you.

As the raven settles near, visualize a space opening—something vast and quiet. This is the place where memory and lineage exist. You don’t need to force anything to appear. Just allow yourself to feel that connection.

If there are ancestors, loved ones, or energies you wish to honor, hold them gently in your awareness. You don’t need to see them clearly. Even a feeling is enough.

Now, imagine the raven acting as a bridge—carrying your thoughts, your grief, your questions. Let whatever you’ve been holding move toward the raven. You don’t need to explain it. Just let it be felt.

Pause here.

If anything comes back—an image, a memory, a sense of calm, or even nothing at all—accept it without judgment. This practice isn’t about forcing an answer, but about opening a space for connection and reflection.

When you’re ready, bring your focus back to your breath.

Feel your body again—your hands, your feet, the ground beneath you.

Before you open your eyes, you can set a quiet intention, something simple like:
“I carry my past with awareness, and I move forward with strength.”

When you’re ready, gently return. The raven still comes to me—in dreams, in silence, in moments I can’t explain. Not as an ending, but as a reminder that nothing is ever truly gone. Only transformed, only carried, only waiting to be felt in a different way.

We don’t move on from loss—we move with it.
And somewhere between memory and presence, between breath and stillness, we learn how to live again.

Bless be my witches🐦‍⬛💕🔮