Not long after I posted my reflection on Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door, I found myself at Alouette Lake just after sunrise. My sister and I had arrived early. The morning was lovely and calm.

I could hear the ravens calling — two nearby and one farther off in the trees. I listened closely, wondering what they might be saying to one another — and maybe, to us.

Then one of them flew directly over my head. I was struck by the sound of its wings — whoosh, whoosh — strong, steady, unmistakable. I called out, “Listen!” to my sister, surprised by how deeply the sound touched me. Maybe it was the stillness of the lake, or the wide-open space far from the city, but I felt that sound move right through me.

For a moment, everything was quiet and clear.
The sound, the air, the lake, and my own breathing all seemed connected.

The Ravens’ Message

In many traditions, ravens are seen as symbols of connection between the human world and Spirit. That morning by the lake, I understood why. There’s something about them that feels both grounded and timeless.

My mother grew up in Einsiedeln, Switzerland — the home of Saint Meinrad, who lived with two ravens over a thousand years ago. After his death, those ravens followed his killers and led authorities to them. They became symbols of guardianship and loyalty and still appear on the coat of arms of Einsiedeln today. The village remains a pilgrimage site to this day — keeping alive the same spirit of devotion that shaped the village for centuries.

That story has always stayed with me, and standing there at Alouette Lake, it felt close again — that sense of companionship between the seen and unseen.

Listening as a Bridge

As I watched two of the ravens perched close together, they made softer, gentler sounds — the kind that are used between family or close companions. These sounds don’t travel far; they’re the language of kinship, of belonging.

These gentle calls, recorded that morning, are the softer sounds ravens use within their family groups – the language of trust and closeness.

Hearing them that morning reminded me that humans and Spirit aren’t separate. The ravens’ calls, the sound of their wings, even the silence after — it all felt like part of one shared conversation.

Listening — really listening — felt like the bridge.
In that stillness, I was reminded that we already belong to both this world and the unseen one.

Sometimes, all it takes is one sound to remind us that we are part of everything.