Energy Medicine Tasmania

Energy Medicine Tasmania Reconnect. Restore. Transform

Helping you heal from trauma, PTSD, and emotional pain through ancient Peruvian energy medicine, earth-based practices and 25 years of holistic healing experience.

31/12/2025

Thank you for loving this artwork!
Find poster and canvas products here: https://nativeblood75.com/6345
Best-selling products: https://nativeblood75.com/category/best-selling
The White Raven’s Silence

In the deep green breath of the forest,
where moss remembers every footstep,
the White Raven waits.

Not born of snow,
but of story.
His feathers hold carved meanings—
eyes within eyes,
paths within paths,
the old language of those who listened
before words were owned.

Raven is the keeper of thresholds.
He stands between what is spoken
and what must remain silent.
Between shadow and light,
he chooses neither,
and so knows both.

The elders say Raven brought the world into shape,
not by force,
but by clever patience.
He watched.
He learned.
He changed things by understanding them first.

White as morning fog,
this Raven carries a heavier knowing.
Truth, when uncovered,
is not always dark—
sometimes it blinds.

He does not cry out.
He does not warn.
He simply sees,
and in being seen by him,
the forest remembers who you are.

When he lifts his wings,
the trees lean closer.
When he is still,
the river speaks.

Raven teaches this:
wisdom is not loud,
power is not hurried,
and the world is held together
by those who know
when not to speak.

29/12/2025

When Ravens Speak Without Sound

They face each other
in the breath of the forest,
dark and light holding the same ground.

Patterns rest in their feathers
like maps drawn by ancestors—
paths of memory,
paths of return.

No words pass between them,
yet the air understands.

One carries the night’s knowing,
one carries the morning’s clarity.
Neither stands above the other.

Moss listens beneath their feet.
Trees lean closer,
remembering old conversations.

This is the raven’s teaching:
truth does not need a voice,
balance is born in listening,
and wisdom often arrives
when two paths meet
and choose respect over dominance.

29/12/2025

The Bear Wears the Ancestors

He stands in the silence of old earth,
eyes steady,
breath deep with the memory of fire.

Feathers rise from his brow
like voices made visible—
each one a story carried, not owned.

He does not speak,
yet the ground listens.

Strength rests in his chest
without hunger,
without need to prove itself.

The past gathers behind his gaze,
not as burden,
but as guidance.

This is the bear who remembers:
power comes from responsibility,
honor from restraint,
and leadership from walking
so others may follow safely.

In his stillness,
the ancestors remain alive.

27/12/2025

Where the Eagle Stands, the Ancestors Listen

He stands where land meets breath,
claws wrapped around driftwood
older than names,
older than borders.

The ocean speaks first—
low, patient, eternal—
and the Eagle answers
by not moving.

His feathers carry the language of lines and curves,
stories carved by hands that knew
how to ask permission
before taking flight.

Inside his chest,
the wind is disciplined.
Inside his eye,
distance learns respect.

He does not chase the storm.
He waits until the storm
remembers why it was born.

Beneath him, shells hold spiral time,
echoes of footsteps, paddles, prayers—
proof that nothing sacred
is ever truly lost.

The forest behind him
leans forward to listen.
The sea slows its pulse.
Even the fog learns stillness.

He teaches without sound:
stand firm where you are placed,
carry your lineage with honor,
and let vision rise
only when the earth agrees.

When he finally lifts into the gray sky,
the shore will remember his weight—
and those who watched
will walk differently,
knowing they were seen
by something older than fear.
🎨Artist and the storyteller : Elvis Becker
🙏🙏 You can get the purchase link in the comments under each image. Or just send me a message with the picture you like, and I’ll send you the direct product link!

25/12/2025

The Eagle Who Carries the Fire

At dusk, when mountains remember prayer,
he stands crowned with feathers and flame.

Beads of turquoise and ember
rest against his brow—
not ornament,
but lineage.

His wings hold the geometry of ancestors,
each mark a vow
to watch,
to warn,
to guide.

Behind him, the fire waits,
patient as a heartbeat,
while the moon lifts its listening face.

He does not rule the sky.
He serves it.

This is the eagle’s truth:
vision is responsibility,
height is earned through care,
and the fire we carry
must warm the people,
not consume them.

25/12/2025

The Hummingbird Carries the Dawn

At the edge of morning
where water holds the sky,
he hovers—
small enough to be ignored,
powerful enough to change the air.

His wings are written in color,
patterns taught by fire and river,
each line a memory
the ancestors refused to lose.

He drinks light without taking it away,
leaves no wound in the flower,
only balance.

The sun pauses to watch him,
learning how gentleness survives
inside motion.

Remember this, he says without sound:
strength is not always loud,
and the ones who move lightly
often carry the oldest wisdom.

21/12/2025

Spirit of the Black Bear
From cedar shadows and embered earth,
you rise—
a quiet mountain wearing breath.
Gold lines trace your face like old prayers,
painted by ancestors who spoke
to stone, to fire, to the listening stars.
Your eyes hold the weight of winters,
the patience of roots beneath snow,
the memory of drumbeats
still echoing in blood and bone.
Feathers rest beside you,
not as ornaments,
but as promises—
that the wind remembers every name
ever spoken with respect.
You are strength without noise,
power without cruelty,
a guardian who teaches
that true force walks softly.
O Bear of the First Stories,
carry our fears into the dark forest,
return with wisdom stitched in gold,
and remind us:
we are never alone
while the old spirits still breathe.

04/12/2025

“The Falcon Who Taught Me to Rise Again”

I didn’t find him.
He found me.

I was sitting on the hill behind my house
a place I used to go when life felt too heavy
staring at nothing in particular.
My mind was loud, but the world was quiet.

Then a shadow crossed the grass in front of me.
Not rushing,
not startled
just gliding over the earth like it had every right to be there.

When I looked up,
a falcon circled above me,
wings slicing the morning light into silver ribbons.

He could have flown anywhere.
But he chose to land a few feet away,
tilting his head the way falcons do
when they’re trying to understand your heartbeat
before you understand it yourself.

He wasn’t injured.
He wasn’t trapped.
He simply sat there,
feathers lifted slightly by the wind,
watching me with a kind of calm I hadn’t felt in a long time.

For a moment, neither of us moved.
I didn’t speak;
I didn’t reach for him.
I just breathed
and realized it was the first deep breath I’d taken in days.

Falcons don’t offer comfort the way softer animals do.
They don’t nudge or curl or cling.
They heal in a different way
by being exactly what they are,
completely, unapologetically whole.

He stood tall,
even in stillness.
Grounded,
even though he belonged to the sky.
And somehow, just by being there,
he reminded me of something I’d forgotten:

Strength isn’t noise.
Sometimes it’s just the choice to stay standing
when your heart is tired.

He stayed with me for a long while,
long enough for the tightness in my chest
to loosen like a knot finally learning it can unravel.

And when he finally spread his wings,
the sound of them cutting the air
felt like a lesson:

“Rise.
Not fast.
Not far.
Just rise.”

I watched him climb higher and higher
until he was nothing but a dark shape
on a bright sky.

But even after he vanished,
the calm he brought stayed behind
settled inside me like a quiet truth:

Healing doesn’t always look like someone holding you.
Sometimes it looks like a falcon
landing beside you just long enough
to remind you how to lift your spirit
back into the air.

🙏🙏 You can get the purchase link in the comments under each image. Or just send me a message with the picture you like, and I’ll send you the direct product link!

25/11/2025

The Bear of the Sacred Feathers

In the dawn of time, when the earth was young and the skies were vast, the Great Bear was gifted with the sacred feathers from the Spirit Eagles. These feathers were not mere adornments but symbols of wisdom, protection, and the sacred connection between the earth and the heavens.

The Bear carries the mark of the ancestors, painted with the colors of fire and blood — a reminder of the courage needed to face life’s storms and the gentle strength required to nurture the land and its creatures. Each feather that surrounds the Bear speaks of a story: battles fought, lessons learned, and the eternal balance between power and peace.

To the Native peoples, the Bear is the guardian of the forest, a spiritual guide that teaches patience, bravery, and respect for all life. When the Bear walks among the trees, its presence brings calm and clarity, reminding all beings to honor their roots while reaching for the sky.

This Bear, crowned with sacred feathers and marked with ancestral symbols, embodies the spirit of resilience. It is a living bridge between worlds — fierce and tender, wild and wise — forever protecting the sacred circle of life.

28/09/2025

Spirit of the Bear

Through valleys of fire, through rivers of stone,
The Bear walks proud, yet never alone.
Its eyes are the wisdom of mountains high,
Its breath is the thunder that shakes the sky.

Protector of kin, of forest and flame,
Keeper of strength, in spirit and name.
Guided by ancestors, fierce yet fair,
Sacred forever—the spirit of Bear.
🎨Artist and the storyteller : Solis Hue

21/09/2025

The Gavrinis Tomb: A Neolithic Masterpiece of Art and Architecture

18/09/2025

You don’t see this every day… Meteor + Milky Way + Stonehenge in one shot. 🤯

As a meteor streaks across the Milky Way, it passes directly above the ancient stones of Stonehenge — a cosmic alignment thousands of years in the making. ✨

No filters. Just the universe doing what it does best: reminding us how small — and how connected — we really are.

📍 Captured during the Perseid meteor shower in England.

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7250

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