10. Next Rung

Jun 27

Emotions are a ladder.
The mirror showed me the bottom rungs first.
Depression, insecurity, jealousy, rage.
Those were my home for years.
Now my set point lives around boredom.
Some days I touch optimism, some days I get mad.
Still, I climb. One step at a time.
I practice choosing the next rung.

[PRE-CHORUS]
I stop white-knuckling every rung.
I move up.
I slip.
I start again.
The climb becomes a glide.
One small change at a time.

[VERSE 1]
Depression gives me permission to feel anger.
Anger gives me frustration.
Frustration gives me boredom.
Boredom gives me hope.
I learn their textures.
The mirror climbs with me.
I reach for one thought that feels a little better.
I cannot jump from despair to joy.
I just need one thought that feels better than the last.
I take the next step.
Even if I wobble.
Every rung felt like failure until I looked down.
I stop beating up on myself for being here.
This place is temporary.

[PRE-CHORUS]
I stop white-knuckling every rung.
I move up.
I slip.
I start again.
The climb becomes a glide.
One small change at a time.

[CHORUS]
I ascend the ladder of wanting.
The next rung.
I move through grief, rage, and blame.
The next rung.
I rise through doubt, hope, passion, and joy.
The next rung.
I am in charge of my thinking.
I am in charge of my feeling.
The next rung.
(Next rung. Next rung. Next rung.)

[BRIDGE]
The ladder is not a peak I reach once.
I climb it every day.
Tomorrow, I start over.
My legs get stronger anyway.
The mirror shows me a different woman each time.
I inherit her wanting.

[OUTRO]
I notice how far I've come.
I trust that I can go further.
All of it is practice.
Not a single step wasted.
I will never get it all done.
The ladder keeps extending.
All is well.
(Next rung. Next rung. Next rung.)

Loui Crow

I make music, practice mirror work, sometimes I do somatic rage fits, and small forms of magick that help me stay present and kind while things change.

I write songs for myself, my inner child, and for the woman I am becoming.
I work through old patterns, grief, and survival habits as I notice them loosening.

Sometimes I write as the Crow — that's my ideal self. Direct, unattached, protective, grounded in something older than my fear. Other voices come through too. The snake. The spider. The fly. The ghosts are the false selves I created to survive. I write as all of them, for my own self-hypnosis — unpacking who I've been so that my son can fill his days with joy and I can stop being such a reactive parent. I'm in the middle of it all. I just keep showing up.

I use Suno for vocals and instrumentals — the vocals are seeded from my own voice. I'm a disabled veteran and a stay-at-home mom.

Over the last year, I climbed an emotional ladder I didn't know I was on. Many of my earlier releases were the scream — my depression, anger, insecurity.

The last album that came out of that climb is called "Mirror, Mirror off the Wall." It starts with depression and ends with gratitude.

Much of what lives here carries the influence of Louise Hay and Abraham Hicks, especially the idea that my body listens to my thoughts — and that where I place my attention, my life follows.

I leave breadcrumbs in case anyone resonates.

Take what feeds you.
Leave the rest for the birds.

I am molting.
You are welcome here.

https://louicrow.com

10. Next Rung

9. The Little One Inside

11. Well Being Wants Me

louicrow@gmail.com