The Beauty of Death
Major Soho Art gallery vibes from “The Little Sister Tarot” @gthonson
Death comes for us all. As we slip into fall's coolness, I see the Death card's rhythm everywhere– deepening tree colors, cooler nights, diminishing sunlight. As a Tarot reader, this card has appeared persistently in my readings over recent weeks, entering without announcement and whispering its truths.
The ancients understood: death is not an ending, but the most sacred rite of passage. Every spiritual tradition honors this truth through ceremonies marking the profound evolution that occurs when we consciously release what we've outgrown. The Death card captures this eternal wisdom– it's about shedding an old self, not physical death.
The late Tarot author, Rachel Pollack wrote "Death in the Tarot… it shows us the precise moment at which we give up the old mask and allow the transformation to take place."
This is the heart of every rite of passage– consciously choosing to release our grip on who we've been. Cultures worldwide have marked this moment with ceremony, witnessed collectively, treated with reverence. Vision quests required leaving familiar territory. Initiations demanded surrendering former identities. Even funeral rites created sacred space for the living to witness transformation from one state of being to another.
When Death arises in the Tarot, it signifies ego disintegration. The lifelong mask gets dissolved, allowing the old energetic version to go– so a truer self can take its place.
Death doesn't symbolize easy movement. When Death appears, it may signify holding onto an outdated version of ourselves: "If I'm not THAT person...then who am I actually?" Our ego grips so tightly that releasing feels squeezed, gasping. We feel the nudge: "Wouldn't it be easier staying where we are?"
This might work for a few weeks or even months, but when Death comes, it raises the mirror to your ego's stronghold on someone you no longer are.
In our modern world, we face this dissolution in isolation, making it infinitely harder. This vertigo of the unknown self is why traditional rites of passage were supported experiences– elders guided the process, community held space, ritual containers eased its intensity.
Sometimes it takes time to wiggle free from this containment, but with every twist and shimmy, we slowly unfold. There's no rush– it takes as long as needed. When we give that final push and break free, we breathe new air, ready for integration.
Understanding Death as a rite of passage honors both the process's necessity and our innate timing. We arise changed, carrying wisdom from what we've released and the tender promise of rebirth. When Death calls, we can meet it not with fear, but understanding that we're participating in humanity's most ancient, holy practice: the conscious choice of who we're becoming.