Death Spiral

what’s that on the horizon? it’s always been there, twinkling steadily, since the day you were born. no matter how many steps you take towards it, you can never really tell how far away it is. yet, you know, one day, you’ll take a final step forward, right into its’ inescapable glow. 

it’s Death. the great divider, the great unifier. both definite and undefined, inevitable yet elusive. 

Death looms like a reluctant promise in our collective psyche, deeply imbibed in fear and mystery. one thing is finished, and the next? well, you can’t see what’s next quite yet. but don't be fooled, Death is not just an ending–it’s a transition. Death stands as the doorway between what is and what isn’t, the space between what’s here and what’s elsewhere. 

Death begets new life. for flowers to bloom, last season’s creations must wither and decay. 

release your grip. all things must die.

Several years ago, at a pivotal time of my life, I dreamt in vivid detail about killing a snake.

The unlucky fellow was in the wrong place at the wrong time, scaring the guests on the outdoor patio of some ambiguous restaurant, weaving itself through tables and chairs.

Inevitably, it was caught. A group of men picked it up, gripping it behind the head so it couldn't bite, and started systematically, one by one, pulling out its teeth. 

I was horrified, appalled at the tortuous method they'd chosen to deal with their problem. The snake was clearly suffering, writhing in the air, helplessly struggling against its horrible fate. With great clarity and resolution, I approached the group, drew a sword from some hidden, liminal pocket and cleanly, decisively, cut off its head.

I woke up then, shaken, something deep inside of me profoundly and permanently changed. 

At the point of my life that this dream occurred, I was deeply entrenched in an intensive therapy program, working long hours on a daily basis to treat a lifelong eating disorder. What I had initially expected to be a quick stint to fix myself up, had instead, quickly and unceremoniously, brought me face to face with a harsh reality. The issues I was facing didn’t have an easy solution; they were deeply entrenched coping patterns that had gone awry, rooted in years of trauma that I was just beginning to uncover and process. For me to be free of my eating disorder, I would need to dive deep, come face to face with my core wounds, and painstakingly rewire my neurological comfort zone. This wasn’t going to be a few weeks, even a few months of therapy. It was going to be years and years of intentional discomfort, introspection, and hard work. 

I was left with an important choice to make. I could pull out teeth one by one, choosing to focus on shortcuts and easy fixes, slapping a band aid on my symptoms and behaviors without ever getting into the root of why I was making them. Or, with resolution, I could draw my sword and cut the head off the snake.

I chose to let it die, once and for all.

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Years later, and the girl that I was then is unrecognizable; a scared child unknowingly standing on the precipice of the rest of her life. Choosing to commit to my recovery and dedicate myself fully to healing was, unquestionably, the best decision I have ever made.

As liberating as I make it sound now, the choice to let go of an old me brought with it a rolling, throbbing grief, a kind that I had never experienced before.

I hated my eating disorder, but I also loved it. In a life full of anxiety and fear, it was the one modicum of control I could consistently rely upon. As much as I was slowly killing myself, in a sick and twisted way, I was also keeping me safe—comfortably numb and held snugly in the familiarity of my pain. Letting go of my disorder felt like losing a part of myself, one I knew I could never get back again.

As I killed the self-saboteur inside of me, I hit an emotional rock bottom. For the first time, grief was flowing through me without obstruction, completely taking over my life. For months and months, long days of weeping uncontrollably alternated with disconcerting periods of feeling nothing at all. Every day I uncovered new ways of being low—denial, bargaining, anger, depression.

It was unavoidable; if I truly wanted the Death of my eating disorder, I had to surrender to the immense and all encompassing grief that came entwined within its ending.

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Death is the ultimate loss, a disruption of our lives that there is no coming back from. With unyielding finality, something irreplacable has been lost forever. The mourning that follows this reality is massive and certain, coming with the ability to black out our entire emotional skies. Always, inevitably, grief is present in the excruciating unfolding and aftermath of Death. 

Truly, nothing is more universally grieved. Across culture, time, and place, a dark and heavy weight seems to accompany even the very concept of Death. Yet, even in the midst of separation and loss, an element of connection to others remains. It’s reflected in the ways that we collectively choose to grieve. Worldwide, memorial events and mourning practices are commonplace after Death, giving each of us a place to ritualize our grief and share it communally. 

There is great comfort to be found in sharing grief. During my recovery, in the midst of my deepest heartache, the greatest salvation and healing I found came from my connections with others. Processing and bonding with fellow patients also dismantling and grieving their eating disorders, in fact, was an integral part of my therapy program’s practice. Had I not had a community going through the same experience of loss, I don’t know that I would have made it out on the other side.

Grief, though it can feel isolating, is meant to be shared. It is an emotional experience that, at some point of our lives, we will all have to go through. When we finally encounter this inescapable fate, it’s essential that we lean into the support of others. Without it, grief can become a black hole, a deep crater that pulls us further away from the rest of the world and deeper into our own sadness. When shared, our anguish can instead become a chance to reminisce on our fondest memories, recognize our shared vulnerability, and alchemize our pain into connection and release.

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Death is a separator by nature, a door you can never return through, a stark division between what’s still here and what will never be again. It’s ironic then, how closely connected it is to bringing us together. It’s not just in our mourning practices, it is inherent to Death as a concept. 

Physically speaking, the decay and decomposition that follows Death returns us back to the collective material of the Earth. Despite any attempts we may make to preserve our bodies and stall this process, each piece of us will eventually reunite with the land that has carried us through our lives, destined to nourish the rest of the planet in the wake of our absence.

The way that we conceive of an afterlife, as well, carries with it a thread of unity. Across religions and philosophies, our various conceptions of a heaven, hell or underworld promise reunion with the origins of our creation and a revisitation of our pasts. Theories of reincarnation also presume a return to where we originally came from, albeit this time in a new form, and if you believe in ghosts, there is an included assumption that we never really leave the sides of our loved ones, and eventually they will join us in our new, parallel reality. Even if you don’t believe in an afterlife and predict that we are all headed towards oblivion, at least it is where we will all wind up in the end. 

Death separates us from what we love, but it also, inevitably, returns us there.

For some of us, Death can mean coming home to the truth of who we are.

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Eventually, amazingly, my grief gave way to acceptance. Acceptance, eventually, turned into awe.

You see, Death isn’t only made up of destruction and heartache. At it’s core, it’s a transition. On the other side of Death, there is new life.

Anyone who has lost someone can tell you, despite the heavy burden of heartache, there can also be new beginnings in Death—perhaps a certain relief and wonder, or a new perspective on the world. A brush with Death can contain a lesson in facing down the inevitable with dignity, reevaluating where our priorities lie, or holding gratitude for the blessings that remain in our lives. As much as there is grief, there is also grace.

On the other side of Death, my perspective shifted. Where it once seemed like all hope was lost, I could now see the truth. A part of me had died, a part that was never coming back. And yet, when I gathered up the strength to look around again, I saw parts of me that hadn’t died. Parts that were, in fact, now more alive. 

In the wreckage of a burnt forest, sprouts once stifled by overgrowth and shade now have room to grow. Seedlings that once never stood a chance are suddenly able to stretch their tendrils upward and feel the warmth of sunlight for the first time. As the burnt remnants of dead trees break down and decay, nitrogen revitalizes the soil and diffuses into nutrients, feeding this new life and allowing it to truly thrive.

As we embrace Death, inside of ourselves, this natural process echoes; what we were once made up of now feeds and makes room for what we are newly becoming.

There is undeniable grief in Death, a darkness and heaviness for which there is no rival. But there is also relief. Processing and letting go of our grief brings us a liberation unlike any other, the suffocating weight of your anguish, eventually, lifting off your chest and shoulders, your heart, somehow, miraculously, now lighter than it was before.

With our losses behind us, we can begin again. 

I’m standing once more in Death’s wake, and again it has rocked me to my core.

After throwing myself heavily into my work for months and months on end, I am desperately struggling just to stay afloat. All attempts toward success in my professional life, thus far, have done nothing but leave me moneyless and miserable, alienated from my friends and family, faithless towards a path I once worshiped, and deeply cynical about my future. I have been driving my head again and again into a brick wall, and for the sake of my wellbeing, it’s time for me to acquiesce my current plans and surrender to the unknown - a reality that has hit me far harder than I thought it could.

At this point of my life, I am familiar with Death. Several little Deaths of the self are behind me, each one, eventually, having unlocked a new tier of growth and satisfaction. Death is a beast I know well by now, even a friend. Still, when faced again with letting go, I am fighting back hard—kicking and screaming, resisting the inevitable, and holding on to any ounce of control that I can muster.

It’s painfully human to resist Death. As we look into the face of an inescapable end and an unknowable future, it’s only natural for us to feel nothing but fear. We want to live on our own terms, in our own time. And who can really blame us? 

Nevertheless, you will only get so far by fighting the inevitable.

Once more I am faced with an important decision. I can pull out teeth, one by one, only really delaying my fate, or I can ge to the root of my problem, and choose, with resolution, to cut the head off the snake. 

With tremendous resistance and unshakable fear, I am giving up. I am letting the idea of who I am, where I’m going, and when I will get there die completely. 

For days, I have been wracked with grief. As many times as I have encountered Death, it never feels any different. My future is unforeseen—all that is clear to me now is an ending, a sacrifice, an abandoning of a part of myself that I have worked long and hard to cultivate.

Yet, in my recent days, I have waken up feeling relief. I’ve begun to shake off the skin of an old self, and with it, a need to fit myself into a box that isn’t meant for me. I have been a square peg in a round hole, an elephant in a room three sizes too small.

No longer will I be a person who constantly labors, clings on to validation, and relentlessly self-sabotages in the process. I can begin to create on my own terms, slowly and patiently, letting my destiny unfold with natural ease.

It’s not going to be an easy process—grief does not have a schedule, it ebbs and flows and takes it’s meandering time—but I am already seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I can accept that there is something bigger and brighter beyond the life that I have known so far.
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We are mystified by Death, and we should be.

Death takes us somewhere that is not Here, a place that lies beyond the limits of our perception, ultimately unknowable to our corporeal forms. We aren’t able to see the way that Death will transform us, at least, not until we’re standing on the other side of it. Our new perspective will only become available when we are pulled outside of our current lives and able to see our journeys in their entirety; beginning, middle, and inevitable end.

While we are Here, all we can see is the portal. Death is the place and the process where we move from one state of being to another; a threshold, a doorway, an initiation.

Death brings up big questions: Does nothing matter, or does everything? Do we have a choice, or is our fate predestined? Do we remain the same individual when we pass through the veil, or do we take on a new form?

These questions are inextricably intertwined with Death, and for good reason. Without them, we cannot truly stay grounded in the here and now.

If we knew what lies beyond the thin veil of Death, would we truly appreciate what life has to offer us, here in the present? Would we enjoy the story unfolding if we already knew the ending? The uncertainty allows us to create our own meaning, pave our own paths, and fully embrace the lives we have right now. When we don’t know what we will bring with us to the other side, all that matters is what’s right in front of us.

Despite the mystery, Death is certain. It is the one thing that we can fully count on.

At some point, everything must die.

In accepting Death, we must accept its inherent nature; the inescapable ending, the all encompassing grief, the paradoxical nature of separation and unity, mystery and certainty. Most importantly, we must accept the relationship Death has with Life; whether we like it or not, without Death, Life loses its meaning.

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To some, the finality and inevitability of Death is terrifying. To others, it brings peace and comfort.

Death can be cruelty, injustice, or pain. Other times, it is mercy, relief, an end to our suffering. 

We don’t always get a choice, but when we do, why would we choose to bleed to Death slowly, pulling our teeth out one at a time?

When Death shows up at your door, despite your fear, breathe in, breathe out, and allow it to come inside.

It is coming for you anyway.

This latest Death of the self came to me in the middle of writing this post, a task that I had been trying to rush and force, leaving me unsatisfied with any resulting work. More over, I had reached a breaking point, an all encompassing exhaustion and burnout replacing my creative drive and leaving me spinning in place. Unbeknownst to me, this was exactly the catalyst that I needed. In the midst of my frustration and weariness, Death knocked on my door.

Once again, Life was showing me instead of telling me. The message was clear: if I really wanted to tell you about the symbolism of Death, to bring it forward into the world in a way that I felt truly represented it, I would have to experience the full depth of it. 

This is what I'm here to do, to show you instead of tell you, the way a parent does, and the way the Universe has with me; slowly, gently, patiently, letting me learn my own lessons in my own time. At the end of the day, it's not just about understanding what you’re moving through; it’s about experiencing it in whole. 

I can sit here and tell you about Death as a symbol all I want, but until you go through it yourself, you're not going to know what I'm talking about. 

But make no mistake, Death comes for us all. 

The next time you are face to face with the reaper, remember my experiences. Try to embrace everything; the crumble, the grief, the end of what you have known so far. Understand that there’s new life on the other side, even if you can’t see it yet. Soon, you will be able to look back on the life you have already lived with a newfound peace and understanding.

Is it always worth it to step through Death’s door? I’ll have to let you know. Despite all my previous brushes with Death, I’m still here on its front porch now, trembling with fear, even as I’m prepared to lift my fist, knock, and let it welcome me in.

I can’t tell you what comes next, but I can tell you this; Death has always taken me to a better place before.

The blog at Mythic Mashup will be doing deep dives into the individual archetypes that make up symbolic languages, like tarot and astrology. We begin this journey with Death.

The archetypes of Tarot do not solely exist inside of the cards. They are reflected back to us everywhere we go; in art, in books, in movies, in music. They belong to no one and everyone at the same time.

As you contemplate the archetypal meaning of Death, and how it applies to your life, enjoy the curated companion playlist below, or listen to the guided meditation underneath to deepen your understanding even further.