Death Spiral

what’s that on the horizon? it’s always been there, twinkling steadily, since the day you were born; sometimes in your periphery, sometimes smack dab in the middle of your view. 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. it’s the end of our lives as we know it. 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 at the outdoor patio of some restaurant, weaving itself through tables and chairs.

Inevitably, it was caught. A group of men picked it up, holding it behind its 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, helplessly struggling against its horrible fate. With great resolution, I approached the group, drew a sword I didn’t realize I had, and cleanly, decisively, cut off its head.

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

At that point of my life, 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 scratch the surface of. For me to be free of my eating disorder, I would need to dive deep, learn what had made me end up functioning the way I had been functioning, and painstakingly rewire my neurological comfort zone. This wasn’t going to be a few weeks, even a few months. It was going to be 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.

Years later, and the girl that I was then is unrecognizable; a scared child unknowingly standing on the brink of the rest of her life. Choosing to stay in the program 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, the kind I had never experienced before. I was mourning the life I could have had, the person I might’ve been under different circumstances. But more than anything, I was mourning letting go of my eating disorder. As much as the coping mechanisms and behaviors that I was learning to let go of were holding me back, they were also keeping me safe—comfortably numb and held snugly in the familiar.

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 rely on. Letting go of it felt like losing a part of myself, one I knew I would never get back. As I killed the self-saboteur inside of me, knowing it was the right choice, I hit an emotional rock bottom. Grief flowed fully through me for the first time in my life. Long days of weeping uncontrollably alternated with days of feeling nothing. Every day, for months and months, I uncovered new ways of being low; depression, anger, fear, denial, bargaining. 

Surrendering to the Death of my eating disorder also required my surrender to the immense grief that came entwined with it. 

Death is the ultimate loss, a disruption of our lives there is no coming back from. There is a finality that is unavoidable; something irreplacable has been lost forever. The mourning that accompanies that reality is massive and inescapable, coming with the ability to black out our entire emotional skies for undeterminable lengths of time. Always, inevitably, grief is present in the excruciating unfolding and aftermath of Death. 

.

There is nothing more universally grieved than Death. Across culture, time, and place, a dark and heavy weight comes along with the Death of a loved one. And yet, even in the midst of separation and loss, an element of connection to others remains. It’s reflected in the ways that we 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. Back in therapy, in the midst of my deepest heartache, the greatest salvation and healing I found came from my connections with others. Processing and bonding with others, also undertaking the task of dismantling and grieving their eating disorders, in fact, was an integral part of this program’s therapeutic 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 tunnel without a light at the end. It is not impossible to walk this path alone, but grief can be a crushing weight. We need a shoulder to cry on, a community to reminisce with, another soul who will scream their heart out with you.

.

Death is a separator, a door you can’t come back through, a veil that separates what’s still here from what will never be again. It’s ironic then, how closely connected it is to unifying us. It’s not just in our practices, it is inherent to Death as a concept. 

Physically speaking, the decay and decomposition that follows a Death returns us to the Earth, each piece of us reuniting, eventually, with the land that carried us through our lives. The way we conceive of an afterlife too, though ultimately unfathomable, always carries a thread of unity. The idea of Heaven, or of some other spiritual realm, promises reunification with our loved ones and a return to the origins of our creation. Reincarnation as a concept, again, promises a return to where we came from, albeit in a new form. Even if you believe we are all headed to a black void, at least it’s where we all end up in the end. 

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

To some, Death means coming home to the truth of who we are.

.

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 loss and heartache, there are also new beginnings in Death; a certain relief and wonder, a new perspective. As much as there is grief, there is also grace. A brush with Death can be a lesson in facing down the inevitable with gratitude, both for what you have now, and what you might have on the other side. 

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, new sprouts, once stifled by overgrowth, too far from the sun to truly thrive, now have room to grow. Planted seeds that once never stood a chance, now stretch their tendrils upward, feeling fresh air for the first time. Just as the burnt remnants of dead trees break down and decay, re-nitrogenizing the soil as they diffuse into nutrients, what we were once made up of now feeds 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 heartache, eventually, lifting off your chest and shoulders, your heart, somehow, miraculously, now lighter than it was before.

With our losses now behind us, we begin again. 

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

After throwing myself heavily into my passion projects for months and months on end, I have nothing to show for it. All attempts toward success in my professional life, so far, have done nothing but leave me moneyless and desperate, alienated from my friends and family, faithless towards a path I once worshiped, and mourning the life I thought I was going to be leading. I’ve become so far removed from the parts of my ambitions that gave me peace and joy, that all that is left behind is bitterness and despair. It’s time for me to change tactics - a reality that has hit me 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. 

Still, when faced once again with letting go, I am still kicking and screaming, resisting the inevitable, and holding on to any control I can muster. Death is a beast I know well by now, even a friend. And yet, now, when he has shown his face to me once again, I want to run away screaming. It’s human to resist Death, to look into the face of an inescapable end and an unknowable future and feel nothing but fear. We want to live! On our own terms! And who can blame us? 

Still, you will only get so far by fighting the inevitable. Once again, I was faced with a choice. I could pull out teeth, one by one, only delaying the unavoidable end, or, I could get to the root of the problem. Choose, once again, with resolution, to cut the head off the snake. 

With tremendous resistance and unshakable fear, I gave up. I let the idea of who I was, where I was going, and when I would get there die. 

I let myself cry for days, grief wracking my entire being once again. As many times as I have encountered Death, it never feels different. Without being able to see what’s on the other side, all that was clear to me was an ending, a sacrifice, an abandoning of a part of me that I had worked hard to cultivate.

And yet, one day, I woke up feeling relief. I had begun to shake off the skin of an old self, and with it, a need to fit myself into a box that wasn’t meant for me. I mourned the loss of who I was desperately trying to be, and accepted the truth: I was a square peg in a round hole, an elephant in a room three sizes too small for it.

No longer was I going to be a person who felt the need to constantly hustle to prove my worth, clinging on to any ounce of validation I could get, and relentlessly self-sabotaging in the process. It was not going to be a quick and easy process; grief does not have a schedule, it ebbs and flows and takes it’s time. But I was already seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I could accept that there was something beyond this life that I had known so far.

In the aftermath of Death, a new take on life began to appear. I could create on my own terms, slowly, patiently, letting my destiny unfold with natural ease. Desperation, for the first time, could be removed from the equation. The future could now unfold, with no more fear, no more hurry, no more stubbornly clinging to a self-imposed time frame. 

Much of my self-concept has been lost– a way of existing in this world that has been comfortable and familiar, a self-defeating stubbornness that has followed me for my entire life. But now, I stand at the edge of the new life I’m creating.

In the wake of my loss, I can already see the new growth sprouting around me. This new version of me has more patience, more self-acceptance, more freedom. I think I’m going to like it here.

.

We are mystified by Death, and we should be.

Mystery is inherent to the nature of Death. The truth is not just that we don’t know, but that we can’t know what lies on its other side. 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 how Death will transform us, at least, not until we’re on the other side of it. A new perspective on our situation only becomes available when we are standing far away from our lives, finally able to see the picture in whole; beginning, middle, and inevitable end.

For now, all we can see is the portal. Death is the place and the process where we move from one state of being to another; the threshold, the doorway, the 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 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 paradox 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.

.

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, an end to 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 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 know. 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 lived so far with a new 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 playlist below, or listen to the guided meditation underneath to deepen your understanding.