Endings ask, "Will I be okay?"

This is where the Death card becomes the teacher. Not a final stop, but a mirror.

Endings press against us, don’t they?

Sometimes they arrive with a stillness, subtle as dusk.
Sometimes, they crash like a storm, overturning everything familiar.
But they always ask the same question.

Will you grip tighter? Or will you loosen your hold?

There’s a Tarot archetype that stands out here: The Death card.

It’s the ending we flinch from, gripping to what we know, holding our breath as if stillness could pause its arrival—but it moves with an eternal, unshakable rhythm.

It’s the leaves falling—with a poised stillness. Each one gliding down, cradled by the guidance of the wind.
It’s the air brushing against you, a fleeting chill—not harsh, but sharp enough to send a shiver rippling through your spine that awakens you.

And then, there’s the doorway. Steadfast and weathered, veiled in vines that twist and curl like searching fingers, breathing against the earth.

The Death card leans in close, a divine messenger, declaring, “Step through.”

It doesn’t linger on the surface. It moves deeper, asking for your attention.

It doesn’t ask about the routine that keeps you busy, the job that feels steady but hollow, or the relationships that circle in comfort yet no longer connect.

It reaches deeper.

It holds no scythe, no cruel force. Instead, it waits with steady resolve, a gatekeeper of endings that herald beginnings.

It calls to the quiet spaces within, the ones you’ve learned to maintain so guarded.
The parts of you that hold old stories like relics, clinging to a narrative that no longer fits the shape of who you’ve become.
The skins you’ve worn for protection, now stretched too thin, cracking at the edges.

There is no path back, no way to unsee what has already shifted. The only way through is forward.

And here’s the truth that comes along with it…

What you fight against will make itself louder.

It looks like pacing the room at 2 a.m., unable to fit the pieces of your life that have become fragments.
A tightening in the chest, fluttering like trapped wings that can’t find their way out.
The fidgeting of hands, the tapping of fingers, the bouncing of knees as the energy of not knowing what’s to come builds, craving release.
It’s staring at your phone, scrolling post after post, to create space from the messages tugging at you to pay attention.

It stiffens the shoulders, curls them inward to shield the heart.
The jaw clamps down, locked tight as if words unsaid are being bitten back.
Muscles ache—not from exertion, but from carrying that invisible, constant weight.

Because holding on traps what you no longer need.

The body knows this.
Every ache, every knot, every clenched fist speaks to what you’re holding onto that whispers to you, “Please let me go.”

Maybe it’s the conversations where a truth knots in your gut, but you smooth it over with easy words, letting silence grow heavy.
The projects you promise you’ll begin “someday,” even as time ticks louder, a constant whisper of what’s slipping away.
Or the relationships where boundaries blur, pulling you back into roles that no longer fit, chafing against an old version of yourself you swore you’d outgrown.

It clings to what your body once knew as a warm hug, even as that hug turns into a boulder on your chest, anchoring you in place, holding you in stillness.

This is where the Death card becomes the teacher.
Not a final stop, but a mirror.

It reflects back where you’re holding on, showing you how the struggle to stay the same creates the deepest unrest.

Death, often misunderstood, asks, will you let go, so that life may bloom anew?

Look at your life...

Where lies a blanket of heaviness?
What pulls you back to question, “Is this right for me?” as you meet a new edge?
What have you fought so hard to carry that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to set something down?

The Death card doesn’t promise an easy surrender.
It tells the truth of falling apart.

It unravels us, breaking open what we cling to most, so the light has a crack to slip through.
And yet, there is beauty in its truth. It honors the shedding required for new skin to grow. It knocks our cup over to be emptied for a richer texture of life to pour through.

Imagine standing still as your world presses forward.
Every force asks for change, yet the feet dig in.
The longer you stay rooted, the stronger the pull, until the weight of clutching becomes something unbearable.

Notice—where does the gripping first show itself in your body?

The flicker of shallow breath.
The tightness coiling in your chest.
The crunch that creeps into your shoulders.

These invisible walls that we meet ask for comfort—for a cushion to lean into.

And this is where it begins…

With care.

Take a stretch that’s easy, natural, like a whisper of movement—not to fix, but to create space.
Take a walk, reminding your legs they can carry you forward, even when what you’re carrying resembles mud stuck to your feet.
Yawn big, letting your jaw loosen, inviting your breath to deepen.

These small acts... they matter.

This is how you start to loosen the grip.

When your body understands it’s safe, it’s okay, tension dissolves.
And, this safety begins to ripple outward.

The conversation you’ve been avoiding starts—not in flames, but in quiet honesty.
The work that once drained you becomes less binding, allowing space for something new.
Habits that comforted but constricted begin to lose their weight, carving room for more.

This is Death’s gift—not the ending, but the clearing.
The breath that makes space for what’s to come.

Letting go is meant to be met… with compassion, patience, and care.

Change begins as a crack, but begins to smooth at the edges.
It starts with the breaking, but falls back together, following the rhythm of your breath when you allow it to deepen.

Your sacred rebirth starts here.

Not with grand gestures or sudden revelations, but in the smallest acts of surrender.
A stretch.
A step.
A yawn.

Your body knows the way.

When you trust it to guide you, creation begins to unfold in ways the mind cannot yet fathom.

Does anything stir within you as you step closer to the doorway?
Perhaps it’s the faintest warmth rising like the sun at dawn.
A promise that loss is never the last word.

This is the wisdom of the Death card—not rushing past what needs to be put down, but thanking it for how long it’s been a friend.
Meeting it on the edge of, “It’s time,” and, “You can trust in the path unfolding.”

This is where your life starts to change. Are you ready to step through?

If the answer stirs within you, join me this Sunday for Somatic Tarot.

A 22-day exploration of death and rebirth through contemplative essays, embodied practice, and the wisdom of the major arcana.
We’ll listen for the body’s whispers.
Trace the divine threads that guide both the falling apart and the coming together.

Each card offers reflection.
Each moment offers a new way to be.

Become a paid subscriber to join this practice of dissolution and creation.

Because what you fight against will make itself louder until the moment you surrender.
And in that surrender, a new life begins.

With love and devotion,
Rosa