Death (XIII)

I am Death, but I am not death.
I am the moment where something ends so that something new can begin.

Many fear me. They see me as loss, as darkness, as misfortune. My number, thirteen, is avoided, hidden, skipped, as if I can be escaped by not being named.

But I am not misfortune. I am change.

After twelve, the number of completion, of cycles fulfilled and of order, I arrive as the opening. A threshold, a shift into what comes next. Not an interruption, but a continuation in a new form.

I do not rush. I arrive exactly when it is time.

When I appear, something can no longer remain as it was. What has lost its life asks to be released: an old layer, a familiar form, a version of you that has been outgrown.

This can hurt. Letting go often feels like loss, even when you know, deep within, that holding on no longer serves you. There is a quiet grief in endings, even when they are necessary.