Death is the great transition, the final threshold we all must cross. It is a moment both sacred and inevitable, where the body, once a vessel of breath and motion, begins its slow return to the earth, while the soul unfurls like a raven’s wing, lifting into the unseen realms beyond.
In the moments before death, there is a stillness that settles upon the body, like dusk softening into night. The breath becomes slower, shallower, until it barely stirs the air. The heart, once steady in its rhythm, begins to falter, its pulse echoing the nearing silence. The senses withdraw, one by one, as if the body itself is whispering its final farewell to the physical world.
But even as the body fades, the soul lingers, aware, waiting. Some say that in this moment, the veil thins and the departing spirit sees both worlds at once—the hands of loved ones still holding them here, the quiet pull of eternity calling them forward.
The soul does not leave in fear. It does not grasp or resist. It surrenders. Not as a loss, but as a return. In those final moments, there is an unspoken understanding, a surrender to the great cycle of existence. The soul, weightless and unburdened, begins to loosen its ties to the physical form, unthreading itself from muscle and marrow, lifting gently from its earthly frame like mist rising from the water.
And then, it is free.
