Meaning: Sacrifice and Passage

The Blood Moon rises red over the quiet field.
Not all growth is gentle—some is torn from the self.
The noble path is not without wound.
But wounds can be holy.

This moon does not comfort—it confronts.
What must you surrender to move forward?
Even the harvest leaves stubble behind.
The blade carves, but it also clears.

Reflect on what you’ve buried out of fear.
Face it now, beneath the crimson sky.
What bleeds can also heal.
Stand unflinching before the mirror.

Anoint the altar with your truth.
Burn the lie, bury the doubt.
Mark the turning—this is the rite of endings.
And every ending is a hidden gate.