Finding Light In The Void
..forgetting who we are is often the only way we can learn to remember.
The story I want to tell isn’t really a story. It’s a life.
It’s my life. A complicated existence coloured by both the surreal and the mundane. A vivid tapestry woven together with colourful threads of love, grief, and gratitude. The picture is both haunting and beautiful, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Over the years, I’ve shed layers and layers of skin - past selves, limiting beliefs, pain filters and barriers to love. Now, in 2025 - the Chinese year of the Snake - I feel this shedding more deeply than ever. I can sense the versions of myself that once wandered through this world in states of confusion, bliss, despair, anxiety, joy, and every nuanced state in between, quietly peeling away from me. One by one, I let them go, as I die, grieve, and am reborn in an ever-turning cycle of becoming.
Still, I strongly believe that time is not linear, and even as each petal falls from me, I know a season still exists where they are forever in bloom. Some parts of me fall away quietly. An old friend who stopped responding, a habit I dropped one day and never picked back up, or a name I no longer respond to. Ye,t in some dimension they all still exist, pressed between the pages of time.
They live on, always, even if I no longer carry them with me.
So, how do I honour them through this unravelling? How do I give their lives the justice they deserve? How do I tell their stories - in all their fractured, crystalline intensity - in a way that truthfully captures the many lifetimes I’ve already lived within this one?
Where do I even begin?
Because every single moment contains a new beginning.
We are all constantly dying and being reborn - every cell in our body collapsing, only to regenerate carrying different light codes and shifting expressions of our DNA. We are never truly the same from one day to the next - and honestly? Today is the only day that actually exists. The past is just a fragment of memory - data as intangible as ones and zeros within a stream of code. It can be corrupted. It can be rewritten. The future hasn’t happened yet - and when it does (which it never really does), it simply becomes the Now.
The present moment is all there is, and change is the only constant we’ll ever know.
It’s just that, often, we don’t know that.
There are versions of me who have known nothing but the 9-5 grind - chronically burned out, constantly masking, and stitched together by shame. Versions who tried to fill themselves with alcohol, marijuana, sex, and junk food, never realising their bucket was full of holes - and yet, somehow, they were still drowning.
There have been versions of me who lived at home with black holes, surrounded by energy vampires quietly draining their life force energy and dimming their light, like moths smothering a bulb. These different ‘I Am’s’ tried to run from their problems, only to dive headfirst into new ones - playing out the same stories, just with different characters, different names, and different masks.
I didn’t know then what I know now.
I didn’t know that love and pain could look so similar in the dark.
I didn’t know the Self was a myth we could rewrite each morning.
Or that, sometimes, forgetting who we are is the only way we can learn to remember.
I didn’t realise I had to get lost in the chaos of who I wasn’t, again and again, to begin recognising the quiet, steady truth of who I am.
And still, I resisted.
I clung to old behaviours. Old patterns. Old illusions. I clung to broken ways of being as if they were life-rafts - the illusion of security and safety pulling me under the waves time and time again.
Until the exertion of trying to stay afloat became unbearable.
The truth is, I have spent most of my life asleep, as most of us do. For a long time I frantically dug my fingers into the edge of a cliff, holding on with everything I had - until, finger by finger, my grip loosened, and I fell.
Straight down into The Void.
There’s so much I could say about the long, echoing descent into The Void I have experienced in these last few years. I guess that’s what I’m trying to do now - this blog is my way of attempting to tell a story that has no beginning or end.
For now, I’ll start (again) with this..
The reason I recently changed the name of my blog from Life in the Void to Light in the Void is, in many ways, both simple and a paradox.
It’s because the deeper I chose to walk willingly into The Void, the more light I found waiting there.
The more often I danced with my shadows, the brighter I began to shine.
So, how do I honour my past selves?
By refusing to write my story in the dark.
It really is as simple as that.