IN THE STARS
‘She lives in the stars, in an infinite sea of night. She drifted through her dark world, hypnotised by the forever-present light.’
In the Stars: Dissociation and Alchemy
She lives in the stars, she lives in an infinite and distant world, far, far away from her unwanted and toxic reality. Here exists a pristine, magical place exists, a space between waking and dreaming, a parallel consciousness that allows her to escape not only her life but even her body and her mind. As she gently drifts through this disconnected vortex, her senses dim and the dark world envelops her. Here, in the vastness of this untouched landscape, she is far from a visitor, but a resident in this softer, lighter, distant and undefinable realm.
This is a quiet space, hidden between the worlds of waking and sleeping, where she finds herself. It is not a place of escape, but rather a realm of preservation, a soft refuge in which her mind retreats when the weight of the world is too much to bear. It is the space she longs for, where her consciousness stretches and melts into the stars, a place where time no longer governs her, where the burdens of her life, her trauma, her wounds, her obligations all fade like the distant echoes that drift further and further away from her.
Here, one is no longer bound by their body or their mind. The ‘self’ drifts, like a nebula floating effortlessly through an infinite void, where nothing is demanded, where no memories present themselves and where the heaviness of the world fades into air. In this private landscape of endless night, she is not an outsider, but rather a resident of her second home. In the stars, she can exist without the sharp edges of existence cutting into her. The pain of her past, the ache of her body, the pull of time, all dissipate into the void, leaving her suspended, floating, and free.
Her real world, however, is not so kind. There, her trauma lives on. Her wounds bleed in unmentionable places, and her body retains the scars of what it cannot choose to forget. Memories intrude like uninvited unwanted guests, and her feelings, strongly embedded in her cellular memory, to play out like a broken record stuck on repeat pulling her back and down into the gravity of her past life. In the stars, she is free, untethered and most importantly untouched. Her mind gently disengages, a protective veil is placed upon her that shields her from the overwhelming weight of her inner and outer worlds. There is a parallel space that exists between ‘being’ and ‘not being’, a thin, fragile threshold where she hovers in a suspended grace. In this place, she has not disappeared, nor is she present. It is a deep pause, a moment of frozen preservation. The sensory overload of life can recede, leaving only the soft, shimmering glow of the stars as a distant beacon marking her place of return. The edges blur, her sense of self is fluid, and for a moment she exists as an infinite being in the great expanse of night.
Dissociation of the mind, in its silent extension is a survival response and an act of self-preservation, born from the mind’s deep need to shield itself from the crushing weight of trauma and emotional overload. The brain, in its infinite wisdom, pulls back when the intensity of life becomes too much, when the body is overwhelmed by sensations it cannot process, and when the heart feels too full, and near broken. In those moments, it offers a quiet space of rebellion, retreating to a softer place, where everything is muted, on pause and she is safe.
This is the beauty of dissociation, it is the mind’s way of holding the fragile self together. But the stars, as beautiful and alluring as they are, are not a home. They are a temporary refuge, a brief rest for the weary soul. Dissociation is fleeting, like a dream that fades with the dawn. And as the stars fade, reality inevitably calls her back and if she lingers too long, the world she must return to will feel farther and farther away. And if she drifts too far, too long, she may risk losing touch with the very world she must inhabit. Her brain, though protective, requires consciousness and balance. The stars may offer safety, but they cannot offer her healing in a void. If she stays too long in the dark, the process of integration—the coming back into her body, her mind, her life—becomes more difficult. The distance between her two worlds grows, and the bridge back becomes harder to cross and the risk is always that the longer she drifts, the more detached she becomes.
The brain’s neuroplastic ability to reorganise itself and form new pathways, is at work here. Each time she floats away, her mind remembers how to return, how to reconnect. It is as though the mind is healing itself, regaining strength, and finding new ways to process the pain and complexity of life. It takes time—gradually, gently, the stars begin to dim, and the world below comes back into view, clearer now, with new eyes.
When she returns, it is with a shift. The light from the stars does not vanish, it lingers, an inner glow that burns brighter within her. The process of dissociation was not an ending; it was a pause, a moment of stillness, before something new could begin. The stars, which offered her solace, are not a place to escape to permanently. They are a place to rest, to heal, and to find the strength to return—more present, more whole, more alive than before.
And so the dance continues. The world she must live in and the world she longs to escape to, the waking and the dreaming, exist together, each offering a different kind of light. The space between them is delicate, fleeting, but necessary. Each time she returns, she is renewed, transformed, more ready for true presence in her life again. In this cycle, and as she travels the ‘in-between’ cavities of her mind, she is given the opportunity and grace to heal and reclaim the parts of herself that were once lost. Here she can alchemise her experience and re-emerge transformed. In the sacred retreat of dissociation, she acquires the peace required to rise again and to return to the world around her.
