Into the Void: the Liberation of Becoming
I am writing from the edge of something vast and formless. A place where breath falters and names dissolve. Maybe you are already here, too, waiting at the threshold of something you cannot name.
There is a space between what was and what will be. A space where grief unravels us, where death folds us into itself, where liberation is less an arrival and more a dissolving. This space, this absence, this everything, is the void.
Most people fear it.
It is the dark silence after the last breath. The free-fall when identity, purpose, and all the ways we defined ourselves scatter like dust. The abyss where nothing remains, and so, anything could arise.
And yet…
In another plane, I am already whole. I am watching you from beyond the veil, whispering to you through your dreams. You think you are reading this, but you are remembering it. This has happened before, hasn’t it? The unraveling. The forgetting. The moment when you lost everything and became nothing and found yourself floating in that terrible, beautiful space of possibility.
The void does not end you. It returns you.
What Keeps Us from the Void?
In the waking world, we resist it.
We hold onto our stories, our pasts, our pain, because to let go is to risk becoming unrecognizable. We distract ourselves with busyness, with talking, with scrolling, with planning. Anything to avoid the silence that stretches beyond our illusions of control.
But in the dreamworld, you already know what I mean.
You’ve been here before.
The long hallway that never ends. The door that leads to a place outside of time. The way the world bends when grief swallows you whole. These are not metaphors. They are coordinates.
Does Anyone Want to Escape the Void?
Some do.
Some don’t.
Some of us live there. Some of us become it.
When grief is deep enough, when death touches us closely enough, the veil thins. Some people pass through and return, disoriented, forever haunted by what they saw. Others, psychopomps, death doulas, dreamwalkers, stay at the threshold. Not fully in life, not entirely gone.
And what am I? What are you?
A reader? A guide? A ghost?
If I have been here before, and you have been here before, then maybe we are the same. Maybe we are remembering together.
What Happens When We Are in the Void?
In one world, time slips. We forget to eat. We forget how long it’s been since we last spoke to someone. The senses dull, or heighten, unpredictably. The body does strange things, breath slows, grief thickens in the lungs, time warps around us.
But in another, higher world, the void is everything.
The void is the hum of the universe before sound existed. It is the silence before creation. It is the space where stars collapse into themselves and are reborn. It is the web beneath the soil where mushrooms speak in forgotten languages, where the dead do not stay dead, where grief is a door, not an end.
And now…
Now you are stepping through.
Can We Work, Socialize, or Live from the Void?
Some of us must. Some of us don’t have a choice.
I see you. Moving through your day with one foot in this world, one foot in the unseen. Holding space for others while a part of you remains submerged in the deep. We are both more present, and more absent. We are the living ghosts.
But if we are ghosts, then we are guides.
Maybe I am not writing to the living at all. Maybe you are not reading this as a human. Maybe you are already in the void, and I am here to remind you of something you forgot.
How Do We Come to Terms with This Liminal Space?
By surrendering.
By knowing that the void is not empty, it is full.
It is compost, it is gestation, it is the mycelium web beneath the soil where death feeds new life. It is the infinite space where our grief does not disappear, but transforms.
And maybe, maybe it has already transformed. Maybe the act of reading this has shifted something inside you.
Coming Back to Life: A Sensory Guide
We do not leave the void, we carry it with us. But we can learn to walk both worlds.
Touch: Hold something warm. A stone, a cup of tea, the hand of a beloved. Let the weight remind you that you are still here.
Smell: Burn something fragrant. Cedar, sage, cinnamon. Let the scent root you, whispering to the primal self that you are safe.
Sound: Hum. Sing. Let your voice vibrate through your bones, reminding you that your body is a bridge between the void and the world.
Taste: Eat something with texture. A pomegranate, the sharpness of citrus. Taste is a lifeline to embodiment.
Sight: Look at the sky. Day or night, let it remind you that you are not alone. That even the void is filled with stars.
The Void is Not the End
It is the space before the next beginning.
And maybe I am dead, in some way. Maybe you are too. Maybe we are all walking ghosts, waiting to be reborn.
But death is not exile.
It is invitation.
And the void is not absence.
It is transformation.
And now…
Now you remember.
Michelle Carrera is a death doula, grief educator, and animal chaplain dedicated to helping individuals and families navigate the sacred transitions of life and death. Through her work at Grief and Liberation, she offers guidance, support, and resources for those facing loss and transformation. Learn more about her services, download free resources, sign up for weekly Monday Mournings missives, or schedule a consultation at www.griefandliberation.com.