It was hard for me to write this tale.

Though it was more than one year ago, it still feels so fresh, so scary. I can feel my chest constricting as I revisit the memories. But writing is my form of
reflection, and reflection enables my growth. So here I go…

Boom week is over and yet instead of having a much needed week off, Zimbabawia, North Star and I are heading to the coast of Portugal.

It’s a feat to organise a group holiday this cosmopolitan: friends from Australia, Afrikaburn, Finland, and two new girls are all rolling into our Airbnb. This will no doubt be another week of madness.

We are a sea of energetic accents sitting upon the balcony and by the time the sun is setting a party is brewing. Every nook and cranny of the enormous house is beginning to transform into a melting pot of euphoria. Zimbabwia is face-painting tessellations in the kitchen, strangers are puffing giant joints on the balcony, tanned Aussies are doing lines on bathroom surfaces.

Danny Dishes, our personal DJ, sets up UEBooms in the living room and his deep-dirty beats intensifies the sticky heat on the dancefloor. The floor is littered with clothing and sweaty bodies gyrate with abandon.

I speculate that I may not be in for the best Airbnb rating but, Oh well. This is a once in a lifetime reunion — nothing could ruin this moment.

Or so I thought.

Having partied all night, the first morning light blemishes the black sky. We stumble our way to the balcony for one last group gathering before winding down and going to bed. Someone rolls a joint that gets passed around the circle. I’m exhausted but wired and happily take two tokes to help calm my chemical drenched brain — but before I can even pass the blunt to North Star, I am gone.

If you’ve read It’s Burn Time Baby then you will be familiar with the split in this tale. What I experience in my mind, and what is experienced on solid earth.

Suddenly, I am being pulled back into the fifth dimension and sitting in the front row of a live theatre performance of my past. In the opening scene, I'm a child running through the vibrant green fields of Northern Ireland, where I grew up. Scene two, I’m on a plane leaving my family behind. I start to cry and guardian angels whisper to me: ‘We’re doing this again because you didn’t quite understand our last message. You’re not from the stars, you are a star on earth.’

‘I don't understand!’ I wail. So they show me.

I’m suspended in nothingness and I feel with absolute clarity that I’m no longer a body, but instead, I’m a million particles. I’m every cell of the universe, of air, of water, of sound, of energy. I am music — I am space — I am infinite.

Then solid earth pulls me back and in shock I realise I am not suspended in nothingness, I am in Portugal with my friends, and then the panic sets in: What is my human body is doing?

I open my eyes and I’m in the living room. How did I get in the living room? Familiar faces are close by. North Star is sobbing with a look of terror in her eyes, Zimbabwia whispers soothingly, ‘Shhh you’re here, you’re in Portugal. We’ve got you.’ Nameless faces stand back too scared to help, too terrified to look away.

I am humiliated. My instinct tells me to escape. I begin running towards the stairs but feel my feet lift off the ground, my body now cradled by Bear, a loving friend. But before he can soothe me, I am sucked back into the fifth dimension once again.

I cry out to my guardian angels: ‘Why?! Why are you doing this to me? I don't want it!’

‘Now that all your friends see you this way you won’t be able to pretend anymore. We’re sorry it had to be this way, but we‘re helping you get back on your path.’

‘Doing what!?’ It’s North Star’s voice. ‘Hunny we’re not doing anything! We want to help you. How can we help you?!’

I’m back on earth again, and to my horror realise that this conversation is taking place aloud in both worlds. I am tourmented by how fucking insane I look… am?

In a desperate plea for dignity, I demand to be taken to my room. Zimbabwia and North Star escort me and for the next three hours they do their best to support me with meditative chanting while I thrash in-between two worlds.

I see visions of my past, my future. I beg the angels to let me go back to solid earth. I feel that only once they believe I’ve received ‘the message’ do they begin to relinquish their grip on me.

The sound of Zimbabawia chanting becomes more and more audible, and real, and I know I’ll stay back in their company this time. With a glimmer of hope, I seize my last change and beg: ‘Will you please let all of this have been a dream? Turn back time, whatever you have to do — I promise I won’t forget my lesson.’

‘Okay, we will,’ they whisper. However something in their tone sounds like an empty promise. But for my exhausted mind and body it is enough to finally surrender me to Zimbabwias healing. She hovers above me, speaking grounding words and smearing me with healing aromas.

When I wake up, this will all have been a dream…