August has been a month of profound transitions, and I've been thinking a lot about something I rarely discuss openly: what to do when you've found yourself embodying a temporary Starchetype mission, and what happens when those missions come to completion.
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Working with my Voidwalker:Recharge students this month brought back memories I thought I'd fully processed. Watching them navigate their cosmic purpose as bridges between worlds reminded me of my own unexpected journey into Voidwalker territory, and more importantly, what I learned about recognizing when that temporary mission was complete.
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I've always been open about my grief journey and the profound losses that shaped my spiritual path, but there's something I've only recently understood in hindsight: how those experiences activated a temporary Voidwalker mission that I wouldn't recognize as such until years later when I downloaded the Starchetype System.

In June of 2013, my father was diagnosed with a grade IV Glioblastoma, the most aggressive form of brain cancer, and given months to live. The terminal nature of his diagnosis meant I began mourning and death work long before he actually passed, preparing for an inevitable transition that would arrive with mathematical certainty. Then, in July 2015, my husband Kristian died in a helicopter accident during a routine training flight. We'd received many inexplicable forewarnings about his passing, including an unfamiliar voice that kept telling me "you are loved, you are safe, you are protected" just hours before I was notified of the accident. These two profound losses shattered every assumption I had about life, stability, and my own spiritual understanding. Overnight, I found myself living in a completely different reality than the one I'd carefully constructed for myself.
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What I didn't expect was how naturally I moved into what I can now recognize as a temporary Voidwalker mission, perhaps as a gift from my metaphysical self to soften the blow of my new reality. From 2014 to 2018, I operated with abilities that didn't match my core Starchetype. Suddenly, I could guide other people through grief with a clarity and fearlessness that surprised me. I found myself comfortable in spaces of profound loss and transition that would have overwhelmed me before. I could sit with people in their darkest moments without needing to fix anything or make it better.
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For four years, I operated with abilities that felt both natural and completely foreign to my usual way of being. I could sense when someone was ready to let go of something that needed to die in their life. I could speak difficult truths about impermanence and transformation in ways that brought comfort rather than fear. I found myself naturally supporting people through ego dissolution, relationship endings, and major life transitions.
After an intense period of grieving my own losses, I launched a grief coaching practice specifically for women facing profound life changes, whether through death, divorce, or other major transitions. I was drawn to work with people navigating the most difficult passages of human experience, and somehow I knew exactly how to hold space for their transformation.
It wasn't until years later, when I was developing the Starchetype System, that I could look back and recognize this as a temporary Voidwalker mission. At the time, I just knew I had become someone who could navigate territories that previously would have terrified me.

The strangest part was how natural it felt while also feeling completely foreign to me. These gifts weren't something I asked or wished for... and I was still fundamentally myself, but I had access to abilities that didn't match my core Starchetype. I could navigate the void with the fearlessness of someone who'd already lost everything that mattered. I understood impermanence not as a philosophical concept but as lived reality.
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A few years later, while helping to support the countless waves of Voidwalkers newly identifying their Starchetype in response to a timeline fracture in 2020, I thought perhaps I might have been wrong about my own original Starchetype identification. Maybe I was actually a Voidwalker who had been mistyped. Maybe my whole understanding of my cosmic blueprint was incorrect.
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But deep down, I knew that wasn't true. This felt like borrowed medicine, not my core nature. I was being given temporary access to these abilities because they were exactly what I needed to navigate my own transition and serve others who were walking similar paths.

Soon after helping so many identify their own Voidwalker gifts, something shifted. I noticed I was no longer naturally gravitating toward people in crisis. The fearlessness I'd felt around death and impermanence began to feel less urgent, less activated. I found myself wanting to create and build rather than help things dissolve and transform.
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At first, I thought I was avoiding my spiritual growth or becoming less evolved somehow. Shouldn't I want to keep these profound abilities? Wasn't helping people through transitions important work?
But then I realized what was actually happening: my temporary Voidwalker mission was completing. I had learned what I needed to learn about navigating the void, about accepting impermanence, about finding freedom through surrender. And now it was time to integrate those lessons into my core Starchetype work rather than continuing to operate from borrowed Voidwalker gifts.
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The transition felt like slowly surfacing from deep water. Gradual, necessary, and ultimately relieving.

This month, working with my Voidwalker: Recharge students, I discovered something beautiful about integration. One of my favorite aspects of the experience was leaving daily voice notes for each student, offering insights about each day's Illumination Phase themes. What I realized was that I was activating my core Clarion abilities—my primary Vigor of Transmitting through my throat center—while sharing wisdom I'd gained from my temporary Voidwalker mission.
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I was finally able to serve my Clarion purpose of downloading, transmitting, and delivering cosmic messages to the collective, but informed by the profound lessons about impermanence and transformation that my Voidwalker assignment had taught me. It felt like coming full circle.
This is what healthy integration looks like: taking the wisdom from temporary missions and allowing it to enhance rather than replace your core cosmic work.

Working with so many students who discovered Voidwalker as their secondary imprint through the 120 assessment has confirmed my understanding of how temporary assignments actually work. You're not confused about your primary Starchetype. You're being given access to Voidwalker medicine for specific reasons:
Maybe you're navigating your own major life transition and need the courage to let go of what's no longer serving you. Maybe someone in your life is dying or grieving and you're being called to support them through that passage. Maybe you're helping others dissolve limiting beliefs or leave toxic situations.
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The secondary imprint doesn't replace your core gifts. It enhances them for a specific purpose during a specific time period.

Learning to release Voidwalker abilities when they were no longer needed felt like another form of death. I had to grieve the loss of that fearless clarity around impermanence. I had to accept that my cosmic assignment was changing, even though I'd grown attached to the profound sense of purpose that came with helping people navigate their darkest moments.
But holding onto abilities that are meant to be temporary creates its own kind of suffering. It's like refusing to leave a sanctuary after the storm has passed. The shelter served its purpose, but remaining there prevents you from stepping back into the fullness of your actual life.

The difference between completing a temporary Voidwalker mission and abandoning the lessons is integration. I didn't lose the wisdom about impermanence, acceptance, and finding freedom through surrender. Those became permanent features of my consciousness that now inform my primary Starchetype work.
But I'm no longer actively functioning as a bridge between worlds. I'm no longer naturally drawn to people in crisis. I'm no longer comfortable sitting in the void for extended periods. Those abilities served their purpose and then gently receded, leaving behind the wisdom but not the active mission.

If you're currently operating with Voidwalker abilities as a secondary imprint, pay attention to your own rhythms and needs. Are you still feeling naturally drawn to work involving death, dissolution, and states of transition? Do you still find yourself comfortable in liminal spaces? Are you still activated by helping others dismantle illusions?
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When those impulses begin to feel less urgent, less natural, it might be a sign that your temporary mission is completing. This isn't failure or spiritual regression. It's completion. And completion deserves to be honored rather than resisted.

PS - if you feel like your metaphysical gifts could use a boost, even if you're experiencing the Voidwalker imprint temporarily, I highly suggest jumping into Voidwalker:Recharge HERE while you still can.

The beautiful thing about temporary Voidwalker missions is that they leave you fundamentally changed. You never again fear impermanence in quite the same way. You understand that transformation requires courage and that death (in all its forms) is part of life rather than separate from it. You know how to sit with difficult truths without needing to immediately fix or change them.
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These become permanent gifts that enhance whatever your primary cosmic work actually is.
As we move through the bridge space from Conduit to Vessel energy marked by the Sentinel's Illumination Phase in September, I find myself grateful for the temporary assignment that taught me so much about surrender, trust, and the sacred nature of transitions.
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Sometimes the universe gives the exact purpose we need, even when we never would have chosen it ourselves.

With love,
Saoirse