Some of us weren’t taught to look at our bodies with reverence.
We were taught to hide the scars.
To erase the stretch marks.
To call the moles blemishes.
But what if all of that was wrong?
What if the marks on your body aren’t random?
What if they’re data points?
Coordinates in your own personal sky?
This ritual is an invitation to re-map your body—not through shame, but through memory. To name your own constellations. To become the archive.
This practice was inspired by a moment I shared on my latest podcast episode (I Am the Galaxy). You can listen here if you want the full story. But right now, I want to walk you through something you can do—a gentle ritual that helps you see yourself in a new light. Or maybe not new—just remembered.
Why This Ritual Matters
The body is more than muscle and bone.
It is a timeline.
It is a storybook.
It is a library.
Every scar you carry holds a piece of your life’s data. Every mole is a little planet. Every burn, a meteorite.
And when you map those markings with care, you are no longer just surviving—you are remembering. You are naming what colonizers tried to erase. You are building a cosmology that centers you—not someone else’s version of sacred.
The Constellation Mapping Ritual
You don’t need anything fancy to do this. Just a little time. A little tenderness. And a willingness to look.
What You'll Need:
A mirror (or the help of someone you trust)
A piece of paper, notebook, or constellation template
A pen or pencil
Optional: balm, body oil, or lotion
Optional: music, candles, or scent that helps you drop in
Step 1: Witness with Curiosity
Find a quiet place. Undress as much as you feel comfortable with.
Look at your body—not to fix it, but to see it.
Notice your moles, scars, burns, stretch marks, tattoos.
Touch them if you want. Name them aloud if it feels right.
Step 2: Choose a Region
Pick one part of your body to work with today.
Your shoulder. Your thigh. Your chest. Your belly.
You don’t have to map it all at once. This is not a race.
Step 3: Draw Your Map
Sketch a simple outline of that body part.
Mark where your moles or scars are, like stars.
No need for precision—this is your ritual, not a medical diagram.
Step 4: Connect the Dots
Draw lines between the marks however you’re led.
Let a constellation emerge.
Let your body guide the design.
Step 5: Name It
Give your constellation a name.
It could be anything:
“The Trail of Becoming”
“Daddy’s Goodbye”
“My Softness Survived”
“The Fire I Lived Through”
“Ancestor’s Breath”
No name is too big or too strange. This is your mythology.
Step 6: Write the Lore
Just a few sentences. A short paragraph.
Tell the story of this constellation.
What does it remember? What did it witness? What does it hold?
Optional Deepening
Revisit the same area in a few months. What has changed? What hasn’t?
Create a constellation altar using your map.
Trace multiple regions and build your galactic body map.
Incorporate music, poetry, or spoken word.
Add this ritual into ancestor work or spiritual practice.
Closing Reflection
You don’t need to be a starseed to hold the cosmos within you.
You already do.
You are not just made of stars.
You are made of stories.
You don’t have to ascend to become sacred.
You already are.
And when we start to name the constellations on our own skin—
when we archive our scars instead of hiding them—
we begin to remember just how powerful we’ve always been.
If this resonated, take a listen to the full podcast episode, I Am the Galaxy. I go deeper into this journey, the language of starseeds, and why I believe memory lives right here—in the flesh, in the breath, in the now.
Thank you for remembering with me.
And if you map a constellation of your own, I’d love to hear what you name it.