Every ascension begins on the ground — long before the sky opens, long before the body rises. The earth beneath the feet holds the first truth: that the spirit feels the shift before the eyes see it. In this dream, the ground was crowded with voices, devotion, and expectation. A gathering of people searching for answers in a man at the center. Their attention moved like a river flowing in a single direction, but my spirit stood still, held by a different current.

This ground was not simply earth — it was a threshold. A place where the noise of the crowd revealed the silence inside me. While others looked outward, something in me turned inward. While their hope moved toward one figure, my path quietly separated from theirs. Not in rebellion, but in recognition. A knowing that the journey marked for me would not follow the movement of the many.

This is where the ascension truly began: in the stillness no one else noticed, in the quiet decision that formed without words, in the subtle shift of the spirit that made the ground feel temporary. Before the rising, before the sky remembers your name, there is always this moment — the moment when the earth can no longer hold you.