When the lifting truly begins, there is no strain. The impossible becomes effortless — because the force carrying you is not your own.

After the memory of the sky awakened in my body, the rising came with a quiet certainty. There was no warning, no countdown, no visible sign that said, “Now.” One moment my feet were resting fully on the earth, and in the next, I felt the gentle unhooking of my weight.

It began in my ankles — a lightness, as if the ground itself had stopped insisting that I stay. Then the sensation moved into my legs, my torso, my shoulders. It was not the feeling of jumping or being pushed. It was the feeling of being held from above. Something invisible had taken hold of me, not by gripping my body, but by claiming my position in space.

The people around me saw it. Their eyes widened, but their hands did not reach out to grab me. There was a knowing in the dream that this moment did not belong to human intervention. Any hand that tried to pull me back would have been pulling against a will greater than its own.

My body relaxed as the lift increased. I did not feel pulled apart. I did not feel stretched or torn. Instead, I felt gathered — as if every part of me was being brought into alignment with the upward movement. My arms did not flail. My breathing remained steady. I was leaving the ground, but I was not leaving peace.

There was a strange clarity in the air around me. Sounds from the crowd seemed to soften, as though they were being filtered through a veil. I could still see faces, still hear murmurs, but those sounds no longer defined the moment. The most dominant sound was the silence of the lift — the silent will of the One who was raising me.

I became aware that the lift was not only vertical. It was also a separation from the systems, expectations, and limitations that had once tried to define who I could be. To rise in this way meant to leave behind every measure of power that depended on human approval. I was being carried by a Source that owed no explanation to the crowd.

As the distance between my feet and the earth slowly increased, a calm conviction formed in my spirit: I was not rising because I was better than those below. I was rising because my path required a different vantage point — one that could not be reached while my feet still clung to the dust.