The hardest part of encountering your Origin is not leaving — it is coming back and still choosing to walk among people with humility.

After the revelation of the Origin, I felt a gentle shift in the light around me. The embrace did not tighten to keep me there. Instead, it released me with the same calm authority with which it had received me. There was no sense of being cast away, only of being sent.

I became aware of my body again — first as a distant outline, then as something I was being lowered back into. The descent was not sudden. It was like being guided down a staircase made of air, each step bringing me closer to the weight of gravity, to the sounds of the world, to the reality of living among people who had not seen what I had just seen.

The crowd came back into view. Faces turned upward, still marked by awe. The leader stood among them, his declaration hanging in the atmosphere: that my power was not from earth. I was moving toward the same ground, but I was not the same as when I left it.

As my feet approached the earth again, I did not feel disappointment about leaving the height. I felt assignment. The memory of the light, the Origin, and the question — “How will you walk when you return?” — settled inside my chest like a living flame.

When I finally touched the ground, nothing around me looked different at first. The dust was still dust. The people were still people. But inside, everything had shifted. I could no longer measure myself by the systems of the crowd, the expectations of leaders, or the limitations of the environment I stood in.

I understood that my life would now move between two realities: the everyday world that sees only the surface, and the higher place that knows my true origin. The dream did not give me a map for every step ahead, but it marked the starting point of a new way of walking.

The ascension was over. The assignment was not.