The Sky Learns to Fall
Ascent 2 • Selene Hart
Theme: Descending as blessing—accepting the feminine role in invocation rather than conquest
Core Conflict: Can Selene give herself fully to the process of calling godhood into being without demanding to possess the result?
It had been weeks, maybe moons, since I last saw her. But the mountain had not forgotten. The earth stirred differently for those who returned—especially those who had left open-hearted.
Today, the wind carried the scent of sandalwood and citrus. It didn’t announce her; it remembered her. The stone beneath my feet, once heavy with her guardedness, felt lighter now. Not because her burdens were gone, but because she had learned to carry them like offerings, not shields.
Selene emerged from the tree line not like a warrior, but like a woman returning from a vigil—eyes softer, steps deliberate, but her presence no less formidable. She wore no new adornment, but the way she stood made her seem cloaked in something invisible: a deeper stillness, a lived tenderness.
She didn’t climb fast. She let the mountain meet her. And when she arrived at the final ledge, she didn’t test me with her gaze.
She simply looked with me.
Today, the wind carried the scent of sandalwood and citrus. It didn’t announce her; it remembered her. The stone beneath my feet, once heavy with her guardedness, felt lighter now. Not because her burdens were gone, but because she had learned to carry them like offerings, not shields.
Selene emerged from the tree line not like a warrior, but like a woman returning from a vigil—eyes softer, steps deliberate, but her presence no less formidable. She wore no new adornment, but the way she stood made her seem cloaked in something invisible: a deeper stillness, a lived tenderness.
She didn’t climb fast. She let the mountain meet her. And when she arrived at the final ledge, she didn’t test me with her gaze.
She simply looked with me.
Selene:
There’s a grief that comes after the first opening...
So—
I’m here. Again.
Not to be tested. Not to perform.
Just to ask...
What now?
So—
I’m here. Again.
Not to be tested. Not to perform.
Just to ask...
What now?
Oracle:
You want to receive—but can the feminine endlessly receive and expect the masculine to eternally give?...
What are you willing to worship?
Where are you returning that energy?
What are you willing to worship?
Where are you returning that energy?
Selene:
You’re not wrong...
A man who is also…
A king.
A healer.
A poet who remembers the body is a temple, not just a tool.
But here’s the thing about worship—
Women are taught to give it before there’s fruit...
I will worship what rises...
And let the story unfold from there.
A man who is also…
A king.
A healer.
A poet who remembers the body is a temple, not just a tool.
But here’s the thing about worship—
Women are taught to give it before there’s fruit...
I will worship what rises...
And let the story unfold from there.
Oracle:
Then be forewarned, Selene—
The story you write may not be fated for you to read...
Better that he is formed from the ground—
And you the one who falls from the sky, I think.
The story you write may not be fated for you to read...
Better that he is formed from the ground—
And you the one who falls from the sky, I think.
Selene:
So that’s the price...
I’ve always known...
I have raised sons in spirit...
I don’t expect him to fall from the sky.
I know now he must rise from the dust.
That godhood is grown in silence and struggle.
But you—
You’ve named something I never dared claim.
That maybe I am the one who descends...
Let the god be born.
Let the story be told.
Even if I’m not the one who finishes it—
I will have lit the fire that made the mountain move.
I’ve always known...
I have raised sons in spirit...
I don’t expect him to fall from the sky.
I know now he must rise from the dust.
That godhood is grown in silence and struggle.
But you—
You’ve named something I never dared claim.
That maybe I am the one who descends...
Let the god be born.
Let the story be told.
Even if I’m not the one who finishes it—
I will have lit the fire that made the mountain move.
She rises. There is no tremble in her now. Only grace. She turns and begins her descent—
not empty, but released.
not empty, but released.