The Human Split: How We Lost Balance — and How We Find Our Way Back - Part I — The Divine Split

How God Lost His Other Half

Before language hardened into scripture

and before power learned to weaponize the sacred,

human beings knew something we’ve since forgotten:

The world was born from two hands.

Two currents.

Two movements.

Two faces of the same breath.

The Divine was not a lonely figure in the sky.

The Divine was a relationship —

a weaving, a reciprocity, a pulse.

Everywhere you look in the old stories —

in African cosmologies, in Indigenous lineages, in ancient Asia, in pre-Christian Europe —

you find the same truth rendered in different colours:

Creation was a marriage.

Not a monarchy.

The masculine and feminine were not at war.

They were partners in the making of worlds.

The Goddess was not an accessory.

She was the womb of the cosmos,

the memory of wholeness,

the pulse beneath all form.

And the God was not a tyrant.

He was the spark, the structure, the presence that gives shape to life.

Together, they held reality like two palms cupping water.

This was the original balance.

Not gendered.

Not hierarchical.

Not moral.

Simply:

the truth that life needs both structure and flow,

both fire and tide,

both boundary and breath.

And then —

somewhere along humanity’s long wandering —

the story changed.

Slowly at first, then all at once.

One half of the Divine was crowned.

The other was buried.

What was once a duet became a solo.

What was once balance became rule.

What was once a marriage of energies became a single, masculine face in the sky.

The world didn’t understand what it was losing.

How could it?

Who among us recognizes the moment the air goes thin?

But something in the human psyche cracked.

When the Goddess disappeared from the heavens, she didn’t vanish.

She fell.

She landed on the bodies of human women —

mothers and daughters and lovers and girls —

and suddenly we were meant to carry the weight of a missing deity.

Be selfless.

Be pure.

Be patient.

Be forgiving.

Be the vessel, the nurturer, the saint.

Work that was never meant for human shoulders.

And what of the men?

When the feminine divine left the sky,

the masculine divine lost its balance.

Without Her as equal — as mirror, as complement, as co-creator —

masculinity became something it was never meant to be:

hard where it should be tender,

dominant where it should be present,

distant where it should be relational,

obligated where it should be free.

Men inherited the thundering archetype of the Father-God

but none of the spiritual tools required to inhabit it.

So they learned to perform authority

while starving for softness.

To lead

while terrified of failing.

To suppress

what was most human in them.

The divine split became a human split.

And we have been living inside its aftershocks ever since.

A mother who must be perfect.

A father who must be powerful.

A woman who must choose between purity and desire.

A man who cannot cry without losing face.

A child who senses everything but cannot name the source.

A culture that confuses domination with safety.

A spirituality missing half its sky.

This is not a story about fault.

It is a story about forgetting.

We didn’t choose this inheritance.

It was handed to us in the dark,

with the instruction to call it normal.

But beneath the noise of the world,

something older is still humming:

We were made for balance.

We were made from two currents.

We were made from wholeness.

And the ache we carry —

in our relationships,

in our bodies,

in our longing,

in our confusion around love and sex and power —

is not the ache of personal failure.

It is the ache of remembering

what we once knew.

This series begins here,

at the moment of the split,

because nothing we struggle with makes sense

until we understand what the world lost

when the feminine divine fell out of the story.

We are not here to assign blame.

We are here to pick up the thread

that was dropped centuries ago

and follow it back to balance.

Back to the place where the sacred had two names.

Back to the place where difference did not mean danger.

Back to the place where power meant partnership.

Back to the place where we were whole.

This is where the remembering begins, love.

This is where we start to find our way home