Ephesians 22

22—the number that finds me,
the angel whisper in my moments of change.
It’s the day she took her first breath,
the echo of a door that opened to freedom,
scratched into the timeline of my bones,
the rhythm of endings turned beginnings.
It is the golden thread,
binding the tapestry of my life.

22 is transformation,
a master number forged into my soul,
tempered in the fires of becoming.
It demands balance and creation,
commands breaking and building,
scars that have become maps.
It is my guide,
my reflection,
the rhythm that beats in the silence.

He tried to tether me with it once,
wrapped it around my throat with scripture:
Submit, he said,
as if the word could ever silence me,
as if the sacred could be bent
to cage the Divine Feminine.
But the truth was always mine to hold,
unchanged by his hands,
untouched by his fear.
I carried it forward,
not as a chain,
but as a threat of my becoming.

22 threads ripple through my core,
woven from moonlight, alive, electric.
Each one carries intention,
resonating with frequencies of my choosing.
I am the Alchemist of Emotion,
turning grief into gold,
fear into light,
and love into the energy
that pulses through the universe.

These threads stretch endlessly,
a cosmic loom beneath my fingertips.
I weave the moments he thought would break me:
the losses that hollowed me,
the births that transformed me,
the weight of days and nights unseen.
The ache of moving forward when the world stood still,
the scars left by his hands,
the wounds that lingered but did not claim me,
even the illusion he built to cage me.
I wove it all into a tapestry of strength.
Every knot a lesson,
every strand a choice.

22 is not submission;
it is reclamation.
22 found me in sorrow,
in freedom,
in the ashes of what was
and the birth of what could be.
22, the number of my becoming,
a compass guiding me through shadow and light.

I am the Divine Feminine,
woven from fire and moonlight,
unbound and infinite.
I am the architect of my becoming,
the weaver of my infinite design.