You were the Temple All Along

You were taught to kneel before a God who didn’t look like you.

Who spoke in thunder, punished with fire,

and demanded that you stay small in His name.

You were taught that the divine was distant.

Male.

Authoritarian.

An overseer.

An angry and vengeful father.

But before that story—

before the dogma,

before the edits,

before the men in robes rewrote the sacred for their own power—

God was a woman.

She was the blood in the soil.

The breath in the trees.

The hands of the midwives.

The moan of the earth opening for new life.

She was birth and decay and resurrection.

She was the rhythm of the moon and the pulse in your chest.

She didn’t sit on a throne.

She moved through you.

You weren’t born in sin.

You were born from power.

You were the portal.

You still are.

Every human who has ever lived came through the body of a woman.

That’s not metaphor.

That’s not poetry.

That’s divine math.

That’s creation.

And still—

they rewrote you out.

They built religions on your erasure.

They called your knowing dangerous.

Your rage demonic.

Your grief excessive.

Your body shameful.

They turned your altar into a battleground.

Your pleasure into a crime.

Your power into something to be contained, converted, or consumed.

They built their god in the image of control.

And they told you to worship Him,

even as you bled,

even as you broke,

even as your soul whispered this is not the truth.

You don’t need their permission to remember.

You don’t need their forgiveness to rise.

You don’t need their approval to reclaim what’s always been yours.

The divine has always spoken in your language.

She’s always lived in your bones.

She’s always bled with you, raged with you, wept with you.

You were not created to be small.

You were not made to perform submission.

You were not built to carry shame as a birthright.

You were born of the holy.

Born for the holy.

And it lives in you still.

So if the version of God you were handed makes you feel like too much—

good.

You’re remembering.

You’re waking up.

You were never meant to be saved.

You were meant to be sovereign.

You don’t need more sermons.

You need the shock of remembering.

You need a return -

to the God that looks like you.

Breathes like you.

Creates like you.

Rages like you.

Forgives like you.

Bleeds like you.

God is a woman.

And you are Her echo, her shadow, her experiential soul.

You are her vessel.

You are her voice.

You are the altar.

You are the flame.

You are the one.

Act like it.

You don't need to be afraid.

You need to be awake.