I’ve always been an open minded person. Maybe too open minded. There were nights, for as long as I can remember, where the darkness of the night would keep me frozen in fear beneath my bed sheets. I’ve learned to cope with the things that go bump in the night. As I’ve gotten older, my experiences strengthen, especially when I’m in an emotionally vulnerable state.

I became pregnant with my daughter in late August of 2008. Being the spiritual open-door that I am, I found that my new maternal status left me wide open and aware ten fold of my surroundings. Around my 2nd month of pregnancy, I began to experience the 222 mystery. An important note to insist on is that this 222 theme has played out at previous points in my life but never quite as strong as it did when I was pregnant.

I was 22, in my 2nd month of pregnancy. It began. The first night, I decided that I was going to retreat to our bed for an early night’s rest. I usually slept like a log. I remember the dream ripping into my consciousness–someone was standing at our coat closet downstairs, they opened the door and grabbed all of the coat hangers and slammed the metal hooks on the floor. The crash was so loud that lifted me out of bed with a start. No body heard it. My husband was fast asleep. The lights were off. The cat, normally extremely curious of noises from downstairs was curled tightly at the foot of the bed. I glanced at the clock: 2:22am.

I brushed it off, moved in close to my husband, hoping that some of his rational even keeled energy would rub off on me, even in his state of slumber.

The next night we went to bed once again in an orderly fashion. Nothing out of text or strange. I was in a deep peaceful sleep, and then I heard what sounded like an angry man hollering my name three times from the kitchen downstairs. Every holler was progressively louder, ending on one ugly note. Once again there was no one to be seen. Everyone was fast asleep. I look at the clock: 2:22am.

It kept happening, night after night. Some sort of loud clap, bang or startle. Every night, it would be the same 2:22am on the clock.

These occurances drove me to the point of refusing to sleep during the night. I would leave the T.V on and as many lights as possible without disturbing my husband.

My husband, being the rational mind that he is, never really understood what was happening to me. Every night for six months I would wake up at 2:22am, even if it was just a brief moment to roll over and look at the clock, it happened. When my daughter was born, I was emancipated from the 2:22 awakenings, but mostly because I was already awake at that time tending to her.

The creepiest thing of all, is that she was born at 2:22pm May 31st 2009. I’ll never have an honest idea as to what the significance is. I can only hope to gain some clarity on it some day.