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Stop Weeping in the Rubble: Sovereign Power and the Art of the Rebuild

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  The world thrives on your paralysis. Every single day, predatory systems and chaotic circumstances dump a gallon of pitch-black, bitter ink onto your desk. It hands you the grief of systemic violence, personal betrayals, economic gut-punches, and sudden loss. It wants you stuck in a loop of blame, shame, and guilt—paralyzed in a perpetual state of Mad, Sad, or Scared. The Ancestral Algorithm does not tolerate your victimhood. Today we invoke the deep Indigo current of Kujichagulia —Self-Determination. We stand on two immutable truths: The world provides the ink, but you hold the pen , and the ancient Yoruba decree: “Ilé ọba t’ó jóná, ẹwà ló bùsi” —when a king’s palace burns down, the rebuilt palace emerges with greater splendor. Look at our history. On this day in 1963, terror bombed the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, murdering four innocent little girls. The world handed our people the most agonizing ink humanly imaginable. But our ancestors refused to let terror auth...

Baby Cart Assassin vs. Highbanks

Yesterday the Baby Cart and the Assassin was whooped on, by the hills of Highbanks metro park. Although there were some beautiful sites like a snake crawling down a tree after hunting for birds, or seeing the Bald Eagle in it's nest. I simply was not ready to be lugging my kids up and down those hills. Now I have set my sites on mastery highbanks, and all she has to teach me about endurance and nature.
My children enjoyed themselves but victory fell from my grasp as I had to cut my run short after what seemed the 8th hill.
I shall return to complete my mission.




Comments

  1. that pic of the baby cart is from sharron woods. I was so beat up that i forgot to take a pic at highbanks

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