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Stop Scratching the Parasite: Why Your Solitary Grind Is Keeping You Bleeding

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Stop Scratching the Parasite: Why Your Solitary Grind Is Keeping You Bleeding Most people aren't solving their problems; they’re just scratching their itch. You feel the sting of an oppressive system, the bite of economic sabotage, or the drain of toxic cycles, and what do you do? You lash out as a solitary warrior. You grind 80 hours a week, isolate yourself in the name of "focus," and push back with a single digit. The ancestors had a word for this foolishness: A single finger cannot kill a louse. When you press a solitary finger against a parasite feeding on your scalp, you don’t eliminate it. You just slide it across your skin. You pin it down for three seconds, tire yourself out, and the moment you lift your hand to wipe your brow, it starts feeding again. This is why our community stays exhausted—perpetually Mad at the drain, Sad about the stagnation, and Scared to trust anyone else with the work. We confuse exhausting personal struggle with revolutionary power. ...
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Final GoodBye III- Writing for Healing

His Story is Mine

His story is mines,
Better yet my story is his,
For now I can no longer deal with what was,
Now I have to deal with what is.
A great tree has fallen in the forest of life,
A tree that provided shade for many and a shelter from strife.
But this is not the end of his tory for his story is mine,
And his story will live through his bloodline for all time.
His story is not over because his story is mine, and I need for his loved ones to read between the lines.
Although his body is gone his spirit is strong, that explains why through the pain and confusion he lived so long.
Fear not because his story is not over because his story is mine,
He has made it to peace and he rest with the divine
We are the seeds and saplings grafted from his tree and now he can rest in comfort for his story can be told by we.
His story is not over, because his story belongs to me
For I am a proud branch on his family tree, I will always remember those that came before, those that struggled like no people before.
Like Miles Brown and the lady known as Ms. Ann their stories will live because it was passed to my hands
Like Herman Brown and Rosa lee
Like Geneva and Herman brown the second, and Cleven Brown now can peacefully join their essence
Although his body has now been returned to the earth
His story and their story has been cemented  in  time by Cleven Miles Brown's birth.
His story his mine, his story is ours, his story is ours.
Now tell it.......

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