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Stop Hoarding Your Fire: Why Perfectionism is the Matrix’s Favorite Trap

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Stop Hoarding Your Fire: Why Perfectionism is the Matrix’s Favorite Trap Look around, Tribe. The matrix has pulled a fast one on us. It conditioned us to believe that a stumble is a death sentence, a delayed harvest is proof of failure, and every raw idea must be pristine before it ever touches the light. We call it "high standards," but let’s name it what it really is: fear dressed in a tuxedo. Perfectionism is a parasitic program designed by out-of-bounds forces to keep your hands still, your throat closed, and your spirit locked in the dark basement of blame, shame, and guilt. When you fear failure, you stop creating. And the moment you stop creating, you become a passive consumer of other people’s chaos. Look at our ancestral lineage. On August 1, 1834, hundreds of thousands of our ancestors broke through centuries of brutal bondage into the legal dawn of freedom. In 1960, Benin stood up and reclaimed its independence. In 1936, Jesse Owens stepped onto track lanes in Berl...
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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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