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The Toxic Lie of the "Self-Made" Hustle: Why You're Running in the Wrong Direction

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The Toxic Lie of the "Self-Made" Hustle: Why You're Running in the Wrong Direction Listen to the episode here Look around you. We’ve been conditioned to worship the "solitary grinder"—the hyper-individualized hustler out here trying to secure a bag in total isolation. We wear our exhaustion like a badge of honor, completely blind to the fact that this capitalist, materialist matrix has us running like madmen on a treadmill going nowhere. Our ancestors had a diagnostic code for this exact madness, preserved in the soil of Yoruba and Igbo wisdom: "A toad does not run in the daytime for nothing." Think about that. A toad belongs in the cool, quiet shadows of the night. If you see it frantic, hopping wildly under the scorching heat of the midday sun, you don't look at the toad and think, "Wow, look at that independent go-getter." You know with absolute certainty that something is deeply wrong under the surface. It’s either running from a pre...
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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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