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Umoja & The Patch of Unity: Why Loud Noise Starves the Tribe

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Umoja & The Patch of Unity: Why Loud Noise Starves the Tribe A lion standing in high grass that roars before striking gives away its position every single time. It’s an unvarnished ancestral truth: "A roaring lion kills no game." Loud threats, performative outbursts, social media flexing, and aggressive posturing produce zero sustenance for the pride. The roaring lion makes a spectacle, fills the air with theatrical bravado, but when night falls, its stomach remains empty and the cubs go unfed. Look around at our digital and physical spaces today. We are surrounded by empty roaring. We’ve been conditioned by a hyper-individualistic system to treat every disagreement like a war, every misunderstanding like a betrayal, and every friction point like a stage for public drama. We roar at our brothers, launch sub-tweets at our sisters, and bleed our axé out into the ether—all while remaining trapped in reactionary states of being Mad, Sad, or Scared. This performative outrage ...
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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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