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The Myth of the Solitary Hustler Stop exhausting your spirit trying to "manufacture" unity. In this hyper-individualistic Western landscape, we have been conditioned to treat Umoja—cloaked in the royal vibration of Purple—like an endless committee meeting, a forced march, or a performative checklist. We wear ourselves out trying to construct Oneness from nothing, ending up bitter, cynical, and isolated. Unity is not a structure you build from scratch; it is what remains when you scrape away the artificial armor of separation. Look to the soil. A forest doesn’t hold a summit to negotiate root communication. The mycelial network is already woven, transmitting water, nutrients, and ancestral warnings beneath the surface. It is human arrogance that erects fences, claims territory, and pretends a solitary tree survives on its own. As the Liberian proverb teaches: "A little rain each day will fill the rivers to overflowing." A drop of water entering the river does not sc...
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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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