Who Are We?
Morning pages that set stages for doors to unlock. Sometimes my dreams feel so real that I get lost in my thoughts. Who are we if not the trying children of God? I knew it wouldn’t be easy but not quite this hard. I struggle and waiver between greater and lesser versions, observing every burden that pushes me towards a purpose. Perhaps I wasn’t worth the things I wanted before, but all the things that I can access left me wanting for more. I had to fully clean the board and get down to what I really need. Before I chased the goals of others but it wasn’t me. Nobody told me how unlearning was a growing seed to water, and solar feeds the mana for growing trees. Perhaps it’s those and these thoughts that a King lost. Perhaps I wasn’t meant to speak while a King talked. Perhaps my mission was to listen when the Master told me, that pride would come before the fall and ego had a slow leak. I’m feeling stranded on the side of the road, as mirages vanish and reappear as sights to behold. Old friends candid on camera barely lightens the load, I’m a personal person. Never could a digital connection confirm the immersion. All the while I’m living, learning, speaking like no one had heard it. Beating living hell outta demons, them niggas deserve it. Truer in vision in purpose, still get discriminate urges to pull Tasha and Tammy in for some mental diversions. God help me. I’m still a broken spirit trynna get so wealthy that every generation after me can dethrone Getty. Problem is, we always cappin’ and we be so ready to be a slave we start celebrating chains and decorating our cage. Even our captors be so amazed, men are torn from their ladies and babes in different ways. Same principle. Suspending belief and leaving the people’s brains vincible. Search inside and find minerals. They were never gon give to you a key to your release. I wonder why the Christians trust the source of what they teach. I wonder why the Muslims chase capital, haram over actual factual core tenants of Islam. The dominating force makes me sick to my stomach, makes me scream till I’m hoarse, making sonic ebonics. It’s a dream I endorse, but a dream nonetheless. It’s important I report it just to keep it off my chest.
