O. U. I. WE
U.N.I.T.Y. peep def. Unity: a state of being in full agreement, a way of combining the parts in a work of art or literature so that they seem to belong together.
“No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin.
People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”
—Nelson Mandela
Mainstream VERSION
An elder spit this a while back—before talks of reparations.
Peep def. reparations: something that is done or given as a way of correcting a mistake you have made, or a bad situation you have caused.
He was hot, talking about how some religious posse should’ve known by now. Maybe they knew. You know how some folks have this ability to dumb themselves down just to reduce the friction they’re going to endure anyway. “Yassssuh boss, weeez an tihs.” Just playing.
Know anything about this work personality everybody got but can’t seem to remember right now? See how you do. Back to the lecture at hand.
He went on a rant—cussing and kicking that real—about how it’s written right there in the Book, and no one seems able to see it. Can we paraphrase? Thank you. Here it go.
How many went to holla at Fay-Row? Mo-Mo and his squad—how many? Four? Eight? Gotta have at least two, depending on truth.
Mo had been to see the so-called God that sent him to check Fay—after how many times? He ducked out a few times ’cause he was skirt, or #SLT? “Get A-A-Ron to do it.”
He go, “You know I got this, this, this impediment, yo!”
He went though—that’s the point. Him and his crew. After Mo got them signs, who wouldn’t go, nigga? After that hand got fixed—booooi! Allllriighty then.
They go to the palace and get Fay’s attention. He laying around in his harem, concubines and things, Hefner’d out. Smoking that la-la, the loudest, all the way from the valley (Nile), yo.
Don’t know what you talking about—we weren’t there. Speculation and assumptions going on up in this piece.
Mo be like, “Yo! Fay! Fay-Row! Come’er—let me holla at you for a minute, dawg.” Winking at the cuties, “Psst—☎️ me, girl. Stop playin’.” For reals.
Anyway, he talks to Fay. Straight to the point, nothing huge. Feeling himself ’cause he with his mans and them now, but mainly ’cause that’s what he was sent to do. Exodus 3:10. Direct orders.
Being all brody, he go, “Look here, nigga—let my people go.” Then bounced.
Fay-Row was high. Probably ain’t really hear him like that, just laughing. “No he didn’t.”
Then—still laughing—“Yo, hol’ up. What did you just say?”
Before Mo and the crew even bent the first corner of that long corridor on their way out—the long one outside the parlor—they shuffle back. Battle mode. You know how breakdancers do.
Lil’ homies stretching, flexXin’ and ish. Him and his B-boys, a few B-girls—the first human beatbox. No boombox; them joints was too heavy back then. They was OG, yo.
Fay was like, “Whaaa? Who said?” Nah. “Somebody gotta tend to this work ’round here.”
He wasn’t hearing it. Put his thumbs in his ears, started the first la-la-la-la-lah song to drown him out.
So they started rapping and breaking, which got Fay’s attention.
“All that energy—let’s put it to work,” he say.
Now peep the psychosis: make it harder, demand the same quotas. Go figure. Sound familiar? Anybody?
It’s all in Exodus 3. Peep game. Might be minor changes—we weren’t there. Again, this is what the elder was rambling about.
The point being: it was only a few that went before Fay-Row.
How many have requested the propers from Pilate? More than three? Too many.
Send one. They can have a crew. Don’t send a rev, wit, or pastor-wannabe. They’ll tell you “no” even if told “yes” or “okay then—bet.”
You know how you do—and done already done it. With your sambosis having has.
What?
HIP HOP VERSION (Clean Punctuation Only)
One for all. Unity.
Count all the other times before as dry runs—or trials—regardless of who or how many have gone. Prep everybody. Send in one squad, regardless of the reply. Watch the weather.
Now don’t send seven, ten times and then watch the weather. One for all.
It is written. If there’s an issue with the big words, pull back—don’t go. The next time will be the first time. U.N.I.T.Y. Get that candle burning.
They’d be telling all twenty-eleven of y’all twenty-twelve different histories.
Another point the elder made was the “do-it-yourself” mentality matching pilates—equality—basically trying to sharpen iron with iron. If it’s already written, why invent another wheel?
Put the Book to the test, Christians. What are you scared of—impediments? Them sweet folks can go in, and folks across the lakes and ponds already know about that. Ever asked them how they do what they do?
Don’t get it twisted, yo. Who’s already shown us? Powernomics. Who’s acting like they don’t know? Can’t blame it on the M.C.s this time.
If there’s a need for some testosterone, or calcium for the visit—and backbones, or lack thereof—holla at a nigga. Fuck them punks.
What? Niggas all in the Kool-Aid, don’t know the flavor.
———
“Choose your leaders with wisdom and forethought. To be led by a thief is to offer up your most precious treasures to be stolen. To be led by a liar is to ask to be lied to. To be led by a tyrant is to sell yourself and those you love into slavery.”
— Octavia Butler
———
Elder say he can’t go, ’cause he’d be wearing his slap-a-hoes-for-sho. Not to mention he’s on his third. They still running that bamwinkle, hoodboozle bullshit?
Oh! They say he tries every day, but he can’t see that well anymore. The keys are where they’ve always been—he just doesn’t remember. They leave the car open so he can go vent when he gets like that.
That damned news will light him up every time. He’ll jump up, put his gloves on, and walk right past the keys.
We’ve been wanting to let him have them, but keep running into trouble deciding who’s going to ride with him. Always some excuse.
“I ain’t paid my insurance.”
“No, my nigga—life insurance.”
Why won’t someone take him?
Here they go: “We would, but the way the checking account is…” FOH.
They know he’d get something did. Like trouble.
He doesn’t hear well, but talks like everyone else has the hearing problem. Yelling and shit.
“Turn your aid up—or on—when I’m talking to you, son.”
You know how they do.
“Where you wanna go, Pops?”
“Cap-it-tol.” With the spaces in between. Every time.
He gets his check, so we already know—he ain’t going nowhere. Talks a quick game, then takes a nap.
He be alright.
Understood, G. 👊
Same exact protocol again: clean punctuation only on the hip-hop version (voice intact), then my version placed after it in brackets—measured, grounded, and clarified without stripping the edge.
If this method continues, request a reach-around—maybe wear ’em down a little bit, till they get tired. Put them niggas to work, see how they like them apples.
Not only the weather—peep other signs, like leprosy. Look all you want. Signs have been happening. Too much focus on the finger.
Star-gazing (guilty, kinda), worrying about who’s fucking who—you know how we do. If they ain’t telling it, it can’t be happening. Could it? Couldn’t it?
It’s not what is being told or shown—it’s what’s not.
The Queens’ birthing deaths. Coincidence? Think not. Now? You better ask somebody.
What’s the first thing—it’s written—the God tells Mo-Mo? Exodus 4:23. “Firstborn.”
If it’s real, do you think first or fifth matters to Grim? Nothing about the plagues—not in this edition. Children. Kids. Rec-rec.
Have you read it, Binese? Question: this may read silly, but does it take out (kill) the vessels—the mothers, the Queens? Are the children surviving? Or are both not making it?
Pardon the harshness, but you niggas been asking for equality. At what cost? At what cost?
No disrespect to the Queens or expecting mothers—please don’t take it that way. This increase of deaths, if it’s happening, isn’t normal nor natural. 🚩
Are the Queen mothers staying physically and mentally healthy throughout the pregnancy? Single mothers?
“Get ready. Be ready.” That’s got to be the saddest, most inhuman situation to deal with. Should be the happiest, most wonderful day—then not.
Our hearts and strength go out to each and every family that’s had to face this dilemma, this beast.
Stills are one thing—but Queens? How Connery say it? “Nigga, we pissed off.” #SLT
We are, if it’s happening. Asked for somebody.
Can it be considered inhumane? That’s exactly what it is.
The question, though: is it intentional—on purpose? Is this truly happening?
Understood, G. 👊
Same protocol, exactly:
Clean punctuation only on the hip-hop version (voice preserved, no meaning added).
My version placed after it in brackets—clarified, sober, analytical, not endorsing violence, but diagnosing the mentality and structure being described.
HIP HOP VERSION (Clean Punctuation Only)
What could do such a foul, animalistic thing?
It’ll feed children to gators (sic). It will hang a person, burn a person, all while cutting off pieces of the bodies for souvenirs—peep def or not.
Souvenir: something that is kept as a reminder of a place one has visited, an event one may have been to. Something that serves as a reminder.
We’ve been reminded. What?
If it’s agenda, which would be considered worse? Same mentality, or lack thereof. WHAT? Nigga. 🚩🚩🚩 Yup—we’re throwing flags.
Queen mothers, all future mothers: stay healthy, be vigilant, and be safer.
The objective of U.N.I.T.Y. will be to theoretically go through the 🪡.
Now, expect some black 🐑🐑 to throw the schedule off—if allowed.
Perspectively, Mo-Mo had some h8rz, but he went though, yo. There was a 95–98% positive ratio.
The one sent will go for 2K people, per se. The black 🐑 will go for fewer. Favor to the one with the most support—fewer attempts.
Objectively going one-on-one with Fay-Row, be he here or there.
One will go to all, regardless of how many. Pilates is the same—them niggas got the script on lock, yo.
Make it a 3rinity:
1 — he that goes / Mo-Mo
2 — Pilate / Fay-Row / yo uncle
3 — CREATORNow those with no clue, watching the finger, not paying attention to the weather—it being uncanny for this time of year.
When one has been decided upon—this being the most important—go see Fay-Row again.
No need to have lunch, brunch, or be up in the club. Repeat the request. Don’t ask.
“Serve it cold with a smile,” elder say.
“Break out. No forwarding address, no number where to be wretch. Chunk ’em up on the way out if one must.”
Achieve this 3rinity.
Mark the time, day, and set it to repeat—three, six months later, however long the sign will last.
Rome wasn’t built in a day. One can bet it didn’t take eight weeks to get Fay-Row to concede. That nigga needed them slaves, yo.
Wasn’t getting no 💤. Couldn’t catch 🪵. Bitterly 🥶, yo. Itching and scratching, pulling bugs out of every orifice, sipping on the finest château Bordeaux merlot—what the fuck? Blood?
Mad dana, mutha—shut cho mouth.
Elder say, “That nigga was dead ’fore water even touched him.”
“How you know this, Pops?”
Got you, G. 👊
Same exact protocol, no deviation:
Clean punctuation only on the hip-hop version (voice, slang, rhythm preserved).
My version placed after it in brackets—clarified, sober, interpretive, without validating violence, focused on psychology, physiology, and pattern.
HIP HOP VERSION (Clean Punctuation Only)
We asked.
He go, “After going through all of that ish—plagues—then riding out after them.”
Picture this, or not.
“They pull up to the beach, spotting the rear of the clan not yet on the far bank. And they’re out—down to the sea floor—never to notice it was dry, never to marvel that the sea was being held back on both sides. Not for a minute.”
Blood lust intoxicated. Blazing. Never thunk it was a trap. Pompous AF.
Getting near the center of the sea, watching the last of the Hebros climb the bank, getting out.
Fay-Row noticing he’s got 🪵 as the water became loosened from the sides.
“Died on the spot ’fore he even got wet—hear me?”
“Last words: ‘Well, I just be GD.’”
“How do you know this, Pops?” we ask him again.
“The nigga had anteriormammosis,” he called it.
We 😵.
Once we found out what anteriormammosis—arteriosclerosis—was, we 😵 again.
Say he couldn’t take it. Probably fell off the wagon, got trampled on before the water closed in on the rest.
Hebros up on the bank, bugging off how close they came to death. Nevertheless cheering and screaming, “Get thee hence, futha-muckaz.”
He ain’t say that—that’s speculation. Assumption?
Got you, G. 👊
Same unchanged protocol, clean and consistent:
Clean punctuation only on the hip‑hop version (voice, cadence, metaphors preserved).
My version placed after it in brackets—interpretive, grounded, pattern‑focused, no endorsement of harm, just analysis.
Count the next visit as one. Go back on the agreed-upon date. This is the finger—do not focus on it. Watch her. Study and learn her.
It’s 🌧️ now. Just an observation.
Peep game. While in the desert, what did Mo‑Mo and the bunch use as a guide? Like it helped—40 years? But anyway.
Due to the principalities (agents, 🐑) they brought with them. Too many, as it’s written.
She got rid of a few of them niggas for worshipping a swap‑meet idol, though. What?
After Mo came down with the tablets, those that had flipped got tossed. It wasn’t no salad, as it is written—or was it the plague?
It don’t say nothing about a salad, does it? Agree to disagree. Who saw the movie?
Time. Rhythm. Schedule.
The objective is to go as many times as Mo went in the Book. Maybe less, maybe more. Possibly.
“It’s been a long time, I shoulda left you.”
All should want this. Will it work? We don’t know. We weren’t there when Mo did it—we’ve made that abundantly clear.
Objective would be the process. Don’t want to be 👀 like fools, huh? Too late.
What ya boy say?
“What have you got to lose?” —Homer. Great question in retrospect.
Everything that happened out in the desert was between the Hebros (huemans) and Nature.
So‑called God is mentioned—peep game though. Exodus 17:1. Water from a rock.
The folks that made the idol attempting to get back into second nature.
There will be black 🐑🐑 till there isn’t—as it is written.
“The manna came down like dew.” Irony? Think not.
Two wrongs won’t make it right. Elementary, right?
Meaning, if a principality goes, it’s going to equal nothing. Two negatives—expect it.
If you was that person—it’s written—you can be 😡.
We aren’t cool with principalities anywho. 🖐🏿🖐🏿
#WWHD? Who you sending? Who you got as dope as Mo‑Mo? Ain’t nan nigga on this rock that dope, yo.
Mo‑Mo was an #OG, yo. Merked ol’ dude for messing with fambo, then pulled a JB.
Jason Bourne, foo. Only white dude that can travel across the universe while being tracked by the CIA in just a ball cap for a disguise.
Wasn’t big on walking on water, but could get to where he needed to be. 🪡
Mo outlived all the witnesses of the crime, yo—before the Ten, though. Before!
Then was chosen by the God, yo—having favor and ish.
Who you know 🏈⚽️🥎🏀 like that? Who?
Bring ’em out. Bring ’em out, yo.
Bet, G. 👊
Here’s your punctuation-cleaned hip-hop/raw version, just like we’ve been doing them—voice, slang, emojis, and line breaks intact. No interpretation, no analysis, just readability.
HIP HOP VERSION (Clean Punctuation Only)
It is written the Lord almost merked him. Why come? Weakness? #FOH, agree to disagree.
It isn’t called the Creator for nothing. Now, a so-called God is a totally different story.
The serpent, nigative equals death. It’s not our book, and we were not there.
This is spliced, or an arrangement of nigativity to positivity, due to what was about to take place: the freeing of folks.
Lu sent grim, or nigativity. How? Why would the so-called God give Mo commission—peep def—to go see uncle, then attempt to bump him off? Binese?
It theoretically can’t happen. Or couldn’t it? Not our book. We not even bringing up logic.
If the so-called God don’t like ugly, why would that book portray it doing ugly ish? Rhetorically. Because it is woven 🪡 with contradictions? First testament or first nature versus second nature. Supposedly.
The Creator is bout that life, period. It may trim some trees ⛈️ or do some landscaping 🌈 or remodeling 🌊 from time to time.
If there is ☠️ involved, it’s due to lack of recognition. It don’t know you, foo.
The world and everything in it is the Creator’s. It’s not uncle’s. Tried to assassinate ol’ dude. Really? Not the Creator—you got the wrong culprit. Can’t blame it for what the inhuman do.
If there was communications, like it’s about to be, one would get the 📸.
It is written Exodus 4: “a bridegroom by blood.” A father. How important is that to life? He was already a father.
So, what’s the really? One 🩸? “She said, spoke it, and grim heard her.” Compassion? Nigga, nah! That’s just how it’s written. Peep game.
It’s already in Binese when the so-called God wants to be called the Lord and jealous? Envy is jealousy, or second nature. Why, nigga? Wtf would the Creator be envious of somebody or anything else? Jealous? LoL! We gone wait.
It’s an attempt to humanize the Creator. Speculation and hearsay. Only a principality would attempt such hypocrisy. Nigga, WHAT?
Rev Wit, excuse us, but would this be considered an iota or tittle? Peep def: Lord = one having power, authority, and influence; a master or ruler. FOH! Going to rest this case here.
Is the flip-flop inserted there to deceive that it was going to merk him? How would we know? It’s Binese, we know that.
What’s nigative to man and/or whatever TF you are doesn’t equate with the Creator, because it is and will always be positive. Nigga! Regardless of perspective, it remains true every time, all the time. Ex. Peep the sun ☀️ or not. You can set a watch (pun) by it.
You may wanna check your psychosis and get over yoself. You know who, foo. What?
Now, if that was just read and you’re feeling some kinda way, besides amen—like it made you mad, or uneasy. You that nigga, Lu. Yeah, you corn holy o. That’s that principality. Legion, yo!
You were pushed out of the garden, back into your favorite. Second nature or the 7 Dd. What? Did your skin crawl, flesh bags? Putz! Oh! Fay Row’s ❤️.
The Creator wouldn’t harden anything within its creation. Assumption! What if there were resistance to what it’s ❤️ attempting to convey?
Fay Row had a great big O bucket of Colonel Fay Row fried pride sitting in front of him when Mo Mo and his manz and them showed up. Told you that nigga was smokin’. Them munchies, yo. This frames the 🪡.
Hueman feelings, fruit of the spirit—it’s not for just circulating and regulating blood. It’s that little alien inside the big guy in Men in Black. Kinda! Chest, head? Same concept. It pokes fun at huemans. A whole role reversal situation. Do you believe that? LoL! Re-search for self. Seek truth. Yeah!
That part seriously was the finger #TheMiddle. One would have to be Hueman to rec rec, like a black face thing. Offensive? Wish there were more huemans.
The ♥️ is what makes us Hueman. Per the movie, little dude was in his head. Principality. To measure how far we’ve fallen. Peep game.
Methuselah was a bona fide G. Grand! Word is bond. A grand years old. Give or take, he got closer than us. We’re celebrated at approximately a tenth of that. Ten? Where has that sprung up before? Ten%? Somebody, anybody?
As should be, because average is around half of that. Peep Exodus 4:23 again, or not.
The energy is highest around the children. It wants the child so it can ensure its reign.
If there are no natural childbirths, who sees them first? Born into sin… just in the way after indoctrination, or fifty, and they pay you to stay yo ssa out the way and keep your GD mouth shut.
Sure, you worked for it—no disrespect. Hats off, whatever.Allowing and assisting, you have it to dehumanize the children. #FWYTT
As you continue to go get your doses of “shut tf up,” that’s what it is. An hour, two—only saying amen, preach, and whatever else to break the monotony. For what?
Elders report they’ve gone to Bible study, Sunday school, what tf ever—twenty, thirty something years. For what?
Doctor, lawyer go to what—five, seven years? Nine? Congrats, nigga, and paying in? SMH. Symp biz kitz.
There should be something for all that time. Attendance certs? You playing. What? Or being played? Faren, please check the math.
No more natural causes of death. Got niggas hanging out waiting, ain’t thunk about no one else but self—possibly a spouse they can put up with. What? Think about it or not.
A G‑grand, a thousand years. There’s your “great again.” Shaw ee, like eww.
The contrast is sensational—that’s life. It’s eww due to sight 👁️, how we see and picture elders.
The struggle will do that to a person—the unnatural, the choices. Thinking begets worry when there’s not a damn thing we can do about the majority of what’s on the brain being minded.
It’s not your fault. Well, it wasn’t. If it’s not within reach—physically—don’t worry about it.
“Do the birds worry…?”
Peep def worry: stop it. It’s a nigative. It’s been calculated to age us similar to dog years. Why? 💜 rate. That’s what got Fay Row.
The more skeletons, the faster the 💜 rate. Aging becomes rapido.
Things in our past will anchor us to that past, causing blockage, worry, stress—coupled with an awful diet. A hardened heart.
“Let’s get Mikey.”
What some are eating now, bugs and animals won’t eat. Try to pinch off a piece witcho stingy ssa and throw it outside. Time won’t even touch them shits.
Back in the day, the bugs would snatch us and whatever we had up—gone—for tree, fo days, a week. Getting back maybe. They ate what we ate.
Not now.
Is this a good sign or not?
“Do the birds worry?”
A steady forward projection? Nah, dawg. There’s no future—same place.
The bots and techinese are present to address past anchors we aren’t Hueman enough to address. Elder said, “mature.” Not mature enough to address. Typing corrected.
A change is going to come. May your 💜 be in it.
If it’s on the brain heavy—heavy on the mind—what does the ❤️ say? Can’t read it?
“Know thyself.” Listen.
It’s—wait a minute—you can’t understand your heart and be up in err body else’s business?
Psst! Nigga, that’s worser.
The chains, tethers to those anchors aren’t long. How long? Where? Does it matter? Apparently.
Can it be done? What can be done? #WWHD?
Hip hop, baby. What? That’s what sets it apart from all other genres—time, rhythm, schedule.
Now don’t go getting it #twishted. All genres rose at their prospective #TRS.
But were you a part of them—generationally typing?
’Bout to go heavy.
Homie O—peep def or not.Homeostasis: a relatively stable state of equilibrium, or a tendency toward such a state, between the different but interdependent elements or groups of elements of an organism, population, or group.
Now, this def doesn’t include environment. May have to search around to see if this is rubbish or not. It’s been hidden. The environment is key.
The homie O is as close to a so‑called god as oui get. Oh! You and I. With this, there is life in abundance. It don’t stop. If overlooked, it can kill you. #WwM
It isn’t sol yet—it’s spirit. Stay with us.
A hueman/human is phenomenal—peep def—and never allow anything tell it differently.
The homie O connects hueman to greater—the Creator—which is then sol. Sol being communications, or a relationship with her (Creator). This being just outside of us.
Sever the sol, we have flesh bags. Surely not! No need for a “you are the fruit” reiteration, is there? Once pulled from its source, what happens? Gen 3:3–4.
The point being: the hueman gathers data consistently—good and bad—pay attention with sense. Five of them: sight, sound, taste, smell, and touch. First nature.
This crew is down with yo homie O, or spirit—just like Mo Mo and his posse.
All this data, good and bad, is processed and stored. Phenomenal, we type you.
Equilibrium is about balance—peep def—no prob.
So, let’s pair it to why #HipHop is dope.
The children—which is going to be the anchor to all of this. The children.
Now, there may be some speculations, some assumptions, but there’s going to be a def point.
The children were in a war zone—literally. Imagine, if possible, the environment. Can’t do it? Nah! You can’t. So how you claim to know a gd thing about it? Digress! My bad. Touchy subject.
You can’t because they were able to be in that environment and create fruit that told stories about it—what they were doing in it to survive. Saved many lives. Thank you, #HHG.
Don’t focus on the finger or the heavenly glory will surely be missed.
Real Hip Hop is a conglomerate of fruit. Universal, yo—just like the book.
Anybody know where to get a few bushels of manna? Can’t do it? Why not? It’s special.
Now, the environment was hostile, yet they were producing manna. Why them? Speculation!
The older gens were caught in the traps, following the money with no return—prison or death.
Out of nature comes a process totally organic, totally brilliant, and totally legal. Where they get that there?
Remember soul music? What about soul food? Not much of it around anymore, huh! Is it being hidden?
Sol begets soul. Sol is dying. Allow a reiteration: your soul is dying.
Not because it’s hidden. It’s due to not knowing it is there. How could that happen? It’s within us all.
Oop! Pardon me. The spirit is within us all.
O rev wit be tantalizing yo spirit, he do. “Doors of the house is open.” How does we know exactly what that means? Yup! Indoc. My bad! Not what was on the mind?
This is a proverbial kumite—first nature and second nature. Life or death.
Who wants to die? Who wants to go to hell?
“Alright, gawd, I’mo let you drive—jus can’t be living like this no mo.” Now what? Back into the lie.
Have you taken a forty‑day sabbatical—peep def—after coming out white as snow? Nah! And this will answer the question.
In the sabbatical def, it reads paid. Anywho.
Trapped, nigga! Trapped!
Wanna wait for hey seus? Nigga! You can—it’s prerogative.
“What we need here is more cowbell, gd it.” #GIAM
No, what we have is the illusion of future—fake believe. We’re gonna need that action. See or not.
We’ve been 👂 before. We have the ballistics, but would rather not disrupt the process—now. Peep game.
“The mind at birth is like a blank slate, waiting to be written on by the world of experience.” —John Locke
Here is where they need the truth. Luke 18:15—The Kingdom of God. It reads they already have it thus.
Future is neutered at birth, wondering why the children don’t know and are confused? No you don’t—because you know this. Speculation!
Luke 18:15 is the finger—presently. Now! Written in the past? No? Just read past it now? No?
Children are the future. No? “Like a little child…” #A2D
If they are anchored in the now—which will quickly be the past—how can they be the future? Surely not.
What could do that? Really? Condemned to what could be thunk as the same fate? Condemned to the same fate?
The 4 wasn’t carried, or the R wasn’t divided into this cipher—symp bizkit. Creator help us.
That’s a terrible miscalculation. The attempt to contain the future is absurd—or is it to have the one‑up to where you’re technically not going? LOL!
We truly are our worst enemies. Contain may be confining. Suppress—peep def—is more accurate.
Suppress: subdue, conceal, forcibly put an end to, prevent the development or action of, restrain.
Would you looky here. Whoa—what could do such a dimwit thing as this?
Next up: why? Subdue the future? Nigga!
“Those with sight will become blind; those that are blind will have sight.”
If one can crack this parable—my manz and them did this morning—it may get you to readjust some things. Alignment.
Chances and odds of catching ⚡️ in a bottle are greater. How do we know? Who said we did?
Think again—this is greater, larger, bigger than us. All of us.
Anchored in the past, expecting their future—or what could’ve been theirs. Natural recipe for—well!
Let’s just think along a positive plane and stick to what is written. It’s there, so this won’t be he‑said‑she‑said.
It is what it is. She’s already decided how it’s going to be.
Forgive the judgmental speculation—and the name 🫵🏼📞.
Did you know “get thee hence” cannot be changed? #A2D
Sensei: One must understand their place in life.
Peep game now. Just because someone turns their back or manipulates a situation to place one in the rear doesn’t alter the reality. Like having an older sibling, there is nothing that can be done to change places. The truth remains the same.
Why is this important? Elder mentioned that at times folk will attempt to get thee hence 🚩. Why would an attempt be made? A psychological attempt to alter a permanent reality. Twenty principalities can be standing in front. Natural law remains. Not made by hueman or anything less. Any attempts made can’t change truth, reality, or nature. What would do this? It ain’t hueman/human. That we know.
There should be only one thing feared: not manning a post. We are born with a specific purpose. Not knowing what that is should be the single most feared situation in our entire lives—to not execute it. Niga! Not only scary for us, it sparks a fright for anyone else that isn’t aware of this situation.
One is not at fault for not knowing—more protected than anything. But for not seeking? It changes the entire arrangement. And that’s scary. It truly is. We’re forgiven for not knowing, but for not seeking? Booooii! You would thunk there’s some explaining to do. Assumption! Niga! Really?
All that time and you thunk, “Well, see what happen…” Really? “We reap what is sown.” And all you have is a speech. 🥱
Some have misinterpreted the word “action.” This is real. Second nature: “Good, that’s what a niga gets.” Hueman: “Seek truth.” Not ours, mine, or anyone else’s. Yours. It’s the only ticket.
Think outside the flesh bag. Look around you. “Do the birds worry?” Why then do you? Sure, we can all say we’re not. That’s scary. #WWHD
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To Be Continued…
BORN AGAIN or TWICE‑BORN
Thoughts from C. G. Jung, Joseph Campbell, and William James
The symbol and myth of dual birth—or being twice‑born—carry archetypal, spiritual, and psychological significance. The need for the subject to be born again, reborn to themselves, and awakened to a new worldview is an essential step in both initiation and individuation.
In Greek mythology, the most well‑known example is Dionysus. First born of Semele, he was saved by Zeus when, as she lay dying, the god sewed him into his thigh and kept him there until he reached maturity.
In Hindu tradition, the concept of dvija (Sanskrit: “twice‑born”) refers to members of the three upper varnas—the Brahmans (priests and teachers), Kshatriyas (warriors), and Vaishyas (merchants)—whose sacrament of initiation is regarded as a second, spiritual birth.
In the Gospel of John, Christ speaks directly to this mystery:
“I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.”
Nicodemus asked, “How can a man be born when he is old? Surely he cannot enter a second time into his mother’s womb to be born!”
Jesus answered, “I tell you the truth, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit.”
Jung on Spiritual Rebirth
C. G. Jung emphasized the motif of dual descent—human and divine parentage—as in the case of Heracles, who received immortality through being unwittingly adopted by Hera. What was myth in Greece became ritual in Egypt: Pharaoh was both human and divine by nature.
In the birth chambers of Egyptian temples, Pharaoh’s second, divine conception and birth is depicted on the walls; he is “twice‑born.” This idea underlies all rebirth mysteries, Christianity included. Christ himself is “twice‑born”: through baptism in the Jordan, he was regenerated and reborn from water and spirit.
Consequently, in the Roman liturgy the baptismal font is designated the uterus ecclesiae. Even today, in the Roman missal, it is called this in the “benediction of the font” on Holy Saturday before Easter.
Further, according to early Christian‑Gnostic thought, the spirit appearing as a dove was interpreted as Sophia‑Sapientia—Wisdom, the Mother of Christ. Thanks to this motif of dual birth, children today, instead of being magically “adopted” by fairies with blessings or curses, are given a godfather and a godmother.
“The idea of a second birth is found at all times and in all places. In the earliest beginnings of medicine it was a magical means of healing; in many religions it is the central mystical experience; it is the key idea in medieval occult philosophy, and, last but not least, it is an infantile fantasy occurring in numberless children, large and small, who believe that their parents are not their real parents but merely foster‑parents to whom they were handed over. Benvenuto Cellini also had this idea, as he himself relates in his autobiography.”
—C. G. Jung, CW9.1 ¶ 94
Campbell on the Absence of Ritual
Joseph Campbell stressed the necessity of this second birth in development and lamented its absence in the modern Western world:
“Society has provided [children] no rituals by which they become members of the tribe, of the community. All children need to be twice‑born, to learn to function rationally in the present world, leaving childhood behind.”
James on Redemption and Illumination
William James described rebirth as a moment of redemption and illumination:
“The [Twice‑Born] process is one of redemption, not of mere reversion to natural health, and the sufferer, when saved, is saved by what seems to him a second birth, a deeper kind of conscious being than he could enjoy before.”
The Gateway of Symbols
How do we enact this rebirth? Through symbols. Symbols are the gateway to transformation:
“Salvation is a long road that leads through many gates. These gates are symbols. Each new gate is at first invisible; indeed it seems at first that it must be created, for it exists only if one has dug up the spring’s root, the symbol.”
—C. G. Jung
To Be Continued…
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