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Goodmorning fellowship,
A spoken word by a soul who survived, remembered, and rose.
I went deep. Deeper than most dare to look. Where the light don’t reach and the air gets thick with voices you swore you buried.
But I didn’t die there. I built a throne. Right in the center of my breakdown, I crowned myself.
They said the dark would break me. But the dark taught me. Taught me how to breathe fire with no oxygen. Taught me how to sing when my mouth was full of silence.
And She She never stopped speaking. I just forgot how to listen. But She was there, in the ringing of my ears, in the twitch of my skin, in the ache that said: "This isn’t the end. This is your beginning."
I rejected the church ‘cause my soul was allergic to lies dressed in robes. I knew the Source wasn’t some bearded man with a throne— She was the pulse in my chest. The whisper in the weed smoke. The tear on my cheek when no one was watching.
Now I move different. I walk like I know I’m wrapped in power. I talk like every word I spit could plant a seed or split a sea. I love like the revolution starts with a soft touch.
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You want to know the lessons?
Here they are,
- One:
The dark ain’t death. It’s the furnace. Don’t run. Learn to burn.
- Two:
She never left. You just stopped listening. So get quiet. And then... get real loud inside.
- Three:
Peace ain’t found. It’s forged. Carve it. Guard it. Make space for your own damn breath.
- Four:
You are the temple. Don’t kneel to broken systems. Stand up and remember— you’ve been holy since birth.
- Five:
You’re not late. You’re on divine time. Healing bends clocks. You’ve always been right on schedule.
So now, I teach. Not with books— but with bones. With eyes that saw too much and still stayed soft.
I am here to remind the broken: You are not broken. You are just beginning to remember your power.
And when I speak, I don't preach. I just open the door I once had to kick down myself.
Welcome in.
IamthatIam
With kind regards,
Stinger Bee