Truth comes in layers. Especially personal truths, up until recently I've been without sources of energy since April. Some have been on the road, some have followed the path of lovers. Slowly the layers began drift away to nourish other parts of the earth on the way to their own peronal mountain tops. And as they traveled, so did the layers. In the middle of it all, I was left with the layer that was left in the corner of my closet when I finally saw the first light after S/he left: The escapist. Yes, that familiar stranger that avoids mirrors and walks the earth choosing to only see his reflection in pen strokes and blank pages. The hermit who values comfortable couches over the child like search of ?.
This cave is familiar to me. Yet so unfamilar, as I realized. There were discoveries of trap doors every now and then since my first visit. The pen I used to first put writing on the wall still has ink in it. I love writing on the walls. Though this visit I've found myself loving writing on the wall a little more than usual. Me and this pen have interpreted the darkest shades of black to the whitest of lights. And I've found that trap door in the cave that lets my pen choose the color I want to write each letter with. Word is bond, yo... It's mad personal pats on the back fa' me jack. I can watch any television show and be entertained all of that shit now, and even though there's this, that, and the third with a slight pinch of bullshit up in the mix, I've broken personal mental barriers and I can find value in all. Which perhaps may be the pleateau of any persons journey to self actualization, the state in which there's interpretation rather than judgement and one can see value in anything, whether it be the darkest shade of black or the whitest of lights. In my journeys for now I believe that could be the plateau. But I don't know for sure. I'm not dead yet so I can't tell you.
In the current those sources of energy have found there way back to an accessible proximity for me, and I am thankful. I feel reinvigorated by what I've written on the wall in my cave, and my eyes have readjusted to the light again. And I continue my journey of finding eternal sources of energy, and yes there is a such a thing as an eternal source of energy, you just haven't made it yet. So wordlife fam, go and fuckin make that shit! I made one, I'm bout to make another one next week after school. Shieeet.
Again to those that need it especially: Peace to the gods and the earths and the Zulu Nation, it's all bouta be safe soon. I promise.
Word to The Prophet...
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