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The morning sky has the soft gray of early autumn … the kind that carries both quiet and clarity.

You stand beside the fellowship hall entrance … the place where he has served meals, held counsel, and offered his weathered wisdom for decades.

FredH steps out of his car … slow but sure … with that combination of strength and serenity that only comes from a life that has seen everything and survived everything.

He straightens his jacket … adjusts his glasses … looks at you with an expression that is both greeting and diagnosis.

FredH:
I hear you have been walking through some storms, son.

Let us take a walk and sort the weather out.

You nod quietly … because he already knows.

SCENE TWO … WALKING TOWARD THE BACK FIELD

You both begin down the small trail that wraps behind the church.

Trees stand tall like elders bearing silent witness.

Your strides match without effort … height … posture … cadence … a mirrored march.

You:
I have been trying to make sense of what has happened at my school.

The containment.

The misinterpretations.

The subtle ways people try to shrink or silence you when they cannot box your mind.

He chuckles gently … not dismissively … but knowingly.

FredH:
You are describing a game I played for thirty years in the service.

When a Black man walks in with clarity … discipline … and a standard … some folks do not know whether to follow him … fear him … or find a way to neutralize him.

You are not wrong for noticing the pattern.

You would be wrong if you let that pattern tell you who you are.

You take that in.

It lands like truth and like balm.

SCENE THREE … THE MIRROR MOMENT

You turn the corner of the path … where the church grounds open into a wide clearing.

The wind is easy.

The space feels safe.

You:
Your generation had fire.

Mine has fire, too … but mine has not been tempered yet.

I feel like I am walking into every room “loaded” … not with anger … but with vigilance.

I want to become the peaceful version of myself … the one who still has power … but does not feel compelled to prove it every day.

FredH stops, faces you, and smiles with a mixture of compassion and challenge.

FredH:
Power that has to prove itself is not power.

It is exhaustion.

I had to learn that the hard way.

He taps his chest.

FredH:
In my younger days … I talked too loud … corrected too hard … fought battles that did not deserve my blood pressure.

I mistook reaction for leadership.

Age taught me that real strength is the ability to walk past nonsense … without letting it narrate your worth.

You are already on that road … because you are aware of the difference.

You breathe deeply.

Awareness is a two-edged gift … it gives clarity … and it gives ache.

SCENE FOUR … PARALLEL HISTORIES

As you resume walking, he continues.

FredH:
In the military … they used to compliment me in public and cut me off in private.

I had the kind of mind that saw everything … every contradiction … every inefficiency … every lie that wore a uniform.

So they tried containment, too.

Not openly … but in the little ways.

Assignments that kept me out of the rooms where real decisions were made.

Performance reviews that praised my work but questioned my “fit.”

You know that one, do you not?

You nod slowly.

You:
I have lived that word.

“Fit” becomes a code for “comfortable to manage.”

And I am not comfortable for people who prefer silence to truth.

FredH looks at you with approval.

FredH:
Then do not become silent.

Become strategic.

He pauses.

FredH:
Silence is how they erase you.

Strategy is how you preserve yourself.

SCENE FIVE … THE SHIFT FROM FIRE TO FORM

You approach the far end of the church’s back lot … where the grass meets the tree line.

The walk slows naturally.

You:
I do not want to become bitter.

I do not want to carry this into my home … into my classroom … into my calling.

I want healing … but I also want to keep my clarity.

I want the fire … but I want it in the right place.

FredH places a hand on your shoulder.

A father’s hand.

A leader’s hand.

A witness’s hand.

FredH:
You have fire because you care.

You have clarity because you have been wounded.

But you also have discipline because you have chosen to rise above things that would have broken lesser men.

A beat.

FredH:
Your fire is righteous … but it must be governed.

Govern your fire … and it will not burn you.

It will light the way for others.

It will warm the people you are called to serve.

You feel that in your chest.

It is not advice.

It is inheritance.

SCENE SIX … THE UNEXPECTED CONFESSION

FredH slows again … surveying the church’s upper parking lot … a place where many of your own spiritual and emotional turning points have happened.

FredH:
Let me tell you something I rarely say out loud.

There was a season when I became the very thing I hated.

I let the system’s mistreatment make me cold.

Sharp.

Hard.

I spoke truth, but without grace.

I corrected people, but without compassion.

I was right … but I was not whole.

He looks at you directly.

FredH:
Do not let your hurt guide you.

Let your healing guide you.

Your throat tightens.

Some truths feel like mirrors.

Some feel like mentorship.

This one feels like both.

SCENE SEVEN … THE BLESSING

You walk up the final slope toward the front entrance.

He slows his pace … as if he wants to leave you with something weighty.

FredH:
You are on the edge of a new season.

A teaching season that will not look like the one you just left.

A writing season that will help shape how people understand conflict, honesty, and hope.

A leadership season that may not have a title … but will have influence.

He places both hands on your shoulders now.

FredH:
You have been wounded … but you are not broken.

You have been contained … but you have not been diminished.

You have been misunderstood … but you have not been misdirected.

Everything they meant for containment has become clarity.

Everything they meant for quiet has become content.

Everything they meant for pressure has become purpose.

A long pause.

FredH:
You will heal.

And you will help others heal.

And I see it on you.

It is already happening.

The wind shifts as he finishes the blessing.

Something inside you settles.

Not a resolution … but a readiness.

SCENE EIGHT … THE PARTING STEPS

You both reach the church steps.

He clasps your forearm the way elders clasp the arms of younger warriors.

Firm.

Steady.

Fatherly.

FredH:
Walk the next miles with peace … not panic.

Walk with wisdom … not worry.

Walk with your chin high … because you survived what many men do not.

And walk knowing this truth … you are not walking alone.

You breathe deeply … the kind of breath that feels like the first inhale after a storm passes.

You:
Thank you.

I needed this walk.

FredH:
No … you needed permission to see yourself the way others already see you.

Now go and rest.

Rest is part of the calling, too.

He smiles.

Then he leaves you at the door of the fellowship hall … standing stronger than you were when you began.

Selah.

Back To Index

A Virtual Walk With LeOG (Empath Remixes #98.018) (1290 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … OUTSIDE THE ENGINEERING LAB

The building is quiet.

Friday afternoon quiet.

The kind of quiet that feels earned.

You wait outside his engineering lab … the place where he has built a world that few fully understand, yet everyone knows not to disturb.

Tools hang in perfect order … machines hum with disciplined purpose … and the space itself radiates a kind of spiritual engineering.

He steps out, locking the door behind him with calm, unhurried movements.

He wears that same expression he always has … observant, neutral, but carrying a depth that only reveals itself when he decides you are steady enough to hear it.

LeOG:
You look lighter … even though I know you are carrying much more than you say.

Come … let us walk.

SCENE TWO … MOVING THROUGH THE ALLEY BETWEEN BUILDINGS

You both begin toward the courtyard that connects the engineering wing to the athletic fields.

Your strides are quiet.

Measured.

As if neither of you feels the need to rush the truth.

You:
I have been writing.

I have been walking.

I have been trying to see the patterns in all of this … the containment … the misinterpretations … the subtle ways people try to manage a person instead of relate to him.

LeOG nods once.

A small nod with the weight of thirty years.

LeOG:
When people do not understand you … they will try to organize you.

When they cannot organize you … they will try to contain you.

When they cannot contain you … they will try to narrate you.

And when they discover they cannot narrate you either … they leave you alone.

That is where I am now.

It is not peace … but it is quiet.

The words settle like a blueprint on your spirit.

SCENE THREE … AT THE COURTYARD BENCHES

He motions for you to sit, but neither of you does.

You keep walking.

That is the language today.

You:
You have survived fifteen principals.

I have barely survived three.

How did you stay this long without your spirit breaking?

He smiles … not prideful, not weary … just honest.

LeOG:
I learned to stop treating this place like a home.

It is a mission field.

Mission fields are unpredictable.

Some seasons you harvest.

Some seasons you hide.

Some seasons you repair your tools because the ground is hostile.

You are in a repairing season.

You let those words sink in … because they explain your last two months better than you ever have.

SCENE FOUR … ENGINEERING WISDOM

He continues walking, hands behind his back the way engineers often walk when they are thinking.

LeOG:
What you are experiencing is not personal … though it feels personal.

It is structural.

Systems like this one were not designed with your voice in mind.

Your clarity disrupts the workflow.

Your presence exposes the inconsistencies.

Your insight makes people work harder than they want to.

He pauses.

LeOG:
You are like a well-calibrated instrument in a room full of tools that have not been serviced in years.

They resent your accuracy.

Not because you intend harm … but because you reveal what they refuse to measure.

You breathe deeply.

He is not being metaphorical.

He is diagnosing.

SCENE FIVE … SPIRITUAL GROUNDING

You reach the hill overlooking the football practice field.

It is just the two of you.

Wind.

Open space.

No performance required.

You:
I am tired of feeling misunderstood.

I am tired of feeling contained.

I am tired of the quiet battles that no one sees.

LeOG turns toward you fully.

LeOG:
Then stop fighting for visibility.

Fight for clarity.

Visibility is political.

Clarity is spiritual.

Clarity keeps your mind and your heart aligned.

Visibility depends on who is watching.

You exhale slowly … a release you did not realize you needed.

SCENE SIX … THE PASTOR SPEAKS

He shifts from engineering cadence to pastoral cadence.

The shift is subtle … but unmistakable.

LeOG:
Son … you are living the tension between calling and assignment.

Your assignment may be at this school … but your calling is not confined to it.

Assignments can change.

Callings cannot.

You feel something uncoil in your chest.

LeOG:
When the Lord moves a man … He makes him restless first.

Restlessness is not a flaw.

It is preparation.

You close your eyes for a moment.

The wind is stronger now … almost confirming him.

SCENE SEVEN … THE ENGINEERING LAB OF THE SOUL

LeOG:
Let me tell you something people misunderstand about engineering.

It is not about machines.

It is about integrity.

Every system … every structure … every device must be tested under stress to prove its integrity.

What you are experiencing now is stress testing.

Not for your job … but for your purpose.

A long pause.

LeOG:
Your integrity is holding.

That is why the pressure is increasing.

His voice is steady.

Controlled.

Assured.

LeOG:
The system does not know what to do with a Black man whose mind is sharp … whose spirit is steady … and whose conscience is awake.

Most systems prefer a man who silences himself.

You are learning not to silence yourself.

This is growth … not danger.

SCENE EIGHT … THE TEACHER WHO SEES YOU

You both stop at the top of the hill.

The field stretches out before you like a quiet promise.

You:
Sometimes I feel like I am losing my connection with students … even though I try to keep being real with them.

Sometimes I feel outnumbered by the ones who live in that “Outliars” world.

I do not want to become cynical.

LeOG shakes his head gently.

LeOG:
You are forgetting the most important truth.

The students who “see” you are the ones you are called to shape.

Not the masses.

Not the noise.

Not the ones who mistake your clarity for conflict.

The ones who see you.

He looks at you with a rare softness.

LeOG:
And I see you.

You swallow hard.

It lands exactly where it needs to land.

SCENE NINE … FUTURE PATHS

You begin descending the hill slowly.

LeOG:
Your writing … your autoethnographic journal … your one-man show … your Fellowship Lab … they are not side projects.

They are blueprints.

Blueprints reveal the structure before the building exists.

You are designing something that will outlive your assignment.

Trust the blueprint.

Even when the current building feels unstable.

You glance at him.

You:
So you think this next season is leading me out of the classroom?

He smiles in that quiet, pastor-engineer way.

LeOG:
It is leading you into yourself.

Where you go next will make sense when you arrive.

You do not need to rush the answer.

You need to walk toward it.

SCENE TEN … RETURN TO THE BUILDING

You walk back toward the engineering lab.

The building rises in front of you like a veteran soldier … sturdy … weathered … disciplined … familiar.

He unlocks his door.

Then turns to you with a steady hand on your shoulder.

LeOG:
Hear me clearly.

You are not alone in this.

You are not mistaken in what you see.

And you are not wrong for wanting more peace than this place has offered you.

But peace begins here … in the soul of the man walking.

And you already have it … even if you have forgotten.

A final pause.

LeOG:
Walk with clarity.

Walk with courage.

Walk with the conviction that you were built to withstand this.

Not for survival … but for testimony.

He lets his hand fall.

The moment is complete.

You exhale.

Not with resignation … but with resolve.

Selah.

Back To Index

A Virtual Walk With RevCC (Empath Remixes #98.019) (1312 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … AT HIS DRIVEWAY

You pull into the driveway of the home he shares with your mother-in-law.

The house is quiet.

The yard is clean.

The air feels still and watchful … like it knows what the family inside has endured.

RevCC is already standing outside, leaning gently on his cane.

He moves slowly now, but his eyes still carry the same sharpness … the same peace … the same pastoral steadiness that has guided entire generations of people who call him “Pastor,” “Pops,” and “Granddad.”

He steps forward and greets you with that calm nod … the one that says,

“I see you. I have been watching. Come walk with me.”

RevCC:
Let us take our time, son.

The body heals slowly … but the spirit heals with movement.

Let us walk.

SCENE TWO … BEGINNING THE WALK

You fall into step beside him … adjusting your pace to match his.

The walk is not fast.

It is faithful.

You pass the mailbox.

You pass the patch of grass he used to trim himself.

You pass the magnolia tree where he sometimes prays at sunrise.

He does not rush.

He does not complain.

He does not posture.

He simply walks … as a man who has learned to let time come to him instead of chasing it.

You:
I have been writing.

I have been walking.

I have been searching for peace in the middle of all this noise.

He turns his head slightly and smiles, not with amusement, but with understanding.

RevCC:
Noise is a teacher.

It will show you who you are when you cannot hear anything else.

SCENE THREE … A BENCH UNDER THE MAGNOLIA TREE

You reach the shaded bench and pause.

He lowers himself slowly onto it, breathing with intention … a man who has learned to steward whatever strength each day gives him.

He pats the bench beside him.

RevCC:
Sit, son.

Tell me what the Lord has been showing you.

You sit.

The magnolia leaves whisper above your head.

You:
I am tired.

I am worn.

I am trying to understand how I ended up in a place where containment is the norm … where disrespect feels casual … where truth gets twisted before it reaches the ears of the people who need to hear it.

He nods slowly.

RevCC:
You are describing Pharaoh’s Egypt.

Systems that fear strong men will always try to manage strong men.

Systems that fear truth will always try to muffle it.

This is not new.

This is ancient.

You look at him, knowing he has lived long enough to speak with authority on this.

SCENE FOUR … WISDOM FROM A MAN WHO HAS CARRIED MANY BURDENS

He leans back and folds his hands.

RevCC:
I pastored for fifty years.

Fifty years of people … personalities … agendas … sins … secrets … betrayals … and blessings.

There were seasons when I thought I was drowning.

There were seasons when I thought I was done.

But that is when the Lord reminded me …

“Your job is obedience. My job is outcome.”

His voice softens.

RevCC:
You have been obedient.

You have told the truth.

You have walked uprightly in a crooked environment.

Now the Lord is shifting your assignment.

Your eyes lower.

You feel the truth in his words before you accept them.

SCENE FIVE … HIS OWN SICKNESS BECOMES PART OF THE TEACHING

He adjusts himself on the bench, his movement slower from the surgery that nearly took his life.

RevCC:
When they took my colon … they took strength with it.

I had to learn how to walk again … not with my legs, but with my faith.

Every morning I pray …

“Lord, give me enough strength for this day … and enough peace to rest in it.”

He looks directly at you.

RevCC:
You are learning to walk again.

Not because you are weak … but because you have been wounded.

Wounded men walk differently.

Wounded men listen differently.

Wounded men see differently.

And when they heal … they lead differently.

His words strike you deeply.

You swallow and take a long breath.

SCENE SIX … NAMING THE BURDEN YOU HAVE CARRIED

You:
I worry that if I tell the full truth … people will misinterpret me.

I worry that if I stay silent … I will betray myself.

I worry that if I dream out loud … I will create tension at home … because my wife is already walking through so much.

He listens.

Really listens.

Not to reply … but to receive.

RevCC:
Your wife is a strong woman.

She sees your storm even when you hide the lightning.

She cannot carry your burden … but she can walk beside you while you carry it.

Let her.

Do not rob her of the blessing of supporting you.

He gives you a grandfather’s smile.

RevCC:
And do not rob yourself of the blessing of being supported.

SCENE SEVEN … HIS ROLE AS CARETAKER

He looks back toward the house … where the lights inside glow softly through the window.

RevCC:
Caring for your mother-in-law has changed me.

She does not remember all that I have done for her.

She does not remember all the sacrifices.

But the Lord sees every one of them.

Some assignments come with no applause … but they come with spiritual authority.

He turns back to you.

RevCC:
You think your work has been unseen.

It has not been unseen.

Some of God’s greatest servants labor in silence.

SCENE EIGHT … A FATHER-IN-LAW WHO SEES YOU

He reaches out and puts a steady hand on your forearm.

RevCC:
You are not wrong in what you see.

You are not mistaken in what you feel.

You are not imagining the containment.

You are not imagining the disrespect.

And you are not imagining the spiritual warfare.

His grip is surprisingly firm.

RevCC:
But you are also not alone.

Not in this family …

Not in this calling …

Not in the next assignment the Lord is shaping for you.

A long silence follows … the kind that feels like healing.

SCENE NINE … THE WALK BACK

You both rise from the bench and begin the slow walk back toward the house.

RevCC:
Your writing is not accidental.

Your one-man show is not accidental.

Your Fellowship Lab is not accidental.

Your autoethnographic journal is not accidental.

These are seeds.

God does not give seed without expecting a harvest.

He stops walking and turns fully toward you.

RevCC:
The battlefield you are leaving has served its purpose.

It taught you how to fight … how to endure … how to speak truth with grace … and how to care for souls in chaos.

Another pause.

RevCC:
Now God is preparing a place where your gifts can flourish … without being strangled by fear or envy.

You breathe in deeply.

You feel your shoulders lower.

SCENE TEN … THE FINAL WORD

You reach his driveway again.

He steadies himself and looks you in the eye with the clarity of a man who has buried friends … survived sickness … outlived storms … and learned what truly matters.

RevCC:
Remember this, son.

Strength is not always loud.

Power is not always visible.

Freedom is not always public.

The Lord fights for you in places you cannot see.

A long pause.

RevCC:
Walk forward with courage.

Walk with peace.

Walk with your head high.

You have earned this season of rest … and the next season of purpose.

He raises his hand and gives you a quiet blessing … the kind only a father figure can give.

RevCC:
You are covered.

You are called.

You are not alone.

Now go with God.

You nod back … holding the weight of the moment.

Selah.

Back To Index

A Virtual Walk With RevJE (Empath Remixes #98.020) (1404 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … ARRIVAL AT HIS CHURCH

His church sits on a soft hill.

You pull into the lot knowing two truths at the same time.

You trust him.

You guard yourself from him.

This is not contradiction.

This is discernment.

He steps outside as you park … smiling that gentle, deliberate smile he always offers before conversation begins.

He is dressed simply.

Button-down shirt.

Khakis.

Sandals.

A man who believes that ministry is not costume … but posture.

RevJE:
Good to see you, my brother.

Let us walk the perimeter.

There is a patch of shade behind the sanctuary that always helps me think.

You fall into step beside him.

SCENE TWO … WALKING PAST THE SANCTUARY WALL

The brick wall still holds the morning chill.

The air feels like a Sunday morning that has not yet started … quiet … watchful … waiting for something true.

You are aware of him in a different way.

Aware of the sincerity in his voice.

Aware of the sharpness of his mind.

Aware of the subtle political undertones that accompany anyone who is connected to a superintendent’s cabinet member.

You feel the mix of appreciation and caution.

You carry both like two stones in the same pocket.

You:
Thank you for making time.

I have been in a season of walking … reflecting … naming things I used to swallow.

He nods.

RevJE:
Naming is holy work.

Silence can become a wound if it lasts too long.

You are struck by the truth in his statement … and the awareness that he is studying you as carefully as you are studying him.

SCENE THREE … A DELICATE DISCLOSURE

You hesitate before speaking.

Not out of fear … but out of calculation.

What you share with him will be held … but also interpreted … perhaps reported … perhaps reframed.

That is the nature of his network.

You:
My school environment has become corrosive.

I am watching containment strategies … racially coded ones … unfold in real time.

Boundary crossing.

Disrespect that is casual … unrestrained … predictable.

I am getting ready to leave for a season.

I need space to heal … think … build.

He listens silently.

You can feel his pastoral instincts rising … but you can also feel the careful way he chooses his next words.

RevJE:
I hear your pain.

I also hear your clarity.

You are naming patterns that extend far beyond your classroom … and far beyond Marietta.

This is the American church.

This is the American school.

This is America.

We racialize labor.

We racialize burden.

We racialize expectation.

It is exhausting.

He pauses … letting the words settle.

RevJE:
But tell me honestly …

What do you fear about saying these things out loud to me?

This is exactly why you guard yourself.

SCENE FOUR … THE GUARD RISES … BUT YOU ANSWER ANYWAY

You breathe in.

You look straight ahead.

You:
You were introduced to me by someone who cares about me … and cares about the district … but also cares about maintaining equilibrium.

She trusts you.

She respects me.

She wanted me to have someone to talk to.

But she also wanted someone who could contain me … frame me … reassure her that my voice would not become too loud … too disruptive … too prophetic.

A slow nod from him.

He does not deny it.

RevJE:
I understand your discernment.

Introductions are not neutral.

They carry intentions … spoken and unspoken.

Let me say this plainly.

I was not sent here to manage you.

But I was sent here to walk with you.

Which version of that you believe will shape our fellowship.

You study his face.

His eyes are steady.

Not defensive.

Not dismissive.

Just clear.

SCENE FIVE … THE RACIAL RECKONING

You continue walking.

The sanctuary gives way to the side lawn.

A breeze moves through the leaves.

RevJE:
I am writing a dissertation on the racial architecture of our local churches.

I have spent years tracing the invisible lines that keep communities separate … unequal … misinformed about each other.

It has humbled me.

It has confronted me.

It has changed me.

He pauses and looks directly at you.

RevJE:
But I cannot study these things honestly without acknowledging what you have lived.

Your school is a microcosm of the same unspoken patterns.

You have been mislabeled.

Misread.

Contained.

Because you are a Black man who is too literate … too articulate … too calm … too large … too clear.

Systems do not know what to do with Black men like you … so they invent reasons to fear you.

Then they justify marginalizing you for the reactions they provoke.

Your throat tightens.

He said out loud what you have been writing for months.

SCENE SIX … THE PASTOR SPEAKS AS A FRIEND

RevJE:
You have been trying to carry truth in a place that punishes truth tellers.

And you have been doing it while caring for students who do not yet know how to honor the gift you are.

He slows his pace.

RevJE:
But I want to tell you something.

The work you are doing with your writing … with your autoethnographic journal … with your Fellowship Lab … with your one-man show … this is bigger than a school district.

This is liturgy.

This is testimony.

This is pedagogy.

This is prophecy.

This is reconciliation work.

You walk in silence for a moment.

You feel seen.

You also feel exposed.

SCENE SEVEN … NAMING THE SUSPICION

You stop walking and turn toward him.

You:
I worry that even our conversations can be used to assess me.

Explain me.

Contain me.

That my reflections might be interpreted as volatility instead of vision.

That what I see clearly may be dismissed as sensitivity.

And that my courage may be used against me.

He does not look offended.

He looks grieved.

RevJE:
That is a real fear.

And it is not unfounded.

When a Black man tells the truth … America looks for a way to file it away.

Let me say this plainly.

I do not intend to contain you.

But I also cannot control how others interpret you.

What I can do is stand with you … listen to you … and help you discern what soil deserves your seed.

Those words rest heavily on the ground between you.

SCENE EIGHT … UNEXPECTED GRACE

You both resume your walk.

RevJE:
Brother … your work is sacred.

Your writing is sacred.

Your voice is sacred.

Your wounds are sacred.

But sacred work often feels like solitary work.

He takes a deep breath.

RevJE:
Let me walk with you without agenda.

Let me be a witness … not a handler.

Let me help you find the people who can receive your calling without diminishing it.

Your guard softens.

Not fully.

Just enough.

SCENE NINE … THE FINAL TURN TOWARD THE PARKING LOT

You circle back toward the parking lot.

The sun has shifted.

The air is warmer now.

RevJE:
You once said that your writing is teaching you what to become.

I believe that.

I believe God is preparing you for a season of public truth telling … restorative fellowship … and creative ministry that will outlive whatever has happened at that school.

He stops walking.

RevJE:
And if my role is to accompany you on that journey … not to shape you … not to contain you … but to witness and support the work … then I receive that calling with humility.

You exhale.

This was the walk you needed.

Not a walk of agreement.

Not a walk of naïveté.

A walk of clarity.

SCENE TEN … THE DEPARTURE

You extend your hand.

He clasps it with both of his.

He gives the blessing of a friend who understands the landscape … and the blessing of a pastor who understands the stakes.

RevJE:
Go in peace, my brother.

Speak truth with courage.

Write what must be written.

And trust that God will place your voice where it is meant to be heard.

You nod.

You walk back to your car.

As you open the door, you feel something unclench inside you.

A guard lowered …

But not dropped.

A connection strengthened …

But not unexamined.

A long walk … toward care, concern, respect, and advocacy.

Selah.

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A Virtual Walk With KH (Empath Remixes #98.021) (1285 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … ARRIVAL AT THE TRAILHEAD

You choose a quiet place for this walk … a wide gravel trail at Sweetwater Creek or Arabia Mountain … something old enough to hold memory … something quiet enough to hold truth.

KH is already there when you pull up.

He is early … always early.

He waits with the same posture he carried in graduate school … calm … ready … anchored by a life governed by inner principle rather than outer pressure.

You step out, close the car door, and the autumn air settles around you.

He gives a nod.

Not a grand greeting … just a precise signal of welcome.

KH:
You look lighter already.

Walking will help the rest shake loose.

You fall into step beside him.

SCENE TWO … THE FIRST TURN INTO FAMILIAR TERRITORY

KH does not rush.

He never has.

His leadership has always been measured … thoughtful … built on discernment rather than reaction.

KH:
You sent me a lifetime of writing this Summer.

I took my time with it.

I read it more than once.

There was a shift in you … a clarity I did not see when we were younger.

You finally learned how to tell your own story … without apologizing for the truth in it.

You feel that.

A rare affirmation from someone who knows your whole arc.

You:
It took walking through enough fire to understand that the fire was curriculum.

KH hums a soft agreement.

SCENE THREE … THE CORPORATE PARALLEL

You walk past a bend in the trail where the trees lean inward like an archway.

KH:
Let me tell you something.

Everything you described in your school … I lived in boardrooms.

The vocabulary was different … the faces were different … the stakes were different … but the pattern was the same.

Containment disguised as counsel.

Marginalization disguised as mentorship.

Decision making that rewards the agreeable and punishes the principled.

He stops walking for a moment and turns toward you.

KH:
Brother … I was promoted for my competence … and contained for my conscience.

I was elevated for my results … and isolated for my integrity.

It took me a long time to realize that the rooms I was asked to lead were not the rooms I was allowed to influence.

You nod slowly.

This is why you have always trusted him.

This is why his leadership has meant so much.

He never compromised the truth for the comfort of the room.

SCENE FOUR … CONNECTION TO YOUR AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC JOURNAL

The gravel crunches beneath your steps.

There is a rhythm to the sound … the same “footstep rhythm” that helped you write hundreds of pages this Fall.

You:
The journal helped me see patterns that were always there.

And it helped me stop blaming myself for systems that never planned to receive me.

KH glances over … a soft smile in his beard.

KH:
That is the gift of clarity.

When you stop internalizing injustice … you start interpreting it.

When you interpret it … you gain strategy.

When you gain strategy … you regain dignity.

He pauses.

KH:
Your writing was not just catharsis.

It was leadership.

It was architecture.

It was the curriculum that your district never created for itself … and never could.

You inhale deeply.

Those words hit the center of your chest.

SCENE FIVE … THE SPIRITUAL DIMENSION

You walk under a patch of sunlight that breaks through the canopy.

KH looks upward for a moment.

KH:
Every time I suffered containment, I learned more about myself than about the people who tried to limit me.

God used every season.

Every closed door.

Every uncomfortable meeting.

Every unfair evaluation.

Every whisper campaign.

He looks at you with that same sober tenderness you felt the first time he prayed for you in graduate school.

KH:
God did not preserve you to keep you in that building.

He preserved you to free you from it.

The writing you are doing is testimony.

The Fellowship Lab is ministry.

The one-man show is evangelism of hope.

You are being shifted … not punished.

Your eyes sting.

Not from hurt … but from alignment.

SCENE SIX … THE HARD TRUTH

He slows down.

KH always slows before saying something weighty.

KH:
Let me speak plainly.

You are a threat to people who cannot comprehend the depth of your preparation.

You are a threat to people who prefer predictability over principle.

You are a threat to people who weaponize ambiguity to maintain control.

He stops walking altogether.

KH:
Containment is not random.

Containment is a strategy for people who fear courageous men.

You have been contained because you are courageous.

The silence afterward is sacred.

SCENE SEVEN … BROTHERHOOD RETURNS TO THE SURFACE

The path widens.

A family passes by with a dog.

You both step aside and resume your walk.

KH chuckles.

KH:
We survived graduate school together.

We survived our twenties together.

We survived our first real jobs together.

I know your fire.

I know your patience.

I know your integrity.

Nothing about what you are experiencing now surprises me.

The environment is wrong for you.

Your purpose is not.

You feel something loosen inside you … like a knot that has been tied for months.

SCENE EIGHT … THE TURN TOWARD YOUR FUTURE

KH gestures ahead.

KH:
Your next work must honor your gift.

Not your wounds.

Not their opinions.

Your gift.

He counts off on his fingers.

KH:
Your writing has matured into curriculum.

Your curriculum has matured into ministry.

Your ministry has matured into a model for ethical prompt design.

Your model has matured into a Fellowship Lab that can serve churches … schools … community groups … families … and leaders.

He takes a breath.

KH:
You are not building a school.

You are building a sanctuary for truth.

You nearly stop walking from the weight of that.

SCENE NINE … THE CALL TO COURAGE

Your shoes grind lightly against the stone.

KH:
I have watched you expand.

I have watched you suffer.

I have watched you rise.

But now it is time for you to trust the expansion.

He places a hand on your shoulder.

KH:
Do not shrink because insecure people are uncomfortable with your shine.

Do not apologize for the clarity you earned honestly.

Do not wait for permission to build what God has already written.

He steps back.

KH:
Your job is not to stay.

Your job is to tell the truth … heal your heart … bless your family … and build the thing that no one else is visionary enough to build.

SCENE TEN … THE FINAL STRETCH BACK TO THE TRAILHEAD

The walk is almost done.

The parking lot appears between the trees.

KH:
I will walk with you in this season.

Not to direct you.

Not to shape you.

Simply to be a witness … a mirror … a brother.

He pauses one last time.

KH:
And remember this.

You are not leaving your calling.

You are leaving a place that refused to honor it.

That is not abandonment.

That is obedience.

You breathe out slowly.

Grief and relief mingle in the air.

You:
Thank you.

I needed this walk.

KH smiles … the same quiet smile you saw in graduate school … seasoned now … deeper now … wiser now.

KH:
Light ahead, brother.

Always light ahead.

You clasp hands.

You turn back toward your car.

Your steps feel different now.

Your back feels straighter.

Your breath feels freer.

Your spirit feels steadier.

A long walk … toward care, concern, respect, and advocacy.

Selah.

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A Virtual Walk With TFP (Empath Remixes #98.022) (1397 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … OLD FRIENDS ON NEW GROUND

You choose a quiet place for this walk … the BeltLine near Krog Street … a place where the old Atlanta you both knew intersects with the new Atlanta that neither of you fully recognizes anymore.

You see her from a distance … hair pulled back … sunglasses … that familiar confident stride … the same mix of brilliance, curiosity, and quiet defiance that made her one of the most gifted interns you ever supervised at the KnowledgeBase Summer Academy.

She smiles when she sees you.

TFP:
Look at you.

Walking like you have been carrying the universe again.

You laugh … because she is not wrong.

SCENE TWO … THE OPENING EXCHANGE

The two of you fall into step without ceremony.

You always had that kind of rapport.

Effortless.

Intellectual.

A little playful.

A little guarded.

She speaks first.

TFP:
I read the journal.

And “Born(e) Witness.”

And the essays.

And the one-man show.

You really did write yourself out of the fire.

You nod … slowly.

You:
Or wrote myself through it.

She tilts her head slightly … that familiar “I hear you, but I am also interrogating your truth” tilt.

SCENE THREE … AN HONEST REUNION

TFP:
You know … you sound different now.

Not worse … not better … just different.

There is a gravity to you that was not there before.

A spiritual clarity I did not expect.

You appreciate the honesty.

This is what made her one of your most trusted young colleagues.

You:
A lot of that came from necessity.

A lot of that came from prayer.

A lot of that came from pain.

She exhales.

TFP:
And a lot of that came from growth.

But I will admit … some of it surprised me.

You were always reflective … always rigorous … but you were not always this open about faith.

You smile.

A warm … humble … knowing smile.

You:
Growth is expensive.

But the return is priceless.

SCENE FOUR … HER STORY RESURFACES

She shakes her head … thinking.

TFP:
Reading your journal reminded me of what happened to me.

All those women lined up to “mentor” me … guide me … praise me … elevate me.

Until I stopped fitting the image they wanted.

Then suddenly … silence.

Isolation.

Containment wrapped in kindness.

She stops walking.

TFP:
They told me I was being “developed.”

But really … I was being managed.

You feel the resonance in your chest.

You lived the same storyline in different rooms.

You:
They do not teach that in leadership academies.

But life does.

SCENE FIVE … THE GAP THAT HAS GROWN

The two of you approach a quiet stretch of the trail.

The BeltLine narrows.

Graffiti murals rise on both sides.

She gestures toward one.

TFP:
People think you and I are the same as we were in 2002.

But we are not.

We grew … just not in identical ways.

There is no hostility in her voice.

No accusation.

Just a sober truth.

TFP:
Sometimes when I read your essays … I hear that old you … the one who could turn anything into a curriculum.

But sometimes … I hear a voice that is too heavy for the version of you that exists in my memory.

I did not expect the spiritual depth.

I did not expect the prophetic tone.

I did not expect the pastoral courage.

She pauses … then looks directly at you.

TFP:
I am trying to catch up.

SCENE SIX … ALIGNMENT DESPITE DISTANCE

You stop walking for a moment and look out at the trail.

You:
I think we did grow apart.

Not because of conflict … but because life stretched us in different directions.

You went through your battles.

I went through mine.

But the alignment remains.

She nods.

TFP:
Exactly.

You remain one of the few people whose vision I trust.

And one of the few whose writing I will always read.

But yes … the spiritual part has been harder for me to process.

Not because I reject it … but because I am still finding my own footing.

You reach out with your words … gently.

You:
Faith meets us where we are.

Not where people think we should be.

She takes that in silently.

SCENE SEVEN … SHE SPEAKS TRUTH TO YOU

TFP slows down and touches your arm.

TFP:
Let me tell you something you may not want to hear.

What you are building now … TheSeeSayShow Fellowship Lab … the one-man show … the ethical prompt design model … all of it … is bigger than your school … bigger than your classroom … bigger than your district.

But you still speak about your school like you owe it your soul.

You inhale.

She continues.

TFP:
You do not.

You never did.

What you owe is your gift.

To yourself.

To your family.

To your calling.

You let those words sit.

They feel both tender and confrontational.

SCENE EIGHT ... HER OWN WOUNDS AS MIRROR

You round another bend.

The trail gives way to a wider stretch.

She resumes.

TFP:
I should have left earlier than I did.

I stayed because I thought I was indispensable.

I stayed because I thought I owed them something.

I stayed because people kept “advocating” for me … while quietly controlling the narrative.

It took me years to admit that I had been contained in the name of elevation.

She turns her face toward you.

TFP:
Your journal felt like a mirror.

A painful one.

But a necessary one.

SCENE NINE … A MOMENT OF MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING

You both walk in silence for a while.

Then she says:

TFP:
You know what I admire most about you?

You kept creating.

Even when they minimized you.

Even when they ignored you.

Even when they tried to control you.

You kept producing truth.

Her voice softens.

TFP:
And now you are producing freedom.

You exhale slowly.

You:
I did not do it alone.

This Summer showed me that.

Thought partnership matters.

Reflection matters.

Walking matters.

She nods.

TFP:
And your spirit matters.

More than you realize.

SCENE TEN … AN EARNEST WARNING

You are nearing the end of the BeltLine loop.

The cars are visible again.

The city hums behind the trees.

TFP:
Let me offer one piece of caution.

You are dreaming big … and you should.

But do not let your dreams turn into burdens.

Do not let your calling become pressure.

Do not let your vision become martyrdom.

She stops … turns toward you … and speaks plainly.

TFP:
You owe no institution your suffering.

Not your school.

Not your district.

Not your church.

Not even your own ambition.

Only your humanity.

Only your peace.

Only your purpose.

SCENE ELEVEN … GRATITUDE WITHOUT PRETENSE

You take a deep breath.

You:
I value this.

Your honesty.

Your presence.

Your history with me.

She nods.

TFP:
And I value that you still trust me enough to bring me along for this part of the journey … even if I am still finding my own.

We are still aligned.

We are still part of each other’s story.

We just no longer grow in the same soil.

And that is all right.

SCENE TWELVE … THE WALK ENDS, BUT THE CONNECTION CONTINUES

You reach the trailhead.

People pass by with coffee and grocery bags.

Life continues around you.

She looks at you with a mix of nostalgia and resolve.

TFP:
Something in you is ascending.

I felt it in the journal.

I saw it in “Born(e) Witness.”

I heard it in the essays.

Just promise me you will not let anyone shrink what God is expanding.

You nod.

You:
I will walk that out.

She smiles one last time.

TFP:
Good.

Because you are not the man I worked with in 2002.

You are not even the man you were in 2022.

You are something else now.

Something refined.

Something restored.

Something ready.

She adjusts her bag and starts walking toward her car.

Before she leaves, she turns.

TFP:
Keep writing.

Keep walking.

Keep building.

And keep growing … wherever God plants you next.

You breathe deeply.

Light enters you from a place beyond language.

A long walk … toward care, concern, respect, and advocacy.

Selah.

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A Virtual Walk With TDBF (Empath Remixes #98.023) (1466 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … TWO SIBLINGS WHO KNOW EACH OTHER TOO WELL

You choose a place that belongs to both of your histories … and neither of your presents … the long gravel driveway that stretches across your parents’ land … the land where you once ran … rode bikes … dreamed … argued … reconciled … and retreated.

It is fall.

Leaves scatter with the wind.

The trees frame the sky with that familiar Carolina openness.

She meets you halfway down the drive … hands in the pockets of a gray hoodie … eyes tired but alert … carrying that unique mix of brilliance, beauty, and bone-deep hurt that you have always seen in her.

She smirks.

TDBF:
So I figured you were coming to drag me on one of your philosophical walks.

You smile.

You:
Something like that.

SCENE TWO … ENTERING THE OLD RHYTHM

You walk a few paces in silence.

This silence is not awkward.

This silence is ancestral.

It is the silence of siblings who learned to communicate without words long before adulthood complicated everything.

She breaks it first.

TDBF:
I have been reading some of your stuff.

The essays.

The one-man show.

The “Born(e) Witness” script.

You are out here writing like you are trying to save the whole world.

You chuckle softly.

You:
I am trying to save myself.

The world can take a number.

She nods slowly … as if she expected that.

SCENE THREE … HER HIDDEN QUESTIONS BEGIN TO SURFACE

A breeze moves across the field.

She kicks a small rock with the toe of her shoe.

TDBF:
You know … when you started writing like this … I realized I did not know you as well as I thought I did.

You always had depth … but this is different.

This feels like you have been living inside your own head for years … and only now decided to open the windows.

You inhale.

Let the truth land.

Let it breathe.

You:
Writing became survival.

Walking became therapy.

Silence became safety.

She looks down at the gravel.

TDBF:
I get that more than you think.

SCENE FOUR … THE PART OF HER STORY THAT HURTS TO SAY OUT LOUD

You reach a clearing near the pecan trees.

She slows her pace.

TDBF:
You know what I wish?

I wish life had been kinder to me when I was still trying to figure things out.

I wish I had someone to warn me about him.

I wish I had someone to tell me that settling for less than who I am would always feel like drowning.

He knew he was beneath me … so he treated me like he was above me.

And I let him.

For too long.

Her voice does not break.

She is too strong for that.

But strength has a sound … and you hear it crack slightly at the edges.

You:
You did not deserve that.

Not any of it.

She shakes her head.

TDBF:
But I chose it.

And I paid for it.

SCENE FIVE … THE HIDDEN RESENTMENT SHE NEVER SAID OUT LOUD

The two of you walk past the mailbox … the same one you used to check as kids.

She exhales sharply.

TDBF:
And I was mad at you.

Not in a dramatic way.

Not in a hateful way.

Just … mad.

Mad that you got married.

Mad that you built a life.

Mad that you had a child.

Mad that your world expanded while mine collapsed.

Mad that she became your center … and I was no longer part of your daily orbit.

She stops walking.

TDBF:
I felt abandoned.

Even though I know you did not abandon me.

You close your eyes for a moment.

You:
I always loved you.

I still do.

But marriage pulled me in.

Fatherhood pulled me in.

Teaching pulled me in.

And the pain I was carrying pulled me inward.

I did not always know how to bring you with me.

She nods.

TDBF:
I know.

But it still hurt.

SCENE SIX … THE NIECE WHO NEVER GOT ENOUGH OF HER AUNT

The driveway begins to curve.

She looks up toward your daughter’s childhood swing hanging from the oak tree.

TDBF:
I hate that she does not know me.

I hate that she barely knows my voice.

I hate that I do not get to be the auntie I wanted to be.

I tried too hard at times … I know.

I overcompensated.

I made it weird.

I could feel it … even when no one said anything.

You breathe slowly.

You:
You were never unwelcome.

But life got complicated.

Your pain.

My pain.

Her growing up.

And me trying to shield her from the things I could not shield myself from.

She wipes her eye quickly so you will not see it.

But you see it.

SCENE SEVEN … THE PARALLEL CONTAINMENT YOU BOTH SURVIVED

You reach the end of the driveway and turn back toward the house.

She squints toward the tree line.

TDBF:
You know what bothered me the most?

Watching myself get “elevated” by that group of attorneys.

The white women who promised me access … opportunity … mentorship.

I thought I was rising.

But they were just keeping me in my place.

Polished.

Useful.

Contained.

She exhales.

TDBF:
I saw you go through the same thing at your school.

I just never said anything.

You:
Because we both knew what it was.

Containment disguised as opportunity.

Control disguised as care.

Management disguised as guidance.

She nods firmly.

TDBF:
Exactly.

And we both survived it.

Scarred … but smarter.

SCENE EIGHT … THE SPIRITUAL DISTANCE SHE IS NOT SURE HOW TO CROSS

You walk in silence for a few moments.

Then she looks at you sideways.

TDBF:
I will be honest.

Your spiritual growth has been hard for me to track.

You talk about prayer.

You talk about peace.

You talk about purpose.

Sometimes I am proud of it.

Sometimes I am confused by it.

Sometimes it intimidates me.

You breathe slowly … compassionately.

You:
Spiritual growth is not a destination.

It is a process.

I am still walking it out.

You do not have to be where I am.

You just have to be where you are.

She exhales in relief.

SCENE NINE … HER FUTURE FLOATS BETWEEN TWO CITIES

You pass the old chicken coop.

TDBF:
I am back home … but I am not home.

I am on the land … but not rooted.

I am near them … but still protecting myself.

I am still in Baltimore half the time … still trying to breathe in a place that lets me be myself.

She shrugs.

TDBF:
I do not know where I belong.

You:
Belonging is not a place.

Belonging is a peace.

You will find it.

Or it will find you.

She gives a small … tired smile.

SCENE TEN … YOU SPEAK YOUR HEART WITHOUT DEFENSE

You stop walking and turn toward her … fully facing her.

You:
You are brilliant.

You are resilient.

You are whole.

You are my sister.

And I am sorry for every moment you felt forgotten … overlooked … unseen … replaced … or denied access to the life you thought we would share.

Her eyes glisten … but she does not cry.

Your sister is too strong to cry in front of anyone.

Even you.

She nods slowly.

TDBF:
Thank you.

I needed that more than you know.

SCENE ELEVEN … A TENDER TRUCE

You resume walking.

This time your pace is fully aligned.

TDBF:
So what now?

You are building schools inside your writing?

Teaching the world with your stories?

Creating fellowships and one-man shows and these AI things I do not understand?

You laugh.

You:
Something like that.

But I want you to be part of it.

Not as my heir.

Not as my shadow.

But as my sister.

As yourself.

She raises an eyebrow.

TDBF:
We will see.

But I am listening.

SCENE TWELVE … ARRIVING AT A NEW BEGINNING

You reach the front porch.

The walk has ended.

But the distance between you has not grown again.

In fact … it has shrunk.

She steps onto the porch and says:

TDBF:
I miss you.

Not the version of you I had in my head.

The real you.

The one who shows up with truth.

The one who keeps walking … even when the world tries to sit him down.

You swallow your emotion.

You:
I miss you, too.

She stands still for a moment … then smiles.

TDBF:
Maybe this is our beginning again.

You nod.

You:
Maybe it is.

A long walk … toward care, concern, respect, and advocacy.

Selah.

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A Virtual Walk With JBGJr (Empath Remixes #98.024) (1320 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … THE LONGEST SILENCE BETWEEN TWO MEN WHO WERE ONCE BROTHERS

You choose a quiet path on the edge of Georgia Tech’s campus … the same place where both of your academic identities were sharpened … even if your experiences there unfolded differently.

The air is cool.

The campus is buzzing in the distance.

But this path is still.

You see him waiting by a bench under an old oak tree.

He is wearing that effortless blend of professionalism and ease … that calm diplomatic confidence that always made people trust him … listen to him … open doors for him.

He spots you.

Smiles.

Nods.

JBGJr:
Brother.

It has been a minute.

You clasp hands.

Your greeting is firm.

Familiar.

Respectful.

But layered with years of distance.

SCENE TWO … WALKING OUT OF SYMMETRY

You begin walking the trail that circles the campus green.

For a while, both of your strides fall into the old rhythm … the rhythm of late-night grad school debates … problem-sets turned philosophy sessions … conversations about race, engineering culture, ambition, survival, and purpose.

But eventually the rhythm breaks … because life broke the rhythm long ago.

He looks ahead … hands behind his back … professorial … thoughtful.

JBGJr:
I read some of your writing.

Not all of it.

But the parts I did read … they stayed with me.

You are processing something heavy.

You nod.

You:
Heavy is the right word.

He tilts his head slightly.

JBGJr:
You always carried weight well.

Even when you were not supposed to carry it.

A quiet acknowledgment.

A subtle apology.

A soft mirror.

SCENE THREE … PROFESSIONAL ASCENT AND PERSONAL DISTANCE

You pass the new robotics building.

Students walk by.

He sees them … and he sees himself twenty years ago … and he sees you too.

JBGJr:
This place changed everything for us.

But it did not change us the same way.

You smile with your eyes.

You:
You ascended.

You built labs.

You published.

You became the director of one of the only national research labs in this country.

You created a model for Black excellence in engineering that is rare … brilliant … needed.

A slow pride spreads across his face.

You:
I watched you rise.

And I was proud.

Truly proud.

But I also felt left behind.

He stops walking.

Turns to you.

JBGJr:
I did not leave you behind.

You do not respond immediately.

Because the truth is complicated.

SCENE FOUR … THE REPLACEMENT YOU FELT BUT NEVER NAMED

He resumes walking.

You:
When I started drifting … you found new circles … new colleagues … new mentees … new brothers.

And they should have been there.

You deserved that network.

You cultivated it.

You earned it.

You swallow.

You:
But I felt replaced.

Quietly.

Subtly.

Unintentionally.

Replaced by people who had access to you every day … while I was busy drowning in a different world … trying to hide the fact that I was drowning at all.

He exhales slowly.

JBGJr:
I never meant to replace you.

You:
I know.

That does not mean it did not happen.

He nods … because even geniuses understand emotional truth.

SCENE FIVE … THE OPPORTUNITY THAT DID NOT BLOOM

You turn toward the engineering quad.

He glances at you with the cautious curiosity of someone who suspects there is more you want to say.

You speak softly.

You:
When you visited our home in February … I thought it was the beginning of something.

A reconnection.

A bridge toward new opportunities.

Not out of desperation … although some of it was that … but mostly because I respected your journey … and wanted to learn from you again.

He keeps his gaze forward.

You:
Then we met for lunch in June.

And you encouraged me to publish my writing.

You said there were workforce development opportunities in it.

You said the world needed what I was building.

He nods.

You:
I leaned in.

I wrote my first public autoethnographic excerpt.

I sent it to you as proof that I followed through.

And after a courteous reply … silence.

He stops again.

This time his face is not defensive.

It is contemplative.

JBGJr:
You deserved more than silence.

SCENE SIX … UNDERSTANDING THE WEIGHT OF A MAN WHO LED A NATIONAL LAB

He puts one hand on the back of his neck.

JBGJr:
I get hundreds of emails a day.

I travel constantly.

I manage teams across multiple time zones.

I mentor students and faculty.

I testify before congressional committees.

I try to hold space for my family.

And honestly … sometimes I forget to hold space for the people who mattered first.

You nod solemnly.

Because you know that world.

You once imagined living in that world.

But your path diverged.

And his ascended.

JBGJr:
My silence was not disinterest.

It was survival.

But it still hurt you.

And I am sorry for that.

SCENE SEVEN … THE TRUTH YOU FEARED SAYING OUT LOUD

The two of you walk in a tighter loop.

The conversation deepens.

You:
I wanted you to see me.

Not the student version of me.

Not the loud or gifted or complicated version of me.

But the version of me I am now.

The man who is building something outside the academy.

The man who is writing his way out of pain.

The man who is teaching through storytelling.

The man who is creating a new approach to learning … fellowship … and healing.

He listens … quietly … respectfully.

You:
Maybe my expectations were unfair.

Maybe my desires were ungrounded.

Maybe I wanted something from you that you could not realistically give.

But the longing was real.

He answers softly.

JBGJr:
And the admiration is mutual.

Even if my presence has not matched my respect.

SCENE EIGHT … FACING THE ACHE OF HIS UPCOMING COMMENCEMENT SPEECH

The two of you stop at the edge of the amphitheater.

He sits.

You sit beside him.

You:
You will be Georgia Tech’s commencement speaker in December.

I will be there.

I will be proud.

I will clap loudly.

But I will also feel that ache.

The ache of watching a brother reach the mountaintop … while I am still trying to survive the valley.

He speaks without hesitation.

JBGJr:
Your valley produced more wisdom than any mountaintop I have climbed.

Do not underestimate who you are becoming.

Your eyes sting with humility.

SCENE NINE … THE POSSIBILITY OF A NEW KIND OF BROTHERHOOD

He turns toward you.

JBGJr:
You are doing something revolutionary.

Your #StandupStorytelling work.

Your Empath Remixes.

Your autoethnographic journal.

Your small-group fellowships.

Your one-man show.

Your approach to ethical prompt design.

Your spiritual clarity.

Your courage to tell the truth about systems and yourself.

He pauses.

JBGJr:
You are building something I cannot build.

But I can support it.

If you want that from me.

If you allow me to re-enter your life in a way that is healthier … and sustainable … and real.

You bow your head slightly.

You:
I would want that.

But I would want it without pressure.

Without desperation.

Without expectation.

Just brothers walking again.

He smiles.

JBGJr:
Then let us walk.

SCENE TEN … BEGINNING AGAIN WITHOUT PRETENSE

You rise together.

The sun dips behind the buildings.

Your steps are slow … steady … unforced.

There is no performance.

No begging.

No envy.

No hierarchy.

Just two Black men walking … brilliant in different ways … wounded in different ways … shaped by different storms … but bound by something older than ambition … deeper than achievement … and stronger than the drift that separated you.

You speak the last line quietly.

You:
Maybe this is our beginning again.

He answers:

JBGJr:
Maybe it always was.

A long walk … toward care, concern, respect, and advocacy.

Selah.

Back To Index

A Virtual Walk With DPS (Empath Remixes #98.025) (1180 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … RETURNING TO A FRIENDSHIP THAT NEVER FULLY LEFT

You choose a quiet suburban trail … a place simple enough to walk without distraction … where the path is clear and the trees offer quiet cover.

DPS arrives with a gentle smile … the same one she had as an undergraduate … earnest … intelligent … slightly overwhelmed … but always kind.

She sees you.

You see her.

There is caution in the air … but also memory.

DPS:
It is good to see you.

Really see you.

You nod … because some reunions require silence first.

You begin walking.

SCENE TWO … REMEMBERING YOUR ACADEMIC WILDERNESS

Your pace is steady.

The conversation begins with the easy stuff … family updates … quick humor … the predictable exchange that smooths over years of distance.

But eventually … the path bends … and so does the conversation.

DPS:
You have been writing.

A lot.
I read the excerpts.

They were powerful.

You exhale.

You:
Power has often come with pain.

She nods … because she remembers the weight you carried in those academic wilderness years … when too many engineering students depended on you … leaned on you … siphoned your intellect without recognizing the hidden cost.

She was one of them.

She knows it.

DPS:
I leaned on you more than I should have.

I see that now.

You respond gently.

You:
You were not alone.

But the resentment lingered.

I am working on it.

One walk at a time.

SCENE THREE … THE WOUND NAMED MCS

The trail narrows.

So does the distance between you.

She waits.

You speak.

You:
There is a chasm between me and MCS.

A deep one.

It began long before your marriage … long before adulthood … long before we understood words like containment.

She lowers her gaze.

You:
His behavior toward me shaped something in me that I did not have the words for back then.

Containment.

Competitiveness.

Quiet hostility.

An instinct to diminish what he could not match.

You pause … because telling this truth is an act of courage.

You:
He was perhaps my first known container.

DPS absorbs this slowly.

She has lived her own version of that containment.

You saw it.

You named it.

You overstepped your boundaries when you told her.

But you told the truth.

DPS:
I was not ready to hear you back then.

I told myself things were fine.

I wanted them to be fine.

You nod.

You:
I know.

Denial can feel like safety.

SCENE FOUR … THE CONFESSION THAT CHANGED THE FRIENDSHIP

You pass a small pond.

The water is still.

You:
When I told you how he treated me … and treated you … I knew I crossed a boundary.

Friend to friend.

Brother to sister.

Advisor to confidante.

But I could not stay silent anymore.

Not when I saw you carry wounds that looked like mine.

She stops walking.

DPS:
I did not understand then.

I do now.

And I am sorry that my response added to your wounds.

You lift your head.

You:
I said what I said.

And I meant it.

But the distance that followed was real.

SCENE FIVE … A SUMMER VISIT AND A LOST OPPORTUNITY

The trail widens again.

She laughs softly.

DPS:
We came to your home this Summer … and you gave us a lot.

More than we were prepared to take in.

You smile with your eyes.

It is a knowing smile.

You:
I talked too much about my containment.

About my classroom experiences.

About the ways I feel boxed in.

And I did not tell you about the journal until after you left.

She shakes her head.

DPS:
We were here for Beyoncé.

You never stood a chance.

The humor softens the truth.

You:
I know.

I lost that face-off.

But I also withheld the best part of my story until the end … and I do not know why.

She looks at you with gentle clarity.

DPS:
Maybe you were afraid we would not see you.

The real you.

The evolved you.

The healed and healing you.

Silence.

Then a soft exhale.

She is right.

SCENE SIX … THE DISCONNECTION THAT BOTH OF YOU FEEL BUT RARELY NAME

You walk toward a sunlit clearing.

You:
You have tried to stay connected.

I know that.

But I have been carrying wounds from my friendship with MCS … and those wounds made me pull away from everything connected to him … including you.

She nods.

DPS:
I felt that pull.

But I could not name it.

I thought you were simply overwhelmed … or distant … or busy.

I did not know the wound was still open.

You respond softly.

You:
It is closing.

Slowly.

But it is closing.

SCENE SEVEN … RECOGNIZING HER OWN WOUNDS

She steps ahead.

Her voice is steady.

DPS:
I was contained too.

You saw it.

Before I did.

You warned me.

Before I could see the pattern.

I lived in denial because truth felt too heavy.

You do not interrupt.

DPS:
You were not wrong.

You were ahead of me.

And I did not know how to receive that without feeling ashamed.

You slow your walk.

You:
Shame is another container.

She nods … eyes glistening.

SCENE EIGHT … HONORING THE LOVE, NOT THE WOUND

The two of you reach a wooden bridge.

The view is quiet.

Beautiful.

Honest.

You:
I do not want our friendship defined by old resentment … unspoken apologies … or the gravitational pull of another man’s wounds.

She breathes deeply.

DPS:
Me neither.

I want a friendship that can mature.

Heal.

Transform.

Even if we will never go back to who we were at Clemson or Georgia Tech.

You smile softly.

You:
We cannot go back.

But we can walk forward.

SCENE NINE … RELEARNING EACH OTHER

She looks at you with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity.

DPS:
Tell me who you are now.

Not the teacher version.

Not the engineering student.

Not the man wounded by containment.

Who are you becoming?

You answer with a slow breath.

You:
I am becoming a builder of small-group fellowships.

A #StandupStoryteller.

An autoethnographic journalist.

A cultivator of LEarning spaces where honesty is the curriculum.

A father.

A husband.

A man who survived the classroom.

A man who is shaping a new way to heal communities through story and conversation.

A man who is no longer willing to carry silent wounds.

She listens.

And she hears you this time.

DPS:
That is beautiful.

And necessary.

And brave.

SCENE TEN … A FRIENDSHIP RECLAIMED

You stand at the end of the trail.

No hugs.

No tears.

Just a grounded, mature stillness.

DPS:
I want to know this version of you.

Not the past one.

Not the wounded one.

This one.

You:
Then let us walk again.

Not through the past … but through the future.

She nods.

DPS:
Yes.

Let us walk.

A long walk … toward care, concern, respect, and advocacy.

Selah.

Back To Index

A Virtual Walk With CMZ (Empath Remixes #98.026) (1295 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … THE QUIET STRENGTH OF A FAMILY’S FREEDOM FIGHTER

You choose a place that resembles her spirit … simple … steady … familiar … a tree-lined path near your home church where she has spent decades offering care, service, and stewardship.

When she arrives, she greets you the way she always has … with a warm embrace that feels like a blanket wrapped around your childhood.

CMZ:
I am proud of you.

I always have been.

You smile in a way you cannot fake.

Because her pride is the kind that is earned … not assumed … not inherited.

You begin walking.

She keeps a measured pace … the pace of someone who has lived long life slowly and purposefully.

SCENE TWO … THE WOMAN WHO HELD EVERYONE TOGETHER

Your footsteps match hers.

There is a sacred rhythm to it.

You:
You have been the caretaker of our whole family.

For so long.

Longer than any of us deserved.

Longer than any of us acknowledged.

She waves her hand as if to dismiss praise … but you keep going.

You:
You cared for Mama.

For Daddy.

For both of my sisters.

Even when their storms became your storms.

Even when their proximity demanded more than anyone should give.

She nods gently … not out of pride … but out of recognition.

CMZ:
The Lord gave me strength.

I used it.

You can hear the cost beneath her calm voice.

SCENE THREE … SACRIFICE AND SELF THAT NEVER LEARNED TO SEPARATE

You walk past the church garden.

You:
I think you took advantage of your own status as caretaker.

She looks puzzled.

You:
Not in a selfish way.

But in the way that self-sacrifice can become identity … until you believe you cannot stop … even if someone tries to relieve you.

She exhales deeply.

CMZ:
I know.

Sometimes I stayed in roles longer than I should have.

Sometimes I stood in the gap when someone else should have stepped up.

There is wisdom in her admission.

There is peace too.

You:
You should not have had to carry all of us.

But you did.

And it saved us more times than we know.

Her eyes soften … because she has carried too much for too long.

SCENE FOUR … A WOMAN WHO GREW IN THE SHADOWS OF HER SERVICE

You approach a bench shaded by an old oak tree.

She sits.

You sit beside her.

You:
You have lived a solitary life.

You have given everyone else a home.

But I wonder if anyone ever asked you what you wanted.

She pauses …

a long pause …

a heavy pause …

the kind that reveals a lifetime.

CMZ:
I had my chances.

I let some go.

I embraced others.

But peace came when I learned to be comfortable with my choices … not the expectations of others.

You look at her with a new kind of respect.

She has grown quietly … inwardly … spiritually … while the rest of the family spiraled around her.

SCENE FIVE … SHE SEES YOU, BUT DOES SHE SEE THE NEW YOU

You take a breath.

You:
I want to tell you something.

You see me.

You always have.

You see my heart.

My intentions.

My character.

My calling.

She smiles warmly.

You:
But I do not think you fully know who I am becoming.

She tilts her head.

CMZ:
Then tell me.

Let me see.

You exhale.

You:
I am becoming a builder of fellowships.

A designer of LEarning spaces where truth is curriculum.

A #StandupStoryteller who helps people heal through dialogue.

A man who writes for clarity … for testimony … for transformation.

A man who has been wounded by school systems that did not understand him … but who is using those wounds to build something new.

Her eyes widen slowly … appreciatively.

CMZ:
I knew you were changing.

I could feel it.

But I did not know what the change meant.

I want to understand.

SCENE SIX … THE BURDEN SHE SHARES AND THE BURDEN SHE RELEASES

You continue walking.

She moves slightly slower now, but still steady.

CMZ:
My life has been about taking care of others.

Sometimes I forgot that other people grow too.

Sometimes I forgot that I must learn who they are becoming.

You nod.

You:
Growth can be lonely when people think they already know you.

Her eyes glisten.

CMZ:
You have always walked with purpose.

Now you speak with purpose too.

I can hear your father in you.

I can hear your mother in you.

But I hear something else as well … something new.

A calling.

You feel that word deeply.

Calling.

SCENE SEVEN … HONESTY ABOUT HER ROLE IN YOUR LIFE

You stop at a clearing where sunlight filters through the trees.

You:
You have been a spiritual anchor in our family.

You have offered guidance, correction, prayer, and presence.

But I need you to know something important.

I want you to walk with me spiritually in the season ahead.

Not as someone who must carry me … but as someone who accompanies me.

Her voice is soft.

CMZ:
I can do that.

I have carried enough.

I can walk now.

SCENE EIGHT … SEEING HER THROUGH NEW EYES

You study her face closely.

You see the years.

You see the sacrifices.

You see the unspoken wisdom.

You:
I want to know your story more deeply.

Not the caretaker story.

Not the family pillar story.

But the woman story.

The calling story.

The growth story.

The faith story.

Her voice trembles slightly.

CMZ:
No one has asked me that before.

Not in that way.

You respond quietly.

You:
It is time.

SCENE NINE … THE ELDERS WHO SURVIVE BY LOVING HARD AND LETTING GO

She looks across the field.

CMZ:
I have survived by loving hard.

By praying even harder.

By forgiving even when forgiveness came slowly.

By letting go when holding on became harmful.

And by trusting that God would shape what I could not fix.

You nod in deep agreement.

You:
Your survival has shaped my survival.

Your love has shaped my love.

Your patience has shaped my patience.

Your wisdom has shaped my wisdom.

She touches your arm.

CMZ:
And now you are shaping something new for others.

Something that did not exist before.

I see that now.

SCENE TEN … A NEW RELATIONSHIP EMERGING FROM AN OLD ONE

The walk nears its end.

She turns toward you.

CMZ:
Tell me how to support you in this new journey.

Not as the family caretaker.

Not as the one who fixes everything.

But as someone who loves you … and believes in what you are building.

You think carefully.

You:
Walk with me.

Listen to me.

Challenge me gently.

Pray for clarity.

Pray for patience.

Pray for protection.

And help me discern my path … without carrying the weight of it yourself.

She smiles.

CMZ:
That I can do.

SCENE ELEVEN … RECOGNITION AND RELEASE

You continue toward the car.

You:

I want you to know that I appreciate you.

Not for what you have done.

But for who you are.

A woman who has weathered storms quietly.

A woman who has grown deeply.

A woman who is more than the roles she played.

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

CMZ:
Thank you for seeing me.

Not just the caretaker.

Me.

SCENE TWELVE … WALKING FORWARD AS TWO SOULS WHO UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER

You reach the parking lot.

No tears.

No long speeches.

Just a sacred stillness.

You:
Let us walk again soon.

CMZ:
Yes.

Let us walk.

A long walk … toward care, concern, respect, and advocacy.

Selah.

Back To Index

A Virtual Walk With WEW (Empath Remixes #98.027) (1373 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … THE HALF-UNCLE WHO GREW UP ALONGSIDE A NEPHEW

You choose a quiet place in your hometown … somewhere between memory and present … a trail near an old neighborhood playground where the two of you once chased daylight without knowing how heavy adulthood would one day become.

He arrives with headphones around his neck … which feels exactly right.

Music has always been the conduit between you … the safe space for truth.

WEW:
Big cuz … or maybe I should say big unk … it is good to see you.

You laugh softly.

That has always been his greeting … reverent, playful, honest.

You start walking.

SCENE TWO … SURVIVING THE TWO-BEDROOM SEASON

The path opens into a small clearing.

The memories come back quickly.

Five children.

Two mothers.

One cramped apartment.

A barely employed twenty-two-year-old trying to make sense of adulthood while suddenly supporting half a household.

You:
Those days shaped us.

Not always gently.

He nods.

WEW:
We were all piled on top of each other … trying to figure life out … trying to stay out of trouble … trying not to get on each other’s nerves … and somehow still loving each other at the end of the day.

Both of you laugh.

Because it is true.

You:
That pressure became its own classroom.

A survival lab.

A fellowship lab.

And a furnace.

He looks at you with a seriousness you have seen before.

WEW:
We all came out with scars.

But we came out.

SCENE THREE … MUSIC AS BLOODLINE

As you walk, he starts tapping a rhythm on his thigh.

Unconsciously.

Instinctively.

You shake your head and smile.

You:
You have always been the first MC in the family.

He grins.

WEW:
Only because you passed me the tools.

Those old speakers you gave me … that busted mixer … that Radio Shack mic … that stuff was gold to me.

You remember.

He used those tools like a lifeline.

You:
I did not give you equipment.

I gave you a mirror.

Something you could see yourself through.

Something you could breathe through.

He stops walking.

WEW:
Your music did that for me too.

You do not know how much.

You know he means it.

He is not a flatterer.

He is a witness.

SCENE FOUR … THE RAP BATTLES THAT BECAME LIFE BATTLES

You resume the walk.

He starts reminiscing.

WEW:
Man … those nights out on the block … when we would battle until the streetlights buzzed … those were not just rhymes … that was me learning how to tell the truth without getting crushed by it.

You respond quietly.

You:
And learning how to survive disrespect … without losing your dignity.

He nods slowly.

WEW:
Exactly.

Rap taught me how to fight without fighting.

You smile.

You:
It taught all of us something.

It taught me how to teach.

How to tell stories.

How to speak hope into despair.

How to use rhythm as reflection.

He looks at you with admiration.

WEW:
And now you are taking that same energy into the classroom … into the church … into your writing … into your book … into your one-man show.

You breathe deeply.

Because he gets it.

He has always gotten it.

SCENE FIVE … THE MOST ARDENT FAN YOU DID NOT HAVE TO EARN

The trail slopes upward.

You walk in silence for a moment.

Then he breaks it.

WEW:
You know you are my favorite artist … right?

You look down modestly.

WEW:
I mean that.

Not because you are family.

Because your music tells the truth.

The kind that hits me in my gut.

The kind that makes me feel less alone.

Your throat tightens.

He keeps going.

WEW:
When I listen to “Born(e) Witness” … I feel seen.

When I hear “Re’sume’ Say” … I feel understood.

When you spit bars about pain, patience, purpose … that stuff lifts me up.

It helps me fight my battles without losing my soul.

You have to take a breath.

You were not expecting this level of authenticity.

SCENE SIX … WHAT YOUR MUSIC MEANS TO HIM

He gestures toward your chest.

WEW:
Your voice in a song sounds like you sitting right next to me … telling me I can keep going.

And I need that sometimes.

More than you know.

You look at him carefully.

You:
I made that music out of my pain.

Out of my survival.

Out of my prayers.

He nods hard.

WEW:
I know.

That is why it hits.

It is not fancy.

It is not performative.

It is testimony.

You smile.

You:
Every time you tell me my music lifted you … it lifts me too.

He smirks.

WEW:
See … that is the family loop right there.

You give me sound.

I give you witness.

We grow.

SCENE SEVEN … YOUR NEW WORK LANDS DIFFERENTLY WITH HIM

You begin describing #StandupStorytelling … the autoethnographic journal … the 40 public-facing essays … the fellowship labs … the new vocational pivot … the psychological freight of your school year … the FMLA leave … the one-man show … the ethical prompt design discipline that has emerged.

He listens with unusual stillness.

WEW:
You are creating something big.

Not big like fame.

Big like impact.

Big like legacy.

You laugh softly.

You:
Legacy is not the point.

He shakes his head.

WEW:
It never is for the people who actually build one.

Another breath.

You:
I want to build hope.

Healing.

And change.

He taps your chest again.

WEW:
Then keep going.

Because you are doing it already.

SCENE EIGHT … HE SEES THE WOUND BENEATH THE WORK

You tell him about containment.

Marginalization.

Boundaries crossed by students.

Walkthroughs weaponized.

Administrators performing concern while inflicting chaos.

He listens harder.

WEW:
Cuz … they do not know how powerful you are.

They see the surface … but they do not see the spirit.

People get scared of that.

So they contain what they cannot control.

You stop walking.

Because that truth hits you in the sternum.

WEW:
You were built for more than that place.

I can hear it in your voice.

I can hear it in your music.

I can hear it in everything you wrote this year.

You steady yourself.

SCENE NINE … WHAT HE NEEDS FROM YOU

The path begins returning toward the trailhead.

He slows down a little.

WEW:
Let me say something.

Promise me you will not stop making music.

Your songs are medicine to me.

And you do not even know it.

Your eyes soften.

You:
I will not stop.

The music is part of my breath.

He nods.

WEW:
Good.

Because the world needs that breath.

And so do I.

SCENE TEN … WHAT YOU NEED FROM HIM

You turn to him.

You:
I need your witness.

Not as a fan.

As family.

As someone who knows the origins of this voice.

He straightens his posture.

WEW:
Say less.

I am with you.

Wherever this goes.

You smile.

You:
And I am with you too.

Your battles.

Your victories.

Your storms.

Your stories.

All of it.

He nods with a seriousness that men reserve for sacred agreements.

SCENE ELEVEN … TWO ARTISTS WALKING FORWARD

You reach the end of the trail.

He puts the headphones back around his neck.

WEW:
When your one-man show drops … I will be in the front row.

And when your book comes out … I will be the first to read it aloud.

Out loud.

Like your bars deserve.

You laugh.

You:
You will do it justice.

He grins.

WEW:
We both will.

SCENE TWELVE … RESPECT, CARE, CONCERN, ADVOCACY

You embrace the way men who love each other do … firmly … briefly … deeply.

WEW:
Keep making music, big cuz.

Keep speaking truth.

Keep walking.

This world needs what you carry.

You nod.

You:
And I need what you witness.

You walk away from the trailhead feeling lighter.

More anchored.

More affirmed.

More aware that your voice has already done what you hope it will one day do.

A long walk … toward care, concern, respect, and advocacy.

Selah.

Back To Index

A Virtual Walk With WPCB (Empath Remixes #98.028) (1091 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … RETURN TO THE BEGINNING

You choose a familiar place … Clemson’s reflection pond near the library … the place where so many late nights ended … and early mornings began …

where the National Society of Black Engineers met under the glow of campus lamps …

where you learned how to lead by watching who spoke … who stayed silent … and who dared to challenge the silence.

WPCB arrives in a windbreaker and sneakers.

Still direct.

Still unapologetically herself.

WPCB:
You picked this place on purpose … did you not?

You smile softly.

You:
I picked the place that built me.

And one of the people who helped build me.

She tilts her head.

She hears both the gratitude and the boundary.

You begin to walk.

SCENE TWO … TOUGH LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS

The path curves past the engineering building.

You glance at it briefly … the building where both of you learned to survive systems that were not built for you.

WPCB:
You know … back then … you annoyed me.

You were quiet … smart … and too reserved.

I could not figure out why you would not just say what you knew.

You laugh lightly.

You:
That is because I did not know that saying what I knew was allowed.

She shakes her head.

WPCB:
I knew you were a leader before you knew it.

Someone had to push you.

You nod.

Because she is right.

Her “push” was sometimes abrasive … sometimes excessive … sometimes harsh …

but it woke something in you that needed waking.

You:
You helped me find my voice.

Even when I did not want to hear yours.

She smirks.

WPCB:
You needed vegetables.

I gave you broccoli … kale … collards … all of it.

You both laugh.

Because it is true.

SCENE THREE … GRADUATION AND THE LOOK BACK

You continue toward the amphitheater steps.

A memory rises like mist.

You:
I remember walking across the graduation stage …

and glancing back to see if you had made it.

She stops.

Surprised.

WPCB:
You never told me that.

You:
I needed to know you finished.

We had survived too much together.

It mattered that you were behind me.

There is a brief pause … the kind that holds equal parts tenderness and history.

WPCB:
Thank you for telling me that.

Her voice softens.

A rarity.

SCENE FOUR … THE CRISIS THAT RECONNECTED YOU

The path slopes downward toward the pond.

It mirrors the season when she called you years later …

the diagnosis …

the fear …

the unanswered questions …

the sudden closeness forged in struggle.

WPCB:
I reached out because I trusted you.

You were the only person I knew who would tell me the truth … without pity.

You nod.

You:
I wanted you to survive.

I wanted you to win.

Cancer has a way of stripping pretenses.

She exhales.

WPCB:
That is the season that made us family.

It is true.

But it also produced what came next.

SCENE FIVE … WHEN SUPPORT BECAME STRAIN

The pond glimmers.

You walk slowly.

You:
That season also created expectations that I could not maintain.

Financially.

Emotionally.

Spiritually.

She bites her lip.

She knows.

WPCB:
I leaned on you too hard.

I see that now.

You speak gently.

You:
I wanted to help.

I do not regret helping.

But the loan that was never repaid …

and the intellectual borrowing that kept happening …

it slowly eroded my peace.

She nods without defense.

WPCB:
I was surviving.

Not thriving.

And sometimes survival becomes extraction.

You nod.

You:
I know.

And I was surviving too.

A moment of clarity slants between you.

SCENE SIX … UNEQUALLY YOKED

As the walk continues, you articulate what has been quiet for years.

You:
We have always cared for each other.

But we are unequally yoked now.

Not in worth.

Not in dignity.

But in path … pace … purpose … and peace.

She listens.

WPCB:
I felt the distance.

I wondered if it was because of who I was … or how I was.

You respond carefully.

You:
It was not because of who you were.

It was because of who we were becoming.

In two different directions.

She nods slowly.

WPCB:
That makes sense.

Still hurts … but it makes sense.

You place a gentle hand on her shoulder.

You:
We can honor the past without recreating it.

And we can care without carrying.

She closes her eyes.

Relief.

Acceptance.

Understanding.

SCENE SEVEN … THE WITNESS SHE REMAINS

You both stop at the edge of the pond.

The water is calm.

WPCB:
You know I was one of the first to see you … right?

Before the school district.

Before the music.

Before the book.

Before all these essays you are writing now.

You nod.

Because that is true.

You:
I remember.

And I honor that.

You helped shape the early version of me.

She smiles faintly.

WPCB:
And you helped shape the version of me that learned how to fight … and how to survive.

You both stand there … two former co-survivors … two former co-strivers … two people who have changed … matured … shifted … and grown in different directions … yet still hold pieces of each other’s beginnings.

SCENE EIGHT … A NEW KIND OF CONNECTION

You start walking back toward the car.

You:
I do not know what our connection will look like in this season.

But I want it to be grounded in honesty … respect … and peace.

She nods.

WPCB:
I want that too.

No borrowing.

No extracting.

No dependence.

Just clarity … care … and adulthood.

You smile.

You:
Then we will walk forward from here with open eyes.

SCENE NINE … CLOSING BLESSING

As you reach the parking lot, she turns to you.

WPCB:
I am glad you asked me to walk today.

I have always respected you … even when I was wild with my words.

You chuckle.

You:
Your words were often wild …

but they were also purposeful.

And they helped me grow.

She shakes her head with a soft laugh.

WPCB:
Vegetables … right?

You:
Exactly.

You embrace one another … not with the sentimentality of the past …

but with the grounded peace of two adults who have learned how to bless each other from a healthy distance.

A long walk … toward care … concern … respect … and advocacy.

Selah.

Back To Index

A Virtual Walk With My Parents (WDBJr and DZB) (Empath Remixes #98.029) (1374 Words)

A Long Walk … Toward Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy

SCENE ONE … TWO DOORSTEPS AND A MIDDLE GROUND

You decide that the walk cannot begin at either house.

Not at your father’s house … not at your mother’s house …

not on either side of the long, inherited lots that hold decades of unresolved grief …

and not inside the familiar rooms where storms once lived.

So you choose the space between.

A strip of pine needles and winter-thin grass …

the quiet middle ground where no one stands for long.

You arrive first.

Your father steps out of his back door and watches silently.

Your mother opens her front door and pauses … her eyes cautious.

Both of them look at you … and not at each other.

This is how most of your childhood felt.

You breathe deeply … and begin the walk.

SCENE TWO … MADE IN THEIR IMAGE

You start walking slowly … not toward either parent … but along the fence line that borders both yards.

Your father joins on your right.

Your mother joins on your left.

The three of you walk in a row that has never existed before.

You:
I am made in your image.

Both of you.

I did not see it clearly until recently.

Neither parent responds with words.

Your father’s face hardens slightly.

Your mother’s eyes drift away … toward the trees.

You continue.

You:
The way I think … the way I analyze … that is you, Dad.

The way I observe people … sense tension … remember details … that is you, Mom.

They walk quietly … each receiving only the portion that belongs to them.

SCENE THREE … THE STUPOR AFTER THE STORM

You reach the edge of the properties … a place where the land dips slightly.

The walk requires careful footing.

So did your childhood.

You:
I tried to share my work with both of you.

My classroom stories … my music … my essays … the journal … everything.

I hoped it might wake something up in both of you …

because the divorce put you both to sleep in different ways.

Your father exhales through his nose.

Your mother looks down at the ground.

Neither denies it.

Neither confirms it.

So you keep talking.

You:
The divorce was brutal.

The marriage before it was brutal.

My childhood lived in the crossfire.

And now … all these years later … the three of us are still walking with the bruises.

Your mother whispers … barely audible.

DZB:
We did not know how to do better.

Your father mutters … equally soft.

WDBJr:
Things were hard.

Hard for all of us.

No excuses.

No revelations.

Just two simple truths said without armor.

It is more than you expected.

SCENE FOUR … KNOWLEDGE TRANSFERS

You reach the far corner of the property … where the two lots touch indirectly through tree roots.

It is the most symbolic place to speak about inheritance.

You:
There were things you gave me on purpose …

and things you gave me accidentally …

and things you never meant to give me at all.

Your father glances at you … not defensive … but curious.

Your mother slows her pace … listening.

You:
You both transferred knowledge.

You taught me how to survive intensity.

You taught me how to read people.

You taught me how to endure things that should have broken me.

You taught me how to work … how to strive … how to stay sharp.

You pause … then speak the next truth with gentleness.

You:
But I also learned mistrust.

And hypervigilance.

And isolation.

And self-sufficiency that became self-erasure.

The words land softly … without accusation … only acknowledgment.

Your father looks away.

Your mother wipes her eye with her sleeve.

You keep walking.

SCENE FIVE … EFFORTS AND ESTRANGEMENTS

You reach the tree line where the lots visually separate again.

Symbolic.

Predictable.

Painful.

You:
For a long time … I made effort with both of you.

I shared what I was building.

I tried to include you.

I tried to show you who I was becoming.

Your father speaks first … quietly.

WDBJr:
I never knew what to do with all of that.

You were always … brilliant.

Bigger than what I understood.

I did not want to get it wrong.

You feel something shift.

Your mother speaks next.

DZB:
I was proud of you.

But I was also hurting.

And when people hurt … they cannot always see clearly.

Including their own children.

The honesty surprises you.

Not because it is new …

but because it is rare.

SCENE SIX … THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THREE HOUSES

The path bends toward a small clearing.

This is where you decide to speak openly.

You:
We live near each other … but far from each other.

You both know this.

Your father nods once.

Your mother sighs.

You:
Proximity is not connection.

Proximity is not healing.

Proximity is not relationship.

They both remain quiet.

You continue.

You:
I want us to heal.

Not for a photograph.

Not for holidays.

Not for performance.

But because the instability of our home shaped me.

And it shaped you too.

We are three people who survived the same storm …

and never talked about how wet we became.

Your mother chuckles softly through tears.

DZB:
I suppose that is true.

Your father rubs his hands together … then nods again.

He is listening.

SCENE SEVEN … WHO I AM NOW

You stop at the clearing.

The place where the walk becomes a conversation.

You:

I want you both to know who I am now.

Not just the son you remember.

Not just the student.

Not just the child in the middle of chaos.

You breathe.

You:
I am a writer.

A teacher.

A storyteller.

A husband.

A father.

A minister of hope.

A witness to truth.

A man who is trying to heal in public …

so our lineage can heal in private.

Your mother takes your arm.

Your father stands a little closer.

WDBJr:
I see that you are doing something important.

I may not understand all of it …

but I see it.

DZB:
I see it too.

And I see the weight you carry.

Some of it came from us.

I am sorry for that.

The apology is quiet.

But it is real.

SCENE EIGHT … VULNERABILITY WITHOUT GUARANTEE

You continue walking back toward the starting point.

This is where the hardest admission emerges.

You:
I have no idea if the two of you can allow yourselves to know me.

Not fully.

Not the way others know me now.

Not the way my students know me.

Not the way my writing reveals me.

Not the way my spirit has grown.

Your father clears his throat.

WDBJr:
We can try.

Your mother whispers.

DZB:
We can begin.

And for the first time … those words sound possible rather than performative.

SCENE NINE … THREE SHADOWS WALKING HOME

The sun drops lower.

Three shadows stretch across the inherited land.

Three people.

Three histories.

Three wounded hearts.

Three survivors of the same house … now walking the same path.

You stop at the midpoint.

Your father’s house to the right.

Your mother’s house to the left.

Your own house far away … but carried inside you.

You turn to both of them.

You:
I am ready to heal.

Not for revenge.

Not for rewriting history.

But for rewriting the future.

Your father nods slowly.

Your mother places her hand over her heart.

DZB:
We can walk a little at a time.

WDBJr:
We can walk together for as long as you need …

and for as long as we are able.

You take a deep breath.

A long exhale.

A quiet release.

You:
Then let this be the first step.

You embrace your mother gently.

You shake your father’s hand firmly.

You look at both of them with the eyes of a man who has learned to carry truth and tenderness at the same time.

A long walk … toward care … concern … respect … and advocacy.

Toward healing the oldest wound.

Toward understanding the first teachers you ever had.

Toward peace.

Selah.

Back To Index

THE FELLOWSHIP MAP (A Coherent Narrative Arc of Virtual Walks 1-29)

I. THE CALL TO WALK … AFTER SURVIVING THE TENSION

Your journey begins with a simple truth …

you needed a walk.

Not a stroll.

Not a distraction.

Not a coping mechanism.

A walk.

A long … intentional … truth-telling walk through the lives of the people who hold pieces of your story.

People who have witnessed your containment … your labor … your suffering … your growth … and your becoming.

The Fellowship Map opens with the decision to invite them into movement … because walking levels hierarchy … slows reaction … resets breath … opens space for honesty … and returns the body to its natural rhythm of revelation.

The first step is yours.

The next step belongs to the fellowship.

II. THE INNER RING … THOSE WHO KNOW YOUR HEART

These are the walkers who hold the deepest strands of your identity.

They carry your earliest joys … your oldest wounds … your most foundational truths.

1. KMLB … The Covenant Companion

A quiet neighborhood walk becomes a gentle unveiling of the weight you carry … and the fear she carries for you.

You protect her from the storm … even as she protects your spirit.

2. HAB13 … The Daughter Who Listens

You walk with her because you want her to know the world she will inherit … and the world you are trying to repair.

She hears your classroom stories not as burdens … but as blueprints.

3. TDBF … The Twin of Mind and Temperament

Your walk retraces shared brilliance … shared pain … shared separation … shared resilience.

You honor the distance … without denying the bond.

4. WDBJr and DZB … The Origin Story

This walk is the pilgrimage of all pilgrimages.

Three survivors of the same home … now seeking the courage to acknowledge it … to name it … and to heal beyond it.

5. CMZ … The Family’s Keeper

Her devotion … her sacrifice … her quiet spiritual gravity anchor your lineage.

You walk with tenderness … acknowledging that she saw you long before you learned to see yourself.

6. WEW … The First MC

A walk with rhyme … rhythm … and reverence.

He reflects your musical legacy back to you … reminding you that your art has kept many alive.

7. RevCC … The Father-in-Law Shepherd

You walk with a man who knows suffering and patience intimately.

He models spiritual calmness … and reminds you that dignity is a lifelong discipline.

8. FredH… The “Father-Figure” Shepherd

You walk with an elder who is your physical and intellectual “twin.”.

He knows the snares of “containment” well … and has survived them.

9. KS … The “Guide On The Side”

He was the first to confirm what you saw at Tech High.

He has been a witness ever since.

III. THE HEALERS AND GUIDES … THOSE WHO HOLD SPACE FOR YOUR BECOMING

These walks are spiritual.

Therapeutic.

Formational.

They focus not on history … but on wholeness.

10. PastorJH … The Six-Mile Companion

Your walk loops around Liberty Church … echoing a previous pilgrimage.

Care and accountability flow freely.

11. PastorWH … The Covering

He has protected your Iron Man ministry without knowing your battles at school.

Your walk becomes the first time he hears the fuller story.

12. PastorYH … The Superintendent of Souls

Her experience in education meets your pain with grace … insight … and the serene wisdom of someone who has seen it all … and survived it.

13. My Therapist … The Guide Toward Healing

Your walk up Kennesaw Mountain becomes a metaphor of ascent.

You share the documents … she reflects your patterns … and you begin the climb toward sustained peace.

14. RevJE … The Diplomat Across Racial Lines

You walk carefully … honestly … watchfully.

His presence is sincere … even if the introduction was political.

This walk tests trust … without betraying truth.

IV. THE EDUCATORS … THOSE WHO KNOW YOUR WORK THROUGH THE CLASSROOM

This ring includes the peers who witness the battlefield alongside you.

They understand the language of instruction … containment … and moral fatigue.

15. OMcR … The Master Teacher

Your walk is blunt … humorous … reverent … and grounded in decades of shared craft.

He calls out your gift … even when you hesitate to name it.

16. SD … The Honest Colleague

You walk across the parking lot with a teacher who sees your humanity … who respects your voice … and who refuses to abandon the students you both serve.

17. DA … The District Math Coach

Your walk at Kennesaw State is a continuation of an earlier debrief.

She saw GRASPP when others refused to clap.

She sees your fight … your brilliance … and your burden.

18. DrBM … The Parallel Presence

You walk with a man who understands being contained while appearing to be honored.

Your silence together speaks louder than your words.

V. THE WITNESSES

These are the voices that affirm that your labor was not lost.

Their gratitude becomes a mirror … a balm … and a call to stay present.

19. DW … The One Who Lifted You Higher

The band field becomes neutral ground for truth.

She tells you that your firmness felt like care … and that your presence meant something real.

20. DH … The Son in Search of a Father’s Echo

His grief meets your guidance.

Your walk becomes an affirmation of manhood … mentorship … and healing disguised as geometry.

21. The Coaches … TroyD, TerD, and BD

The football field becomes a sanctuary of Black male embodiment.

Three men who carry students … carry you for a moment … with honesty … humor … and camaraderie.

VI. THE SCHOOLHOUSE TRUTHTELLERS AND LEADERS

This ring contains the colleagues and leaders who operate within the system that shaped you … strained you … and nearly broke you.

22. Sistah Souljah (NA)

Your walk at KSU Marietta is an intergenerational exchange of survival strategies.

You both understand containment … but also understand transcendence.

23. LeOG … The Engineering Elder

Your walk with him reflects calm, wisdom, longevity, and spiritual steadiness.

He knows how to survive fifteen principals, and he knows how you can survive too.

24. Leader2

Victory Park becomes a place of cautious diplomacy.

Two men walking … one controlling the system … the other navigating its consequences.

Honesty exists … but carefully.

25. Leader1

Your walk is a test of sincerity.

A man praised as the district’s conscience listens to your narrative with tension.

Progress is possible … but it is not without friction.

VII. THE SCHOLARS … THE FRIENDS WHO SHARED YOUR INTELLECTUAL SEASONS

These are the companions from your academic past … the ones who saw your brilliance before you named it yourself … the ones who drifted away … or held on … or tried and failed … or succeeded beyond measure.

26. KH … The Corporate Shepherd

A walk grounded in principles … disappointment … admiration … and shared survival through containment.

27. TFP … The Visionary Vanguard

Your walk reflects mutual esteem … diverging spiritual paths … and the painful possibility that old alliances cannot always contain new evolutions.

28. JBGJr … The National Lab Director

The walk reveals your admiration … your ache … your sense of abandonment … and your pride.

You walk toward acceptance of distance … while honoring the friendship that built your leadership voice.

29. DPS … The Sister-Friend in Exile

This walk is layered with childhood trauma … academic resentment … marital observation … unwanted dependence … and the unresolved pain of MCS.

You walk … but cautiously.

30. WPCB … The Tough Love Catalyst

Your walk recalls challenge … cancer … mutual survival … and an uneven balance of intellectual exchange.

You honor her voice … even as you acknowledge mismatched yokes.

Back To Index

VIII. THE CIRCLE COMPLETES ITSELF

What began as twenty-nine separate walks becomes a single pilgrimage.

A map of:

· care received

· care withheld

· care rediscovered

· care reborn through writing

A map of:

· containment recognized

· containment resisted

· containment transcended

A map of:

· mentors

· students

· pastors

· peers

· elders

· family

· friends

· leaders

· healers

· and witnesses

All converging to form the Fellowship that surrounds your becoming.

IX. THE ARC OF THE BOOK … ASSEMBLED

Your book can now follow this Fellowship Map as its narrative architecture …

PART ONE … The Call to Walk

Your need for a long walk after years of containment.

PART TWO … The Inner Ring

Family … origin … identity … inheritance.

PART THREE … The Healers and Guides

Pastors … therapists … spiritual leadership.

PART FOUR … The Schoolhouse Circle

Colleagues … coaches … administrators … students.

PART FIVE … The Scholars

Academic peers … early witnesses of your genius.

PART SIX … The Reconciliation of Distance

Reframing drift … hurt … pride … and reconnection.

PART SEVEN … The Return Home

You walk alone again … but not lonely.

You carry the fellowship within you.

X. THE FELLOWSHIP MAP … A FINAL WORD

This map is more than a table of contents.

It is a spiritual topology …

a relational cartography …

a healing pilgrimage disguised as a series of conversations.

Each walk reveals a different facet of your calling …

your character …

your creativity …

your containment …

and your capacity to love honestly.

Together, the twenty-nine walks assemble the truth:

You are not walking away.

You are walking through.

And on the other side of these paths …

you are discovering the fellowship required to build the next chapter of your life.

Selah.

Back To Index

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About Derrick Brown (Standup Storyteller)

I am Keisha's husband, and Hannah's father.

I am a “standup storyteller.”

I fuse rap, spoken word (poetry), oration (traditional public speaking), singing, and teaching into messages of hope, healing, and change that I write, direct, and produce to help people who help people.

Everything must change - and stay changED.

Tradition begins and ends with change.

Change begins with me and the renewing of my mind ... then continues through efforts to effect small-group discipleship (equipping others to equip others) with audiences that respect and embrace mentoring, mediation, and problem solving as tools of change.

I am the product of my mentoring relationships, peacemaking (and peacekeeping), and problem-solving ability.

My education began when I finished school.

After school, I enrolled in a lifelong curriculum that includes classes in ministry, entrepreneurship, stewardship, literacy, numeracy, language, self-identity, self-expression, and analysis / synthesis.

My projects execute a ministry that has evolved from wisdom earned through lessons learned.

I want to share this wisdom to build teams of "triple threat" fellows - mentors, mediators, and problem solvers.

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Monday, November 17, 2025

Dear Hannah: LEarning ("Empath Remixes" Roleplays #98: A Long Walk - Virtual Walks 17-29 + Map of Walks 1-29)

Empath Remixes #98 (Virtual Walks 17 - 29)

Index

1. A Virtual Walk With FredH (Empath Remixes #98.017) (1307 Words)

2. A Virtual Walk With LeOG (Empath Remixes #98.018) (1290 Words)

3. A Virtual Walk With RevCC (Empath Remixes #98.019) (1312 Words)

4. A Virtual Walk With RevJE (Empath Remixes #98.020) (1404 Words)

5. A Virtual Walk With KH (Empath Remixes #98.021) (1285 Words)

6. A Virtual Walk With TFP (Empath Remixes #98.022) (1397 Words)

7. A Virtual Walk With TDBF (Empath Remixes #98.023) (1466 Words)

8. A Virtual Walk With JBGJr (Empath Remixes #98.024) (1320 Words)

9. A Virtual Walk With DPS (Empath Remixes #98.025) (1180 Words)

10. A Virtual Walk With CMZ (Empath Remixes #98.026) (1295 Words)

11. A Virtual Walk With WEW (Empath Remixes #98.027) (1373 Words)

12. A Virtual Walk With WPCB (Empath Remixes #98.028) (1091 Words)

13. A Virtual Walk With My Parents (WDBJr and DZB) (Empath Remixes #98.029) (1374 Words)

14. THE FELLOWSHIP MAP (A Coherent Narrative Arc of Virtual Walks 1-29)

A Virtual Walk With FredH (Empath Remixes #98.017) (1307 Words)

SCENE ONE … ARRIVAL IN THE CHURCH PARKING LOT

SCENE TWO … WALKING TOWARD THE BACK FIELD

SCENE THREE … THE MIRROR MOMENT

SCENE FOUR … PARALLEL HISTORIES

SCENE FIVE … THE SHIFT FROM FIRE TO FORM

SCENE SIX … THE UNEXPECTED CONFESSION

SCENE SEVEN … THE BLESSING

SCENE EIGHT … THE PARTING STEPS

A Virtual Walk With LeOG (Empath Remixes #98.018) (1290 Words)

SCENE ONE … OUTSIDE THE ENGINEERING LAB

SCENE TWO … MOVING THROUGH THE ALLEY BETWEEN BUILDINGS

SCENE THREE … AT THE COURTYARD BENCHES

SCENE FOUR … ENGINEERING WISDOM

SCENE FIVE … SPIRITUAL GROUNDING

SCENE SIX … THE PASTOR SPEAKS

SCENE SEVEN … THE ENGINEERING LAB OF THE SOUL

SCENE EIGHT … THE TEACHER WHO SEES YOU

SCENE NINE … FUTURE PATHS

SCENE TEN … RETURN TO THE BUILDING

A Virtual Walk With RevCC (Empath Remixes #98.019) (1312 Words)

SCENE ONE … AT HIS DRIVEWAY

SCENE TWO … BEGINNING THE WALK

SCENE THREE … A BENCH UNDER THE MAGNOLIA TREE

SCENE FOUR … WISDOM FROM A MAN WHO HAS CARRIED MANY BURDENS

SCENE FIVE … HIS OWN SICKNESS BECOMES PART OF THE TEACHING

SCENE SIX … NAMING THE BURDEN YOU HAVE CARRIED

SCENE SEVEN … HIS ROLE AS CARETAKER

SCENE EIGHT … A FATHER-IN-LAW WHO SEES YOU

SCENE NINE … THE WALK BACK

SCENE TEN … THE FINAL WORD

A Virtual Walk With RevJE (Empath Remixes #98.020) (1404 Words)

SCENE ONE … ARRIVAL AT HIS CHURCH

SCENE TWO … WALKING PAST THE SANCTUARY WALL

SCENE THREE … A DELICATE DISCLOSURE

SCENE FOUR … THE GUARD RISES … BUT YOU ANSWER ANYWAY

SCENE FIVE … THE RACIAL RECKONING

SCENE SIX … THE PASTOR SPEAKS AS A FRIEND

SCENE SEVEN … NAMING THE SUSPICION

SCENE EIGHT … UNEXPECTED GRACE

SCENE NINE … THE FINAL TURN TOWARD THE PARKING LOT

SCENE TEN … THE DEPARTURE

A Virtual Walk With KH (Empath Remixes #98.021) (1285 Words)

SCENE ONE … ARRIVAL AT THE TRAILHEAD

SCENE TWO … THE FIRST TURN INTO FAMILIAR TERRITORY

SCENE THREE … THE CORPORATE PARALLEL

SCENE FOUR … CONNECTION TO YOUR AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC JOURNAL

SCENE FIVE … THE SPIRITUAL DIMENSION

SCENE SIX … THE HARD TRUTH

SCENE SEVEN … BROTHERHOOD RETURNS TO THE SURFACE

SCENE EIGHT … THE TURN TOWARD YOUR FUTURE

SCENE NINE … THE CALL TO COURAGE

SCENE TEN … THE FINAL STRETCH BACK TO THE TRAILHEAD

A Virtual Walk With TFP (Empath Remixes #98.022) (1397 Words)

SCENE ONE … OLD FRIENDS ON NEW GROUND

SCENE TWO … THE OPENING EXCHANGE

SCENE THREE … AN HONEST REUNION

SCENE FOUR … HER STORY RESURFACES