to my brothers

I wish I could break you open like a pomegranate. see all the tiny seeds within. dissect each one of those seeds and understand the essence of you. help you understand yourself.  who you really are. who you have become. help you accept your truth. I wish I could strip the paint off the walls of your soul. you have so many coatings. get down to the raw concrete of your very being and help you see you.  I wish I could dance with your spirit. to the music that you create. to the music only you created.  He is music.

You. you are different from the first. you feel powerless. you’ve lost it all. gave it all away.  the place in which you now stand is empty.  it feels crowded. claustrophobic.  but you stand alone.  the noise you hear is within you.  it is the sound of your own voice. in different tones. tempos. rhythms.  the yelling is from your own fears…hurts…regrets.  the wall that you have built is made of glass. I see straight into you. you are different from the first. you believe your own lies.  failing to realize everyone else sees your truth.  you are different from the other.  I don’t not wish to understand you.  I simply wish for you to acknowledge yourself.  for who you truly are and not who you used to be. I simply wish to show you the exit out of your own emptiness and be the realtor of the newness that awaits you.  He is strength.

You. different still. you are first. you should have been his heir. the one who “sits at his right hand” and receives the blessings. But like Cain, you walked away.  Like Esau you missed out on your birthright.  not at the fault of any ‘Jacob’, but simply of yourself.  you forfeited. threw in the towel. and stayed away.  Instead of his blessings, you inherited his curse. addiction to something or other. functional in everyday society. continues to exceed expectations. but continuously limit your own self.  your story has different versions. made up and retold over the years like the legends of old… people fill in the unknown spots and write on the blank pages so the story can make more sense…be better understood.  still, your truth remains untold.  He is knowledge.

So to the three of you, know this:  whatever, wherever you are…whoever you’ve become. you are loved. you have a safety-net below you built by us. the women. the mothers. the sisters. when you fall off the fences on which you sit -the fences you each built- we will catch you.  your stories will never be that of stupid humpty-dumpty.  No. your stories will be that of the great acrobats. who fall from high and simply bounce right back.

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