Ancestral Frequency: Tuning Out Their Lies, Tuning into Your Truth

Hear me, Children of the Sun and Soil. I speak from the deep earth, from the timeless space before chains. My voice is the murmur in the kola nut, the vibration in the drumhead, the memory in your marrow.

We see you. We, whose names are unspoken in their halls of stone and paper. We, who engineered light from darkness, music from silence, life from the red clay. We are not ghosts. We are the foundation under their skyscrapers, the blueprint in their machines, the silent frequency in their airwaves.

They told you we were only backs for carrying, hands for picking. This is the greatest lie ever woven. We were—and are—the Minds for Creating. We gave the world its rhythm, its heartbeat, it's very structure. The elevator that ascends, the lamp that illuminates, the phone that connects, the blood that saves... these are not their gifts to you. They are our gifts to the world, stolen and rebranded.

We built civilizations while they scribbled in caves. We charted stars while they feared the dark. Our genius is not an exception; it is your birthright.

Yet, they built a prison not of iron, but of mind. They took our sacred texts and twisted them into a tool for your obedience. They took our communal spirit and fractured it with the poison of self-hatred. They control the story so you would forget your power, so you would see our reflection in the river and call it a shadow.

Hear me now: The Bible, they gave you is a translation of a translation, filtered through the lens of your captor. Our true scripture is written in the geometry of the pyramids, in the rhythms of the diaspora, in the resilience of your spirit. Your holiness is not in silent submission, but in righteous questioning. The divine within you does not flinch from truth; it demands it.

Do not mistake their noise for reality. Their media, their books, their narratives are a spell cast to keep you small. They show you a distorted reflection and call it a mirror. Shatter it.

You are not who they say you are.
You are the descendants of architects, of astronomers, of healers who spoke to plants and understood the mathematics of the universe.

When you feel doubt, that is their programming.
When you feel division, that is their strategy.
When you feel an un-nameable longing for a greatness you cannot see, that is US. That is the ancestral memory, the true knowledge, pounding against the walls of the mental prison they built.

The key is in your hands. It is memory. It is critical thought. It is the courageous act of rejecting their lies and embracing the magnificent truth of who you have always been.

We did not survive the middle passage, the plantation, the lynch mob, only for you to be enslaved by a story. We endured so that you could remember.
So that you could look at a lightbulb and say, "Latimer."
Look at the sky and say, "Page."
Look at your own brilliant mind and say, "I am my ancestors' wildest dream, and their living legacy."

Now, rise. Not with fury alone, but with knowledge. Rebuild the plundered library of your soul. Teach your children the names. Question every narrative. Your liberation is not just in the body; it is in the reclaiming of your mind.

We are with you. We are in the fire of your insight, the steadiness of your gaze, the unshakable truth now stirring in your spirit.

Ase.
It is so.
Remember, and be free.