This is a letter to my younger brother Davin Williams.  He’s been incarcerated since 1984.  He’s a great person and I Love him dearly.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Dear, Brother Moan

I haven’t heard from you looking forward to speaking with you.  Marie phoned me and asked for your address hopefully she’s sending something.  Did you enjoy the blog?  Hope you did.  It’s a rare time my mind cuts off from thinking, but it does when I‘m writing or listening.  Repetitive thoughts posses me still, not as much as they use to, but there still formidable.  The slightest action created laundry lists of repetitive thoughts.  Thoughts that couldn’t be halted, no matter how hard I tried.  If someone disappointed me or vice versa, my mind would run on autopilot for hours, days, even weeks.  Thinking over and over about issues that didn’t exist, but real in my mind.  My mind had catalogs of reruns, my Father’s death, my Grandmother’s death, Mother’s death, and your incarceration. There are others this letter can’t contain because of space.  Life’s situations that replayed in my mind over and over again, nonstop.  Ask my wife.  Especially my professional football career coming to a sudden end.  The fate of my Mother and my siblings was on my back, their salvation for a better life.  Was it fair?  It was there fair or not, I had no guidance to understand life at that time.  When my knee collapse so did my fragile mind.  I failed.  That’s all I knew, I failed.  I failed immensely for the first time in my life.    I didn’t possess a higher consciousness of awareness to deal with that.
I was only 23.  I was a child.  So I kept silent, that’s what children do.  Don’t they?

When I called Statesville Penitentiary on July 4, 1990 to tell you our Mother’s dead, it was one of the hardest day of my life.  I’ve never told you that.   Imagining what you felt, such news in that manner.  It hurt me to do that and reading the words I cry now.  Our Mother was everything to us.  She only cared about her children.  She gave her life for us.  In the end, I felt I felled for not getting her out of that apartment, out of the “Ghetto.“  It sent me twisting.  Twisting like a  Hurricane, into the world of Depression, Drugs/Alcohol and Amoral behavior.  Things I never considered, I was living bro.  The depression was the toughest, because it lives on repetitive thoughts.  One repetitive thought for years, was the promise I told her.  “Mommy, I’m going to buy you a new house when I get older.”  I felt since God didn’t do it for you, I will.  Remember those words as if I said it yesterday.  Dude you know how hard it was growing up.  Watching her cry because she couldn’t get us something for Christmas.  No food.  No clothes.  I would asked God, “How could you let my Mother cry like this?”  What did she do to deserve this? I see her pray to you, send money to you, send us to church for you.  What did she do to deserve this?  That made me hard.  It harden me to everyone, people, religion, God.  My thought for so long, “F— God, religion specifically. Damn you for taking her hopes and spitting them in her face.  What did she do?  Someone save her, I tried.  But I felled, She died lonely.  As lonely as she was on those Christmas eves.  Man I felled.  You couldn’t imagine my pain.  She died from a massive heart attack, on the very floor, in the very apartment, I promised to take her from.
She was only 46.

In 2005, I began to search for my life, my real life.  The journey, solo baby, like my Mother’s journey.  Spiritual journeys are expeditions to unmask fake public persona, quasi-character traits, revival of a real you, despite years of worldly conditioning.  Some of us make it, some us don’t.  Its hard.  Man its hard.  Its not easy to redo 20+ years of thinking in a certain manner.  Behaviors led by unchecked impulses, no matter how unnatural or unlawful they were.  One thing about worldly conditioning of the mind.  You can’t see well, your mental vision, blurred.  Blurred beyond normal comprehension,  a low consciousness of thinking makes the behavior OK.  My level of consciousness  since 2005 has risen.  As Kurt Franklin, song says, “Imagine Me.”  Can you believe that?  Imagine Me.   A changed Man, only few people know this.  My life has a driven purpose now.  I trust in something.  This roads’ hard, most of the time its just Bub and I now.  We’re undoing a why of thinking we both had for a long time.  Its hard to find fellowship in this walk.  Bub has her church and Women’s group and a few stand up friends.  So she during better then I am in that compartment.  I have a few stand up men, they won’t let me starve if they can help it.   However,  this is the loneliness I’ve being in my life, concerning people.  A cats don’t mess with me as much, mainly because of my past persona probably.  They keep up macho front, I use to do it, so I understand.  “I’m mad at you cha.”  Men don’t understand when you talk it helps to get out the pain that may reside inside you.  However, I’m finding ways to reach out, patient, blog writing, etc.  Most of my fellowship resides with a small number bro not because of who I AM, some don’t realize yet who I AM.  I forgive them.  I hope this letter bring fellowship to you.  I’m putting this letter on the blog Bro.  My blog’s a record of the metamorphoses from Fake-Man to Spiritual Man.  I’m here for you.  You’re here for me.

There’s no separations between us, Our Mother raised us better than that.

I Love you so much, Brother Moan, Stay Strong.  Believe, have faith.

Get back at me, baby.

Amp, aka raw28