Chapter 42
The Longer Game
The air before dawn has a rare clarity that reminds me of driving through New York City when it is still half asleep. My practice felt softer today. Less tension. More space. I stood at the bunk window and whispered a few simple prayers for protection and compassion while the sky lightened. For a moment I could swear I was looking out a window in Mongolia again. The edges between places are getting porous. Then a pocket of old “junk mail” in my mind opened. The stuff I had pushed aside rather than face. I am getting better at noticing the little squeeze that pushes a thought away and, instead, letting it rise into open space where it can dissolve.
I am also watching what wants to grow. Receiving is easy for me. I can accommodate a lot. What needs building is the channel that asserts, speaks up, and transforms. I have always side-eyed the personal development world because so much of it feels like wishful thinking dressed up as science. But the real thing is different. The real thing goes to the root. It meets the thought at the seed and says, like in a lucid dream, “I decide what you are.” I can spot certain thoughts coming now. I see them turn the corner like scruffy alley cats that want to drag anxiety into the house. It still feels like a miracle when I meet them at the door and redirect them.
If one slips past, then all I can do is notice it, open, and let it move through. By that point I already bought the story. Even then, it passes faster. My inner core feels stronger, so fewer stray thoughts get access, and the ones that do are easier to usher out. What I want next is a clean “bring it on” mindset. Not bravado. Competence. I want the part of me that assesses risk and spirals to be retrained into the part of me that faces the forest with steady eyes. Glad the thought showed up, because now I can turn its momentum into flow instead of blockage. I want the inner version of the cold-plunge person who grins and jumps, or the endurance athlete who runs toward the pain because they know how to work with it.
I have the feminine side. I find my footing fast. Now I want the forward drive, like buffalo who head into the storm. At the level of thought. No freeze. No stunned silence. Go. I am writing this down because I trust the desire itself. The right longing has a different texture than wanting a car or a boyfriend. It feels like the desire is calling me, asking my awareness to recognize it. I used to pray for special abilities and then not know what to do with them. Or ask for light and then watch it activate some old pattern. Two things are different now. First, a humble boundary. I do not want a single ounce more than I can joyfully integrate.
Like not eating past full, then taking a walk to digest. Second, I trust myself. My mind is anchored in the intention to serve. I can say, “I am ready,” and mean it. Maybe that is what all the unread messages in the universe have been waiting for. When I moved back to Harlem, I heard it plain as day. Harlem needed what we had to offer. If I wanted a real refuge, I had to commit and actually build all the pieces of Unconditional Freedom. I promised five years. The roots took. It developed and expanded—Free Food for those who needed it, a program for those struggling with addiction based on this same philosophy of dignity and humanity, teaching The Art of Soulmaking to people coming out of prison, struggling to get their feet back under them, programs for women to recognize their inestimable power.
It became clear, however, that this work is not tied to a neighborhood. It is tied to a population. Yesterday in the shower, I made a vow. It felt like a baptism. I want my post inside the justice world. All the energy I need will come if I commit to the long game. Twenty years. The vision is the same one I keep naming: Do for women, especially inside the system, what Malcolm X did for Black Americans. Not through branding. Through deep practice and real tools. I have tasted the gratification. I also know it will not always feel good. I used to marry every project on the first date, then wake up six months in and realize I was living with a dud.
No more getting drunk on novelty. This work finally feels like the source of where women’s power lives. I understand why my friend Topeka started her nonprofit, The Ladies of Hope Ministries, shortly after being released from prison. Now, she’s spent the last nine years on the road, advocating for women and girls impacted by the justice system. She has changed legislation, provided housing, helped women find jobs and banks post-incarceration. There are so many other things a person can spend their life working toward, shiny objects that offer fame and fortune. But the soul plays a longer game.