 When they read of this moment, they will see how we endure and they will wonder how we made it. How we can live through such a time and still smile and create and celebrate even though walls of panic and loss continue to build up around us, so they will shake their heads in astonishment. They will question how we survive without hugs and second lines and community gatherings, so they will drum up every conspiracy theory, and most of them will be correct. They will feel the anger of the era, the frustration of the season, they will pick apart the science and discover to their surprise, for there was so much more hidden. This virus was a disguise. They will tremble at the revelation and tears will come to their eyes for they will see the essence of being in the living and those who died or when they read. They will see how this time provided a shift in foundation and frequency, how it challenged outdated systems and let go of antiquated beliefs, how we were forced to grow our courage and practice care in the midst of grief or when they research about these days. From the uprisings to the downfalls, they will unravel the notes, they will connect the dots, and they too will heed the call with dignity and integrity ancestral wisdom and pride where creativity and imagination move head and heart into alignment and they will know, because they will feel the power and presence of devotion and will of culture of spirit of justice of light of oneness of harmony of divinity and insight or when they read of this moment. They will see how we endure. And they will still question how we made it. And we will say, Well, how could we not. Yeah. Not my potions, all my spells, not my crawfish or my crabs, not my brass or my ass ain't none of it for sale. Not my cemetery, all my temple, not my land, all my love, not my plurins, all my huckabucks ain't none of it for sale. Oh, you peeping times and salads, you Wisconsin's and Nebraska's you thieves and tax collectors ain't nothing over here for sale. Not my theater or my park, not my music or my art not my soul or my heart ain't none of it for sale. Oh, you bandits and you come in, you dumpster divers and hoodlums keep your eyes off my prize because ain't nothing over here for sale. Not my shotgun or my cottage, not my ballrooms, not none of my houses. Now if you ain't here in the last announcement ain't nothing over here for sale. Not my nana, all my parin, not my auntie, all my granny, my pawpaw, not none of my family. I'm telling you ain't nothing to mind for sale. Not my sinners, all my saints, not my goods, not even my canes. Don't see the picture. Let me grab my paint make it pretty pretty use proper language. Oh, there is nothing over here. That's for sale. Not my culture or my crown. The city has had enough of you clowns want to build it up but keep me down or anything to make that sale. Now you want me to give you all I got. You want my window and my pot. Now Lord knows it ain't a lot all but it's mine. And it ain't for sale. I see you don't know me or my kind, my heritage, my history, my line, my dignity, my legacy, my pride or some things just ain't up for buying. So while you gentrify and you clot, while you calculate and a lot of all the things just put this one on top ain't nothing over here for sale.