The ocean remembers us, beloved. Each wave that breaks against America's shores carries the rhythm of our ancestral heartbeats, the whispers of those who crossed in chains and yet kept their souls free. Like that ocean, we are rich with knowing, vast with possibility, unstoppable in our flow. As we stand at the precipice of 2025, watching our communities navigate these treacherous waters, we must speak truth about balance and unity - what the ancestors knew as the Ninth Domain. This truth runs deeper than blood, stronger than steel, ancient as Africa and urgent as tomorrow.

Picture this: a universe where everything - every soul, every struggle, every triumph - is connected in ways as eternal as midnight prayers. This is what our grandmothers knew when they gathered on porches, what our grandfathers understood in their quiet moments of reflection. That connection, that oneness, is power. It's knowing that when they try to draw lines between us, those lines are nothing but chalk in the rain.

In these times, when our people are scattered across the globe searching for that place called home, we must remember: home isn't just four walls and a roof. Home is where your spirit finds rest, where your soul knows peace. To paraphrase Toni Morrison in her novel Paradise, “…the presence of peace comes in waves, grows in small increments and finally settles itself." That's what this Ninth Domain teaches us - about finding that sweet spot where we can finally breathe, finally be.

This is not a passive peace. Nature herself shows us the truth: everything needs time to rest, to rebuild, to gather strength. Look at how our communities have had to hibernate through winters of oppression, only to emerge stronger, wiser, more determined. That's not weakness - that's wisdom. That's knowing when to hold back and when to surge forward.

In our organizations, our movements, we must find that rhythm - that sweet spot between the urgency of now and the patience of lasting change. It's about building something that can last, something that can bend without breaking. Sometimes it's a blues rhythm, slow and purposeful; sometimes it's jazz, innovative and bold; sometimes it's hip-hop, breaking rules to make new truths. But always, always, it's ours. When we talk about balance in 2025, we're talking about how our people can thrive in systems that weren't built for us, how we can transform them without losing ourselves.

At our best, when we're operating in that higher consciousness, we bring something special to the table. We bring that inclusive spirit that says everybody eating or nobody eating. We bring that patience that lets us see past the immediate crisis to the long-term vision. We bring that flow that turns work into art, struggle into dance.

At our best, when we're operating in that higher consciousness, we bring something special to the table. We bring that inclusive spirit that says everybody eating or nobody eating. We bring that patience that lets us see past the immediate crisis to the long-term vision. We bring that rhythm, that flow that turns work into art, struggle into dance.

But here's the warning, family: when we lose sight of this truth, when we get too comfortable playing roles others have written for us, we start disappearing. First, it's small - biting our tongues in meetings, swallowing our ideas, playing it safe. Then before you know it, we're ghosts in our own lives, present but not really there.

The real danger comes when we completely shut down, when we convince ourselves that peace means silence, that harmony means surrender. In 2025, we can't afford that kind of peace. Not when our children's futures hang in the balance. Not when our elders' wisdom is needed more than ever.

Finding our rhythm in 2025 means facing AI systems that don't see our children's brilliance, algorithms that would deny our elders' wisdom, and climate shifts that threaten to wash away our historical neighborhoods. Yet listen closely - hear how our young ones are already coding their own solutions, how they're turning digital divides into bridges, how they're finding their own beat while keeping time with the ancestors. They've got a rhythm all their own, these children of tomorrow, and our job isn't to conduct their orchestra but to make sure they've got instruments to play.

As we face 2025, let this rhythm be our guide - the beat of our ancestors' dreams, the pulse of our children's innovations, the melody of our collective power. We are beyond mere survival now - we're composing tomorrow's symphony. Our mission isn't just to endure but to create, to build, to transform. Listen to how the old spirituals blend with digital beats, how ancient wisdom dances with new technology, how our elders' stories find new life in our children's virtual worlds. We are the architects of tomorrow, the guardians of hope, the warriors of light, and our rhythm - that divine, unbreakable, ever-evolving rhythm - will carry us through. I promise you.