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Nov 10 â˘Â
đ Verbal Disclosure & Community Agreements for Confidentiality
Before we begin, I want to name something essential. This space is built on trust, rhythm, and witness. What we share hereâour stories, our silences, our truthsâis not content. Itâs sacred. By entering this circle, you agree to hold confidentialityânot just as a rule, but as a practice of care. That means: 1. You do not share anyoneâs story outside this spaceânot in conversation, not online, not in passing. 2. You do not record, repost, or repurpose anything shared here without explicit consent. 3. You honor the emotional and creative boundaries of each participant, even if their story moves you deeply. This includes the course content itself. The Stillfire method, rituals, and prompts are offered for your transformationânot for public distribution. If you ever feel unsure about whatâs okay to share, pause and ask. Silence is welcome here. Letâs protect this circle with the same care we bring to our stories. If you agree to hold this space with integrity, please place a hand over your heart and with the other, feel the breath out of your mouth as you say: âI witness.â (You are encouraged to type 'I witness' in the comments to seal your agreement.)
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Nov 15 â˘Â
Stillfire Method: Storytelling Through Lament and Light
Family, I want to share more of my creation tool âthe Stillfire Method. It has been my way of shaping spoken word and storytelling for 15 years, âhere are my five stages: ⢠Stillness ⢠Fire ⢠Smoke ⢠Ash ⢠Ember âđž Stillfire Sermon Stillness I recite in the hush of city lampposts, flickering truth over grassroots misinformed by corner-store wisdom and expired dreams. Fire Stuff like that make you lose hope in humanityâ like drizzle to downpour, we stand idly by while cardboard convictions float down storm drains. Smoke Hope curls beside hunger, sharing a blanket of breath and borrowed time. Graffiti bleeds like scriptureâ tagged in tongues only the broken can translate. Ash Iâve seen joy evicted, its laughter boxed up in black trash bags. Watched mothers spell âabandonmentâ before their children learned their names. Ember But stillâ children chalk galaxies on sidewalks, daring the stars to remember their names. Still fire. Still burning. Still becoming. đŹ Prompt for You: Where in your life or community do you see Stillfireâthe ember that refuses to die? Share below so we can build testimony together.
Nov 10 â˘Â
đ Journaling Prompt:
Think of a moment when your story rose like fireâbut you didnât speak. Maybe your body froze. Maybe the silence felt safer. Maybe the words werenât ready. What was burning to be spoken? What was held in the pause? What did that moment teach you about your voice, your breath, or your rhythm? đĽđŹď¸ Let the Page Hold What the Moment Couldnât Your story doesnât have to shout to be heard. Your silence doesnât have to mean youâre not ready. Let the page hold what the moment couldnât. đ Take 10 minutes. đŹď¸ Breathe. âđ˝ Write. Then, if you feel calledâshare a line, a word, or a rhythm from your journal in the comments. We witness in silence. We witness in fire. We witness together. đ Drop your reflection below or simply type âI wrote.â Thatâs enough. Thatâs everything.
Nov 10 â˘Â
When Your Story Is on Fire, but Your Body Whispers âRestâ
Have you ever felt like your story is on fire, but your body is asking for stillness? Letâs talk about how we honor both. Have you ever felt it? That moment when your story rises like flameâ urgent, raw, ready to be spokenâ but your body says, not yet. Your breath slows. Your chest tightens. You crave silence, not spotlight. This is the tension we hold in Stillfire. The fire of truth. The stillness of presence. Both are sacred. Both are needed. You donât have to choose between urgency and rest. You donât have to perform your pain or silence your power. You can speak with rhythm. You can pause with purpose. You can be witnessed without rushing. So letâs talk. đ Whatâs one story thatâs burning inside you right now? đŹď¸ Whatâs one way your body is asking for stillness? Drop your reflections belowâor just breathe with us in silence. In this circle, even your pause is a kind of poetry. đ Leave a word, a breath, or a beat. Weâre listening.
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Nov 10 â˘Â
What If Your Story Wasnât Too Much⌠or Not Enough?
Youâve been told to speak up. Youâve also been told to quiet down. Youâve been praised for your passionâthen punished for your pause. So let me ask you something: What if the power of your story isnât in choosing between fire or stillness⌠but in learning to harness both? Thatâs what Stillfire is. Itâs not a writing technique. Itâs not a performance trick. Itâs a methodâa rhythmâa remembering. Stillfire is the moment your voice rises with urgency⌠and the moment you pause, and let the silence carry what words cannot. Itâs the breath between the lines. The beat that makes your truth land. The witness who listens without needing to fix. If youâve ever felt like your story was too raw, too quiet, too loud, too lateâ Stillfire was made for you. Because your story isnât too much. And itâs not, not enough. Itâs exactly what this world needsâwhen spoken with rhythm, breath, and presence. đ Join us inside the circle. Weâre not here to perform. Weâre here to transform. đ Drop a đĽ if youâre ready to awaken the witness within.
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đĽđ§, an 8-week course blending storytelling and speaking as healing rituals. Awaken your voice, craft testimony, and speak with emotional resonance.
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