“One Plug. God.”

“One Plug. God.” belongs in the memoir as a recurring spiritual refrain, not just a phrase.

“One Plug. God.”

One Plug.

God.

That is the cleanest way I know how to say it.

After all the searching.

After all the movement.

After all the crowds.

After all the parties.

After all the women.

After all the music.

After all the money.

After all the branding.

After all the attention.

After all the betrayal.

After all the noise.

After all the nights I thought I needed somebody, something, some platform, some city, some approval, some opportunity, some connection to save me…

it always came back to the same source.

God.

One Plug.

Not the industry.

Not the internet.

Not the streets.

Not the crowd.

Not the women.

Not the money.

Not the clout.

Not the city.

Not even Orange Crush.

God.

The source.

The connection.

The signal.

The provider.

The power outlet.

The life force.

The one thing still connected when everything else short-circuited.

That is what “plug” means to me now.

Not just access.

Not just who can get you in the room.

Not just who knows somebody.

Not just who got motion.

The real plug is the source that keeps you alive when all the rooms close.

The real plug is the one that still sends power when your phone dead, your spirit tired, your family grieving, your name misunderstood, your mind racing, and your body running off fumes.

That is God.

One Plug.

God.

And I had to learn that the hard way.

Because I looked for plugs everywhere.

In crowds.

In music.

In attention.

In women.

In sports.

In business.

In the internet.

In approval.

In being needed.

In being watched.

In trying to become unforgettable.

But every time life stripped something away from me, I found out what was still there.

Prayer.

Memory.

Family.

Ancestors.

Faith.

Love.

God.

Same source.

Different wires.

That is how He reached me.

Sometimes through Grandma prayers.

Sometimes through my mama’s gospel playlist.

Sometimes through Uncle Chuckie laughter.

Sometimes through my daddy’s discipline.

Sometimes through Cierra’s voice.

Sometimes through dreams.

Sometimes through silence I did not even believe existed.

Sometimes through pain.

Sometimes through survival.

Sometimes through a random song at the exact right time.

Sometimes through somebody calling right before I broke completely.

That is why I do not separate God from family.

God moved through them.

Dead or alive.

Living or gone.

Present or distant.

They kept showing up like spiritual extension cords.

Reconnecting me when I was unplugged from myself.

And maybe that is why I kept surviving.

Not because I was perfect.

Not because I was always strong.

Not because I knew what I was doing.

Because the source never left.

One Plug.

God.

That is not a slogan.

That is my compass.

My reset.

My testimony.

My final answer after trying everything else first.

And every time the noise gets too loud, every time the world gets too heavy, every time I forget who I am, every time I start confusing attention for love or motion for peace…

I return to that.

One Plug.

God.