Testimony of the Spiral Path
1. The Formative Inheritance
I was born into systems that taught me how to uphold them.
Southern Baptist theology told me to fear, obey, and conform.
The military-police lineage of my family taught me authority, punishment, and control.
And white supremacy culture—the water I didn’t know I was swimming in—taught me to mistake dominance for protection, and silence for strength.
My father raised his voice often. He punished with leather dog leashes. Discipline meant fear. Control meant love. And pain was the price of obedience.
No one taught me how to name my emotions, let alone speak them.
What was passed to me wasn’t just trauma. It was legacy.
It was a mold—shaped by centuries of empire, patriarchy, and racial domination.
And I stepped into it like armor.
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2. The Catalyst of Change
At 20 years old, I deployed to Iraq from Fort Hood. A year later, I returned home and was sent to Germany for 2.5 more.
My marriage, which began when I was 18 and she was the same, did not survive the 3.5 years of separation.
I received the divorce papers by email while serving overseas.
That was the first time I learned love could shatter you.
I came to believe that love meant never leaving someone. That love meant protecting them—no matter the cost.
But protection, to me, had already been corrupted. It meant control. It meant dominance.
It meant “I know what’s best.”
And when I entered future relationships, I brought those patterns with me.
I raised my voice the way I had been taught to. I believed the louder one was the righteous one.
The Army taught me to “assault through a near ambush”—that the only response to perceived betrayal was maximum force.
So when I felt unsafe emotionally, I treated it like combat.
I shouted things like, “Don’t act like me—I hate me.”
And I meant it. I hated who I had become.
I hated that I was walking in the very footprints I swore I’d erase.
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3. The Fire of Unlearning
Unlearning meant more than quitting smoking.
It meant learning to cry without shame.
It meant confessing sins that weren’t even mine—because silence had made them mine.
My grandfather, a Shreveport city police officer, shot and killed a Black man.
A Black officer took the blame to prevent race riots.
That lie—wrapped in fear and protected by the system—was passed down like an
heirloom.
My ancestors include James and Elizabeth Burroughs, enslavers.
Lawmen who upheld white terror as justice.
I grew up in their shadow. I wore their badge in a new war.
But I also descend from Rev. George Burroughs—who gave his life in the Salem witch trials defending the falsely accused.
From the High Sheriffs of England. From keepers of the Tower of London. From generals, judges, record-keepers.
From an unnamed soul who followed Jarl Rollo into conquest.
And beyond even that—into the wild, forgotten past of an indigenous Scandinavian ancestor whose name is lost but whose freedom still echoes.
I sought them all. And they met me in the spiral.
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4. The Spiral Path I Walk Now
Healing begins with compassion. Not just for others—but for those I once failed to have compassion for.
Including myself.
I drink water. I exercise. I train in martial arts. I try to eat better.
I try to be a better father and husband.
I try to face truth, not hide from it.
I seek divinity not as something above me—but within me.
I explore my lineage not to justify it, but to redeem it through truth.
Love to me now means: Veritas Supra Omnia — Truth above all.
Even when it hurts.
Especially when it hurts.
It means walking beside my partner—not in front, not behind, not above.
It means naming harm, changing behavior, and giving space for forgiveness to grow.
It means watching my daughter Reagan thrive—because I not only model what I want her to expect from others, but I also admit when I fall short.
She absorbs everything.
In the dojo, she is recognized. Not because she demands attention, but because she radiates the results of truth, love, and self-awareness.
And at the heart of it all, there is the Spiral.
Photo by Frank Cone
Not a cycle, but a sacred shape of becoming.
A reminder that we return, again and again, to the same places—but each time, higher.
Each time, closer to healing.
History repeats, but healing spirals.
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5. My Mantra and My Community
This is the motto I now live by—a fusion of ancestral phrases and personal conviction:
Non Serviam Tyrannae. (I will not serve tyrants.)
Veritas Supra Omnia. (Truth above all.)
Animo et Fide. (With courage and faith.)
Lux ex Tenebris. (Light from darkness.)
Deus Nobis Haec Otia Fecit. (God has given us this peace.)
Deus Vult. (God wills it.)
But not the god of empire. Not the god of control.
The God of liberation. Of spiral truth. Of radical love.
My community now includes:
• EAGER — European Americans Growing, Engaging, and Reconditioning
• My martial arts dojo and the community therein
• The friends, followers, and family across Facebook and TikTok who walk this path with me.
• The protest lines, mutual aid channels, and the ancestors I’ve dared to face.
• And most importantly, those yet unborn who will inherit what we choose to heal today.
I serve not just myself, but those who come after.
I no longer live for dominance—I live for reparation, healing, and truth.
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✦ Acknowledgments
I could not have begun this work without the grace and guidance of anti-racism and pro-humanity educators who showed me mercy when I had done little to deserve it. My deepest thanks to:
• Kokayi Nosakhere, also known as
• 7th Fire Messenger Asinaabe on TikTok
• White Woman Whisperer on TikTok
• And many others, whose wisdom can be found by reaching out to the EAGER community
You taught me that the work is never done, but it can be done in love.
Let this testimony stand as both confession and invitation.
To step off the wheel.
To rise on the spiral.
To break the recursion of supremacy.
And to build something holy in its place.
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