‘The wise man buildeth his house upon the rock.’

Every day, whether one admits it or not, you are building something. Every thought or decision, every word, every little action… another brick is laid.

You call it living. I call it construction.

You construct because you want your life to be worthy. Everyone does. But never do you stop to ask, worthy of what?

Happiness? Success?

Pathetic short fleeting moments of temporary wealth.

The foolish man chases happiness and success as if they were salvation. Living for pleasure and calling it meaning. But those things evaporate the moment the sky darkens. They were never meant to carry weight.

Every decision is load-bearing. Every shortcut weakens the frame. And when the storm arrives, it does not negotiate nor admire. Like the light of the Lord, It exposes… Lumen Accipe.

The foolish man builds on sand.

He builds loud. He builds fast. He builds for freedom, self-expression, for the thrill of doing whatever feels right in the moment. He tears down boundaries and calls it authenticity. He rejects discipline and calls it creativity.

And for a while, it looks glorious.

But sand lies, and you who build on it are a liar to thyself.

Sand shifts and gives way under pressure. When the wind rises, it swallows everything built on top of it.

Ram Jam, you are not misunderstood. You are built wrong.

You were cultured for collapse through every poem or song that made you feel instead of think. Every rhythm that taught you rebellion was wisdom. You mistook noise for depth. You danced while your foundation washed away.

So tell me… what do you do when the rhythm that defines you loses the beat?

Moretti measured you. You rushed into his deal like moth to flame, because foolish men always do. Wisdom would have hesitated. Discipline would have refused. But you had neither and now your construction crumbles.

Your wealth sits in another man’s pocket.

Your shiny car has become leverage.

Your excess hath turned into your confession.

One sentence cracked your walls. “Everybody pays, one way or another.”

But I am not built like you.

I did not raise my life for comfort. I raised it for judgment. I live by law, by order, by a code that does not bend when temptation whispers or fear knocks. I did not build for the sunshine, I built for the storm.

Because storms are coming for all, whether you believe in them or not.

Pain is coming. Loss is coming. Betrayal is coming. Death is coming. And when it arrives, creativity won’t save you. Noise won’t save you.

Moretti is not the storm. He’s simply a warning wind.

At Slam, when you step into the Temple, the rain will fall hard. The ground beneath you will give way and everything you trusted will betray you.

My house stands because it was built to endure.

Yours falls because it was built to be admired.

Pray your walls don’t collapse when the flood hits.

Pray God has mercy when you cry out.

Because when the storm breaks…

I will not stop it.