An Ode to Casey Goodson Jr.

It’s wild how stories can develop from what you experience in your dreams. Most of the time – our dreams remind us of what is important and the people/ideas we need to focus upon most.

Last night, I kicked it with Tamala Payne – Casey Goodson’s mom in our dreams. This is a story about the time we visited Rosedale Freewill Baptist Church.

One Sunday morning, I awoke with quite an uneasy feeling in the pit of my gut. Much like Pastor Jason Meade speaks of righteous release, I know that it is unhealthy to wake up in the morning feeling this way. Rather than act unjustly upon this feeling, I decided to get religious.

Hopped in the car and traveled nearly 90 minutes from Newark, Ohio to Irwin, Ohio. Through the blooming city of Columbus and into the flatlands of podunk America. Ever since December 4th, 2020 I had been feeling some type of way. It was just something about this morning [July 2021] that made us get up and take action for the injustice done against Casey Goodson Jr.

After going through the city into corn land I had arrived at Rosedale Freewill Fascist Church. Upon reaching the parking lot, I was greeted with unfamiliar glances and “No Trespassing” signs. 

Lord Knows what our intention was going to that place of sacrilegious worship on that day. Maybe I would stand up in the middle of the congregation to decry the unjust actions Murderer Meade committed? Maybe I would start conversation with individuals close to Meade to try to befriend and infiltrate for some sort of covert confession.

What ended up happening? I exited the vehicle and walked over to take a picture of the sign. This alerted the Church staff who had been watching the entire thing on camera. Two men with their hands in their pockets walked toward me to begin questioning.

“What brings you out today?”
“Spirtuality.”

“Due to current circumstances our services are invite only.”

After much back and forth I was simply trying to convince the now three men that I was just trying to find a place to worship on this blessed Sunday. Although the conversation lasted nearly 20 minutes – they weren’t buying it. 

After trying to uphold my tale of attempted worship to convince the men for entry – I finally gave up. Besides, there was no need to enter a place outside of my religion, especially one cloaked in hatred and soaked with the twisted words of an evil jarhead. 

They asked if I had enough “guts” to stick around and talk to the police that we’re on their way – I decided it was best not to have any police contact. 

Before getting in my car I looked at the three men and said “Please don’t hunt our citizens.” This led them to grow very righteous. I continued – “Per Coroner Anahi Ortiz the death was ruled a homicide.” They stepped toward me to demand I exit the property – but I was swiftly one step ahead of them into my car.

As I turned the ignition the first words that blared from my speakers were – 

“THIS IS SOMETHING I CANT UNDERSTAND – HOW YOU CAN JUST KILL A MAN” –CYPRESS HILL

In that moment I realized – this was probably not the smartest move on my part to enter such a sinister territory. Then again, nothing was achieved within a comfort zone – no risk no reward. 

The reward being – the complete shift of facial expression on the youngest of the three gentlemen as I pulled off that gravel lot – perhaps signaling a change of heart.

I took the look of reconsideration on his face as, “Maybe I shouldn’t be associating with these people.” 

As long as I can change the mind of one – that can spark the change for many.

One day at a time and one way we will climb – upward. 

R.I.P. Casey Goodson Jr. – an old soul – a fatherly-like protective brother that watched after all his siblings who put family above all. May he now watch from the heavens and orchestrate the swiftest stroke of justice onto the thick skull of Jason Meade.

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