Somewhere in the nation’s capital, a member of Nigeria’s political elders unveiled a bipolar autobiography—*A Journey in Service.* The launch concluded with a staggering amount of pecuniary blessings , for the elder’s personal coffers box. As always, the low-vibrational humans armed with little more than their impulsive tongues rose in unison, not to discern, but to condemn. They convict and pass judgment from a place of lesser power—a behavior categorized for the masses. The eyes of the masses are blind to wisdom, but bold on their powerless convictions. They are yet again, as characterized with men of lower frequency of thoughts, fixate on the scandal, not the substance; the wealth, not the wisdom; the man, not the craftiness and message. But, in all things of significance, are lessons - silent, subtle, available only to those who seek beyond the obvious. Such is the plight of the masses. You are not the masses. You are a King, and this is where, men become Kings; for it is the duty of kings to seek the wisdom. A mere glance at Africa’s (Nigeria’s) political and social system should reveal a simple truth: to be sanctified; to be laundered into luminous purity—cleansed and washed as snow - is as effortless as hosting a banquet for the high lords of power. Sins do not disappear; they are merely dined away. As a king, you should rather sit through , investing your time to see the entire book launch, taking notes of the caliber of persons, absorbing not just the speeches but the silences in between. There, in the unspoken, in the glances exchanged and the alliances reinforced, is where true knowledge resides. You should rather marvel at the longevity of the man and the studied craft of his kind—how power, like a masterful weaver, threads its way through time—than join the chorus of the defeated, crying in outrage but changing nothing. You would rather understand that history is no orphan; it belongs to those who author it. It bends, not of its own accord, but at the will of those who script its chapters. This, the masses will never grasp. Their motion is too limited, their vision too narrow. They exist within the echoes of their own voices, unable to perceive the deeper currents of power that shape their fate - for they are simply men of the lower echelons. —- PEC