When the Boy Dies, the God Lives

by Mike Rashid King

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The Boy I Once Was

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I want to share a story with you. It’s a story I’ve kept close to my chest for years, a story from my childhood that had a huge part in me becoming who I am…

Tell the story of mommy, Mack, and violence….

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He stood over us both, breathing hard, eyes wild. For a second, I thought he might hit me too.

That was the first time I experienced hatred….

At such a young age, I had hate in my heart….

Imagine that: a little boy, no taller than the man’s waist, trying to fight a monster to protect his mom. It was so uncomfortable…. 

I’ll never forget how weak I felt at that moment. 

I felt so ineffective….

I tried doing everything to him, I thought maybe he can hit me to get off of her….

But he didn’t… he wouldn’t even look at me..::

My mother curled over me to protect me and he stopped….

That bothered me too….

I thought I should be protecting her….  But I just couldn’t…. I was too small. Too young, too weak….

When the chaos died, he left…., slamming the door so hard the walls shook….

My mother held me on the couch all night. We slept there…. 

I felt a burning shame for being helpless…

And I promised I’ll never allow that again….

I didn’t have the words for it then, but that was the moment the boy in me began to die, and the seed of a protector was planted…. I didn’t know how I would do it, but I knew I had to become stronger—strong enough to never be a victim, and never let my loved ones be victims again. That was the night a spark ignited in my soul: the beginning of a lifelong journey toward strength and purpose.

Transforming Pain into Purpose

In the days and years that followed, I held onto that vow like a lifeline. I had a choice: let that trauma turn me into a perpetual victim or use it as fuel to turn myself into a warrior. Even as a kid, I understood on some level that if I ever wanted to protect my mother—or anyone—I couldn’t remain that powerless boy….The pain had to become my purpose.

So I began to change. While other kids were playing tag or sleeping in on Saturdays, I was waking up at dawn to do push-ups and sit-ups in my bedroom. I’d sneak into the living room and lift whatever I could find—old books, milk jugs filled with water—making my own little dumbbells. I was obsessed with getting stronger. Every push-up, every makeshift weight lift, I imagined myself growing, muscles tightening, bones getting denser. I was preparing for a fight that might come again. In my mind, I was preparing to face that man—or any monster like him—and win.

By the age of 12, I stepped into a boxing gym for the first time.

That changed me…

I loved every minute of it….

I had my first amateur boxing match at 12 years old. 

I remember that night vividly…

I remember the smells. The sounds, the looks on fighters faces….

The excitement from the competition of it all…

As my teen years passed, boxing became one of my refuges….

  I trained relentlessly, before and after school. While other boys my age were out chasing girls or goofing off, I was in the gym, jumping rope…

I’d get up and jog at 6am in the morning…. Staring at 12….

I went on to win a bunch of tournaments, the most prestigious was the national golden gloves….

But understand this: strength isn’t just about muscle or combat skill. 

As I was building my body and my skills,  life was teaching me other lessons too. I got into my share of scraps outside the ring. I was a teenager with a lot of anger still inside, and sometimes that anger made me reckless. I thought being a man meant I had to show I wasn’t scared of anything, that I could take on anyone at any time. There were nights I found myself in street fights or trouble because my pride or temper got the better of me. I was strong, yeah… but I still hadn’t fully killed that reactive, impulsive boy inside. He was there, whispering in moments of anger, and I had to learn to silence him in more ways than just building muscles.

See, the boy I was had started to die the night I saw my mother hurt. But it took years of trials for me to truly understand what needed to take his place. It wasn’t enough just to replace weakness with brute strength. I had to replace childish chaos with order, impulse with strategy, and anger with controlled, sacred power. I had to evolve not just into a man who could fight, but into a man who could think, who could lead, who could protect in all senses of the word.

My pain became my purpose. That purpose drove me through every hardship—through poverty, through injuries, through moments of self-doubt. When I was tempted to stray, to feel pity for myself, or to give up, I remembered my mother’s tears and that little boy who couldn’t help her. I remembered why I started this journey. And I would tell myself, “Not today. That boy is gone. I am responsible now.”

What It Means for the Boy to Die

So what do I mean when I say “the boy dies”? Why is this talk titled “When the Boy Dies, the God Lives”?

Brothers, the boy represents the immature, reactive, ego-driven part of us that must be shed for the God-body man to emerge. When I say “the boy dies,” I’m talking about killing the attitudes and habits that defined our helpless or reckless youth. It’s a necessary death—a rebirth through fire.

Think about the traits of a child, especially a child who’s been hurt or is trying to prove himself:

• Emotional Impulsivity: A boy feels something and immediately acts on it. Anger means throwing a tantrum or a punch without thinking. Fear means running or hiding. A child lacks the brake pedal on his emotions. I was that boy swinging wildly at a giant out of blind rage and fear. No strategy, just impulse. If someone insults a boy, he reacts NOW with emotion. He doesn’t pause to think of consequences. That impulsivity can get you killed or locked up in a man’s world. For us to become men, that kind of knee-jerk reactivity has to die. We must learn to master our emotions instead of being mastered by them.
  
  
• Lack of Control and Discipline: The boy has no control—over his environment, sometimes over himself. Children do what feels good in the moment; they avoid discomfort. They lack structure. As a kid, I wanted to skip chores, skip homework, eat candy and watch cartoons. That’s normal for a child. But if those habits live on in a grown man—sleeping in, avoiding hard work, chasing instant gratification—then the boy is still alive and ruling you. To become the protector, the builder of strength, you have to put those undisciplined habits in the grave. Discipline and self-control must replace them. The boy in you dies each time you say “no” to weakness and “yes” to responsibility.
  
  
• Ego-Driven Rebellion: Ah, the ego. That loudmouth punk that lives in all of us when we’re young. The boy’s ego says, “No one can tell me what to do. I’m gonna do it my way, even if it’s the dumb way, just to show I can.” Sound familiar? As teenagers, many of us (myself included) did stupid rebellious things just to assert our pride—getting in fights over nothing, breaking rules for cheap thrills, rejecting good advice because we “know better.” That’s ego-driven rebellion: acting out not for justice or principle, but just to flex, just to scratch an insecurity. That kind of rebellion has to die for the man to be born. Because a true man doesn’t rebel out of ego; he leads out of purpose. A true man can humble himself to learn and follow a righteous path, rather than sabotage himself to prove a point.
  
  
• Victim Mentality: This one is crucial. The boy—the wounded boy—wants to cry out, “Why me? It’s not fair!” He wants someone to blame, someone to come save him. And listen, I have endless compassion for that child who is hurting. We must acknowledge his pain. But we cannot allow that mentality to run our adult lives. If I had stayed in “poor me” mode after what happened to my mother and me, I’d be a very different man today—probably an angry, bitter, broken man, or maybe not alive at all. Victimhood is a comfortable cage; it lets you shirk responsibility for your life. But staying a victim means the boy never dies. To kill the boy, we must kill our victimhood. No more excuses, no more “the world owes me because I suffered.” Instead: “The world hurt me, so I’ll get stronger and build the life I want anyway.”
  
  

When the boy in you dies, these tendencies die with him. The emotional chaos, the undisciplined living, the prideful foolishness, the pity and excuses—all of it gets buried. This is not about killing the innocent child within you; it’s about killing the weakness within you. It’s about letting go of childish ways to make space for your higher self.

There’s an old scripture that says, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, understood like a child, thought like a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” I put away childish things. That is the death of the boy: putting away those childish reactions and habits.

And why do we do this? So that something greater can be born in his place. When the boy dies, the God lives. Your inner God, your highest self, the divine protector inside you, awakens.

But this transformation doesn’t just happen once, on one dramatic night of your childhood. It’s a process—a conscious, ongoing process of shedding and building. Let’s talk about how we shed weakness and embrace a new code of strength.

Shedding Weakness and Embracing Sacred Strength

Killing the boy is not a one-time event; it’s a deliberate journey. It requires you to shed your weaknesses layer by layer, and in their place, adopt structure, strategy, and sacred strength. This is how we forge the man — or as I like to say, the God-body man — from the ashes of the boy.

Think of it like forging a sword. Raw iron is heated in the fire, impurities burned away (that’s the shedding of weakness), and then it’s hammered into shape (that’s the building of strength and structure). Your life’s challenges are the fire. Your discipline and actions are the hammer. And your character is the sword being shaped.

So what does it take, step by step, to consciously leave the boy behind and rise anew? Let’s break it down:

• Embrace Structure and Order: The first thing I had to learn was to impose structure on my chaos. When I was young, life felt unpredictable and wild. Violence could erupt any time, bills weren’t always paid, there was chaos around me. I realized that to survive and thrive, I needed order in my own life. That meant creating routines and rituals I stuck to: wake up early, make my bed, show up to the gym daily at the same time, do my school work, plan my meals. Structure might sound boring, but it was freeing. It gave me a sense of control over my world, a fortress of habits that kept the weak boy at bay. Order is the opposite of the disorder that the boy is used to. With order comes stability, and with stability comes the foundation for growth. You build discipline one day at a time—every morning you get up with a mission, you are further driving a stake through the heart of the lazy, undisciplined boy. Remember: chaos breeds weakness; order breeds strength. Establish order in your day-to-day life, and you’ll feel your power rise.
  
  
• Live by Strategy, Not Emotion: This was a game-changer. I had to learn to think like a general, not a grunt. In war, if every soldier just charges whenever they feel angry or afraid, the battle is lost. Victory comes from strategy—pausing, observing, planning, then executing with precision. I started treating my life the same way. Instead of reacting when someone disrespected me, I learned to respond thoughtfully. Instead of blowing my money like a foolish youth, I saved and invested, thinking of the long term. Strategy means you play the long game. It means you sometimes bite your tongue and swallow your pride in the moment so you can win a bigger fight later. It means using your head and your heart, not letting either one run the show alone. When I was training in boxing, I wasn’t just throwing haymakers wildly anymore; I was studying opponents, developing fight plans, learning timing and footwork. Strategy. Likewise, in life I set goals: physical goals, financial goals, spiritual goals. I mapped out steps to achieve them. I started to see that discipline equals freedom—the more I planned and stuck to the plan, the more freedom and success I actually gained. The boy in me wanted everything now, wanted to prove himself every second; the man in me learned that patience and planning are weapons mightier than impulse. Be the chess player, not the pawn. A pawn reacts one step at a time; a king sees the whole board. Adopt that mentality.
  
  
• Build Sacred Strength (Mind, Body, and Spirit): When I say strength, I don’t just mean the kind that lets you lift heavy weights or throw a punch—though that can be part of it. I mean sacred strength: a unity of mind, body, and spirit aligned and powerful. After years of training my body, I discovered something: physical strength alone wasn’t enough. I knew plenty of big, muscular guys who were slaves to their temper, or their lusts, or their fears. That’s not true strength. True strength is strength of character, strength of purpose, strength of spirit. Sacred strength means your body is a temple and your spirit is a warrior residing in that temple. I began meditating and reflecting as much as I was lifting and sparring. I fed my mind with knowledge—reading books, seeking mentors, learning philosophy and history—because a strong body without a strong mind is like a blunt sword. I also reconnected with spiritual principles—call it God, the Universe, or your Higher Self. I started to sense a higher order in my life, a purpose beyond just my own ego or survival. I realized my journey wasn’t just about me; it was about serving and protecting others, about living righteously. Sacred strength is strength guided by a moral compass. It’s having the might of a soldier and the heart of a saint. It’s understanding that the greatest power comes through alignment with the divine. When you stand for something good, something higher, you draw strength from that source. I wasn’t just building muscle; I was building faith in myself and in a higher power guiding me. With that faith, I felt an unbreakable resolve. It’s the difference between a violent thug and a noble warrior: both might be strong, but only one fights for a sacred cause. Become that noble warrior.
  
  

As I incorporated structure, strategy, and sacred strength into my life, I felt the weakness falling away. I was shedding the skin of that angry, confused boy and stepping into the armor of a focused, powerful man. But to truly understand what I was becoming, I started to think of it in a new frame. Not just a man, but something even greater in essence — a man aligned with God, with the Creator, with the highest principles. In my circle, we began to call this the God-body state. You see, Infinite God Body is the philosophy that each of us has a divine spark and infinite potential within, if we are willing to do the work to realize it. It’s about recognizing that we are made in the image of the Creator, meaning we have creativity, strength, wisdom inside us waiting to be awakened.

So when I say “the God lives,” I’m speaking to that divine potential in all of us. It’s not blasphemy or arrogance; it’s actually humility and responsibility. It’s saying: I accept that God made me with purpose, and I must rise to that purpose. I carry myself like a God-body man — meaning I strive to embody the virtues of a higher power. I stand tall, not to feed my ego, but to honor the divine in me.

This is where Infinite God Body philosophy and our Sacred Society come in. I didn’t develop this path alone; I had mentors, brothers, and eventually I formed a community around these principles. We call ourselves the Sacred Society because what we do is sacred work — the work of transforming ourselves, protecting our communities, and living by higher laws. And in this community, we live by a code.

The Code of the Sacred Society (Order, Honor, Power, Clarity)

Every warrior society has a code. The samurai had Bushido, knights had chivalry, religions have commandments. In our Sacred Society, we distilled our philosophy into four core codes: Order, Honor, Power, and Spiritual Clarity. Live by these, and you will never stray far from the path of the God-body man.

1. Order – “From chaos to order” is our mantra. Order means structure, discipline, and purpose in everything you do. You create order in your life by managing your time, your space, and your habits. Your home in order, your finances in order, your health in order. Order is the foundation of mastery. Without order, you live in reaction and confusion (you live as the boy). With order, you operate with efficiency and focus. We maintain order so that chaos cannot derail us. This extends beyond personal life too: we seek to bring order to our families and communities, being a source of stability in a chaotic world.

2. Honor – Honor is about integrity, respect, and truth. A God-body man’s word is his bond. We don’t lie, we don’t backstab, we don’t betray. Honor means you carry yourself with respect for yourself and others. You treat people fairly and demand fair treatment in return. It’s also about living honorably by values: honesty, loyalty, courage, humility. Yes, humility is part of honor—recognizing that you serve something greater than just yourself. When the boy in you is alive, he’s often prideful and selfish. But the God-body man lives with honor and humility, understanding that his strength exists to serve and protect, not to bully or gratify a fragile ego. In the Sacred Society, we honor our commitments, we honor our brothers and sisters, and we honor the divine source that guides us.

3. Power – We are not ashamed of seeking power, because we define power differently. Power is not about controlling or oppressing others; that’s a tyrant’s false power. True Power is personal sovereignty. It’s the ability to shape your reality, to defend what is right, to achieve your objectives. Power comes from knowledge, from discipline, from skill, and from the unity of mind-body-spirit. We train our bodies to be powerful so we can stand firm against adversity. We educate our minds to be powerful so we cannot be misled or manipulated easily. And we cultivate spiritual power — a connection to purpose and faith — so that even when physical strength fails, our spirit remains unbroken. A God-body man stands in his power unapologetically. He doesn’t play the victim; he doesn’t relinquish his agency to anyone. He makes no excuses. He finds a way to win or he dies trying. Power is the antidote to the helplessness we once felt as boys. With true power, we become protectors and leaders rather than victims or tyrants.

4. Spiritual Clarity – This is our compass. Spiritual clarity means having a clear sense of purpose and alignment with the divine. It’s about knowing why you are fighting, why you are building strength. It’s easy to get lost in just making money, chasing pleasure, or even obsessing over training without understanding the bigger picture. Spiritual clarity centers you. Whether you derive it from prayer, meditation, studying scripture or philosophy, or simply listening to that inner voice of conscience—this clarity reminds you of your higher calling. For me, I know that I am here to be a protector, a guide, a builder of people. That’s my divine assignment. With that clarity, every challenge has meaning, and every victory is offered back to that higher purpose. When you have spiritual clarity, you walk with a certain calm and confidence, because you know you’re aligned with God’s plan (or the universe’s plan) for you. It keeps you humble, because you know the power flowing through you is a gift to be stewarded. And it keeps you focused, because you can sort out what actions serve your soul versus what just feeds the flesh or ego.

Memorize these codes: Order. Honor. Power. Clarity. This is the creed of the Sacred Society. This is the code of the Infinite God Body philosophy. Whenever you are at a crossroads, when that old boy inside starts tugging at you to react or regress, come back to the code. Ask yourself: Does this action bring order or chaos? Am I acting with honor or ego? Am I standing in my power or giving it away? Am I seeing things with spiritual clarity or am I clouded by temptation and emotion?

If you live by these four principles, you will steadily kill the weaknesses of boyhood and embody the strength of manhood. You will transform pain into purpose, anger into action, fear into faith. You will become the divine protector you were meant to be.

The Emergence of the God-Body Man

Now, let’s talk about what rises from the ashes once the boy has died and you live by that code. What does the God-body man look like in action? Who do you become?

A God-body man is a man aligned with his highest self, a man who carries divine authority in his presence. He’s not a tyrant, he’s not a bully, and he’s definitely not a victim. He is a protector, a governor, a builder, and a leader under divine guidance. He’s what I aspire to be every day, and what I guide my mentees to become.

• Protector: First and foremost, the God-body man is a guardian. He protects those he loves — his family, his friends, the weak, the innocent. Think of the transformation I went through: from a boy who couldn’t protect his mother to a man who would stand in the way of any harm coming to her or anyone under his care. Protection isn’t just physical, either. It’s emotional and spiritual. As a protector, you provide a safe space for loved ones to trust you. People feel secure around you because they know you have a warrior’s heart and a guardian’s soul. You become the one who steps up when there’s danger, who calms the storm, who says, “I got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you on my watch.” Women and children (and anyone vulnerable) feel safe in your presence, not because you boast, but because your energy and your actions consistently prove it. There’s a saying: “A harmless man is not a good man. A good man is a very dangerous man who has it under voluntary control.” That’s the protector: you have the capacity for violence to defend what’s right, but you control it and only unleash it righteously. The boy could not control anything; the man can control himself and thus protect others.
  
  
• Governor (Leader): By governor, I don’t mean a political title. I mean you govern your own life and you take leadership in your community. The God-body man doesn’t drift aimlessly. He governs himself with discipline and wisdom. He also naturally rises as a leader among peers. People gravitate to a man who has order in his life, who stands by his code, because it’s rare and valuable. You might find yourself leading a team at work, guiding younger guys in the gym, mentoring kids in your neighborhood, or just being the one in your friend group who others turn to for advice. And if life calls you to it, you’ll step up to lead in bigger ways — as a coach, a teacher, an entrepreneur, maybe a literal community leader. The God-body man accepts this leadership role with humility and resolve. He doesn’t abuse power (because he lives by honor). Instead, he uses authority to uplift others and maintain justice. Think of a sacred general on the battlefield of life: he coordinates, strategizes, and directs, not out of ego, but because he knows that’s how his people survive and thrive. You become that general for your household and community. You govern with love and firmness. You set rules and live by them, inspiring others to do the same. While the boy could barely govern his own impulses, the man can govern a whole kingdom starting with himself.
  
  
• Builder: A God-body man builds. He builds himself, first of all — a strong body, a sharp mind, a resilient spirit. But he doesn’t stop at self-construction. He builds his family (perhaps as a loving husband and father, when that time comes), he builds businesses and careers, he builds community projects, he builds whatever needs building. Building is the opposite of what a lost boy does. A boy breaks things (out of carelessness or malice) or he just consumes what others built. A man, a God-body man, is a creator and a contributor. In my own life, after I forged myself through boxing and discipline, I looked outward and said, “How can I create value? How can I build something that helps others?” I started businesses that grew into successful enterprises. I built a platform to share knowledge on fitness, mindset, and spirituality. I wrote books to crystallize wisdom. And now I’m helping build our Sacred Society as a movement of empowered individuals. Building might mean literal construction or metaphorical, but the essence is you leave things better than you found them. You create more than you destroy. You plant seeds that will bear fruit for the next generation. This is divine work. Remember, one of the names of God or the Creator in many traditions is “The Creator” — as a reflection of that, when you create and build positively, you are reflecting the divine nature. The God-body man takes that seriously.
  
  
• Divine Authority (Walking with God): Finally, a God-body man walks with divine authority. This means you move through life with a certain presence, a combination of confidence and grace that comes from knowing you are aligned with the Most High. When you speak, you speak truth as you know it, and you aren’t afraid of the consequences of speaking truth. When you act, you act righteously, even if it’s tough or you stand alone. You carry yourself like you are on a mission from God (because you are—your life’s purpose is God’s mission for you). This gives you a fearlessness that a child or an uninitiated man simply does not have. I’m not saying you won’t feel fear; we all do. But when you do, you feel the hand of God at your back, and you press on. You have authority because you answer to a higher authority. This makes you unconquerable in spirit. People sense this in you. It commands respect naturally—real respect, not the cheap fear-based respect a bully seeks. Think of historical figures who carried divine authority: Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. comes to mind—a man who was physically not the biggest or strongest, but when he spoke, when he marched, the ground shook because he was walking in divine purpose. That is what I mean. In your own sphere, you become a rock for others, a beacon. The storms of life might crash against you, but you stand firm, guided by an inner light.
  
  

In essence, when the boy dies and the God-body man emerges, you become a King in the truest sense: a servant-king. You serve those you lead, and thus you lead with wisdom. You protect fiercely, love fiercely, and build tirelessly. You are not led by whims of emotion; you command your life with principle and strength. You are in touch with compassion (the boy’s heart isn’t lost entirely—you keep his openness and love, but tempered with a man’s wisdom). You can smile and play like a child when appropriate, but you can fight like a warrior when needed. You have integrated all parts of you—the innocence of the child, the strength of the warrior, the wisdom of the sage—into one complete, balanced being.

That is the Infinite God Body ideal: an ever-evolving, ever-improving embodiment of your highest potential. When I look in the mirror, I don’t just see a man who lifts weights or a businessman; I see a man who bears the scars of his past with pride and uses them as scripture in the book of his life. I see God’s handiwork in progress. And I want you to see that in yourself, too. Not tomorrow, not next year, but starting right now.

Because, my brothers, we need more of these God-body men in this world. The world is suffering from an absence of true masculinity—not toxic machismo, not timid passivity, but true, balanced, divine masculinity. Too many communities have boys in grown male bodies causing chaos, or grown men whose spirits are broken, who’ve given up on their divine calling. We must change that. We are the ones who must step up. Each of you has that responsibility if you choose to accept it.

Remember, strength without love is tyranny, and love without strength is helplessness. We strive to embody both strength and love, power and compassion. That’s the God-body balance.

You might be thinking, “This is a tall order, Mike. Can I really become all that?” My answer: Absolutely. How do I know? Because I did. I came from the fire of trauma, I stumbled through anger and mistakes, I was far from perfect. If I—once a scared, skinny kid trembling in a corner—could become a man who now leads others into strength, then I promise you, you can transform too. The same divine spark lives in you. It’s just waiting for you to clear the debris and let it shine.

And that transformation, like any rite of passage, often requires a symbolic act—a moment where you declare, “The boy in me dies today.” A moment that you can look back on and remember as the turning point. We’re going to create that moment right here, right now.

A Warrior’s Ritual: Releasing the Boy, Awakening the God

Now we come to the most important part of tonight – the moment of ritual. In ancient cultures, when a boy became a man, there was often a ceremony or a trial by fire. The boy might be sent into the wilderness to survive on his own, or given a new name, or required to perform some courageous feat. When he returned, the tribe no longer saw him or treated him as a child. The boy was considered dead, and the man was born in his place.

Tonight, we’re going to conduct a modern version of that rite of passage – a sacred ritual in our own hearts and minds. This is a reflection ritual. It may be symbolic, but I promise you it will be visceral if you give it your all. This is a moment for you to face the boy inside you, to acknowledge him, and then release him with gratitude and finality, so you can fully step into your divine manhood.

Prepare yourself. Sit up straight, plant your feet firmly on the floor. Close your eyes if you feel comfortable, and take a deep breath… in through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow your breathing. Feel your chest rise and fall. We’re getting centered now.

(Mike pauses, giving time for breathing.)

Now, I want you to visualize that younger version of you – the boy you once were. See him in your mind’s eye. It might be you at 5 years old, or 10, or 15 – whenever that stage was where you still felt small, or lost, or not yet in control. See him standing in front of you. Really picture him: his face, his eyes (maybe looking up at you, since you’re grown now), the expression he’s wearing.

Look at that boy. Acknowledge him. This boy is a part of you, a chapter of your life. Maybe he’s carrying some pain – pain that you remember. Maybe he’s holding anger from what he’s been through, like I was. Maybe he’s confused, or just naive and unaware of what’s ahead. You might see in his eyes the fears and hopes you once had. Let it come. If emotion rises while you imagine this, let it rise. This is you meeting yourself.

Now, notice that as you, the man, stand facing him, the boy is much smaller. You tower over him now. You are no longer that small child, even if sometimes your heart still feels his wounds. Recognize the strength and growth you have already attained to be standing here today, listening to this. You survived everything that boy went through. You’re here, alive, and ready for the next step. That in itself is a victory.

I want you to kneel down now (in your mind, or physically if you like) and look that inner boy in the eyes. If you have any words you’ve been longing to tell your younger self, say them now in your heart. Maybe you say: “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.” Maybe: “I forgive you for the mistakes you made.” Maybe: “Thank you for getting me this far.” Because truth is, you’re only here because that boy endured everything he did. He did his best with what he had. Acknowledge that. Give him love. This is not about hating the boy; this is about honoring him and then letting him rest.

Now, you’re going to tell the boy that it’s time. It’s time for him to step aside. The protection he needed is here now—in you, the grown man. The world that was on his shoulders is now on yours, and you can carry it. Tell him he can lay down his burden. He doesn’t have to be afraid anymore, because you – the man – will handle it from here.

If that boy is holding any pain (and we all have some pain from childhood), gently take it from him. Maybe you symbolically take his hand and place all those fears, tears, and anger into your own heart to transform it. Or maybe you imagine giving them up to God, like a balloon released to the sky. Choose what feels right to you. The key is: release the boy from those hurts. Set him free from that moment in the past where he might be stuck.

Now, watch as that boy begins to fade or step backward. Perhaps you see him walking away into a light, or dissolving into mist. Perhaps he turns and gives you a smile of relief and disappears. In whatever way you envision it, let him go. Say goodbye. This is a farewell to your old self. That boy’s role in your life is complete.

Feel the weight of him lift off your soul. Feel a newfound strength rising in you as he departs. Stand up tall again in your mind (and physically stand now if you will). Stand as the man you are. Roll your shoulders back, lift your head high. Breathe in deep… and out.

Now, in the quiet of your mind or out loud if you can, declare to yourself: “The boy in me is no more. Today, I stand as a man. Today, I live as a God-body man.” Say it with conviction. Declare your new identity. This is the death of the boy, and the birth of the divine protector within you.

(He pauses, letting the audience speak that affirmation or absorb it.)

Feel the power of that declaration. Let it settle into your bones. This isn’t just words – this is a commitment. A sacred oath you’ve just taken with yourself as the witness, and if you believe, with God as witness too.

I want you to envision something now: imagine above you a great light, like a ray of divine energy shining down. See it pouring into you, filling you from head to toe with strength and purpose. That is the blessing of transformation. That is the moment the God lives in you fully. Accept that blessing. Feel its warmth. This is the anointing of the new you.

Now, open your eyes (if they were closed). Look around at your brothers here who are doing this with you. Each one of you has taken this step. Each one of you has just symbolically laid the boy to rest. That is powerful. That is sacred. We have, together, enacted a modern rite of passage.

But remember, a ritual’s power lies in the follow-through. The boy is gone, but the habits and choices of manhood must continue every day forward to keep him gone. Tomorrow when you wake up, remind yourself of this moment. Walk in your new identity. When temptation comes to act out or shrink back into old ways, recall: the boy is dead, he can’t control me; I act now as a man with purpose.

Write down this date, this occasion, and what you felt. This is the day of your rebirth into manhood and into your God-body potential. This is like your second birthday – the birth of your higher self taking the throne.

Conclusion: Long Live the God-Body Man

My brothers, you have walked with me through this journey tonight—from the story of a frightened boy to the rise of a determined man, from chaos to order, from pain to power. You have reflected on your own journey and made a commitment to change. This is no small thing. This is a life-altering moment if you seize it fully.

When I was that little kid, curled up on the floor with my mother crying over me, I could never have imagined that pain would lead to something good. But here I am, and here you are. That journey was not in vain. The boy died, but in his place stands a man who lives with purpose. When the boy dies, the God lives.

Let that phrase echo in your mind in the coming days: The boy is dead; the God lives. The God lives in me. Say that to yourself when you hit a wall or feel doubt: The God lives in me. That means limitless strength, limitless love, limitless growth. It means you carry the image of the Creator and you will keep rising no matter what.

You will still face challenges—life will no doubt test you, perhaps even more now that you’ve made this vow. But now you face them as a warrior, not a child. You have your code: Order, Honor, Power, Clarity. You have your community – this Sacred Society of brothers walking the path with you. And you have your higher power guiding you.

No more acting from pain or ego. No more drifting aimlessly. No more waiting for someone else to save you or give you permission to be great. You are initiated. You are the savior you’ve been waiting for, through the God that moves in you.

As I look at all of you now, I don’t see boys. I see kings in the making. I see future protectors of families, future mentors, future leaders who will transform not only yourselves but everyone you touch. This world needs its men back. Strong in body, clear in mind, pure in heart. That’s you. Claim that.

Stand strong, my warriors. Stand tall, sacred generals of your own destiny. In your posture, in your gaze, I should see the difference from when we started tonight. I do see it. Shoulders squared, eyes shining, faces set with determination. That warmth in your chest? That fire in your belly? That is power. That is confidence. That is the God-body energy lighting up within you.

Carry that with you out of here. Let it illuminate your homes, your workplaces, our society. Be the example of what a man truly is. Some people may not understand this talk of “God-body” or killing the boy—they might think it sounds extreme. That’s fine. They will understand when they see the results: when they see you calm in the face of chaos, disciplined when others are sloppy, honorable when others are shady, and courageous when others are fearful. They will ask, “Bro, what changed about you?” And you can share this wisdom with them. In that way, you’ll pass the torch and initiate others by your influence.

Before we part, I want each of you to place your right hand over your heart. Feel that heartbeat. It’s strong. It’s steady. It’s the drumbeat of a warrior. Repeat after me, out loud or in your spirit:

• “The boy in me is dead.
  
  
• The warrior in me is alive.
  
  
• The king in me is alive.
  
  
• The God in me is alive.”
  
  

Let those words reverberate.

Now take your hand and clasp it into a fist – not of anger, but of resolve – and hold it up in front of you. This fist symbolizes your strength and your commitment. You’ve clenched it not in childish tantrum, but in deliberate determination. This is the fist that will knock down obstacles, that will uphold justice, that will build tomorrows.

I’ll leave you with this final thought, my brothers, my fellow warriors: Every day going forward, make the choice anew to let the boy stay dead. When old habits or fears creep in, remember this night. Remember that you are not that helpless child anymore. You are the one in control now. You wield the sword. You wear the crown. You walk with God. Each morning, wake up and reaffirm: I am a man of order, honor, power, and clarity. Each night, reflect: Did I live by the code? Did I move like a protector and builder? Constant vigilance and constant growth—that is our path.

We began with a story of a little boy who felt powerless. We end with a room full of men who have reclaimed their power. This is what transformation looks like. This is what victory feels like.

Remember my story when you doubt yourself. I was forged in hardship, but so many of you have your own hardships that have forged you too. Embrace them. Let them be your source of strength, not a source of shame. Wear your scars like badges of honor—they mean you showed up to battle and lived. The boy in you might whimper at scars; the man in you roars with pride for having overcome.

Go forward from here and live out this truth: When the boy dies, the God lives.

Live as that God-body man every single day. Lead with strength and compassion. Protect what is sacred. Build what is good. And never, ever look back except to see how far you’ve come.

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Welcome to your new life, kings. The boy is dead. Long live the God in you.

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