What More Can I Say?

I woke up this morning in a fog.

You know, the kind that envelopes you with pending doom.

In some ways, I've had that pit-in-my-stomach feeling every since November,even more so since January and every day since then.

What new cruelty is being unleashed upon us now?

How much more inhumane can these people be?

When is it enough?

Then, like many of my fellow Americans, we watched in sadness as Senators voted to advance the big-horrible-ugly-depraved bill and as one woman senator from Alaska said, they were hoping the house would defeat it.

Where is the courage?

In the dark of night on July 3rd, the weasel-of-a-house-speaker called the members into chamber to begin the debate of the bill and to call for a vote. While the rest of us were sleeping or at the writer's hour of 3am, he called them into session.

So they went, and they spoke, the representative from Brooklyn held it the longest and after he yielded, they had a few more and in the span of time of me running a quick errand to the post office, they passed it.

It is unconscionable.

It is beyond evil.

The harm will be generational.

And that was the intent.

And we tried to tell you.

So many of us.

I have been writing and talking about this since 2008.

A couple of women ran for office and tried to tell the nation.

Yet, so many allowed themselves to be swayed by their emotions, by hatred, and by bigotry.

Facts could not sway them.

Telling them it will come for them first did not sway them.

Teach-ins could not sway them.

Showing this goes back to 1964 could not sway them.

They wanted to harm someone. And with this bill and before it, with the ways their out-of-shape masked-sons have been snatching, assaulting, and r@ping women because of their not-from-here-status, have been wrecking evil on the streets of this country. Not ironically, in all the places where they drop-shipped people as a stunt last year.

So, what do I do now on this morning of not independence on this not america day?

I'm checking in with my heart.

I'm checking in with my soul.

I'm checking in with my spirit.

The evil they enacted yesterday is designed to come-out-of-nowhere after the midterm elections. They hope people will forget and by next November be unwilling to hold them accountable. Or they hope they will be just too scared to move since the immediate funding was for more of the masked-kidnappers-posing-as-law enforcement.

Foundational Black Americans know this demon.

We've known this enemy that comes to steal and kill.

And we tried to tell you.

The 92% tried to warn you, encourage you, sway you, cajole you.

We tried everything to save this country from herself.

But, in reality, we are only 7% of the entire population.

64% of those being snatched up off the street, from construction sites, from farm fields - voted for this.

81% of those who claim to be evangelical Christians - voted for this.

55% of the same women who voted for this the first time did it again.

We already know.

So, no, we can't save you this time.

This time, we are attending to our own hearts and spirits.

This time, we are just being.

Because what more can we say?

Sipping a brown sugar rosemary latte looking out over the greenery remembering a better day.

Hannah's Song

We came together last night and sang Hannah's song. Family from California was in town, it was the night before Aunt Hannah's Home Going Celebration. We met at my house late in the evening to fellowship, remember, hug, eat, and laugh. Thom felt the love in the room and I'm sure his mom would've appreciated us doing what she did all her life - love. Aunt Hannah was a gracious woman. Her gentle spirit, sparkling eyes, and constant smile will be remembered. She has left us physically, but never spiritually. The laughter was like music in Thom's ear. For the first time in weeks I saw my cousin relax. He has been in a tornado for the past four weeks from his mother's diagnosis to her death. Even in her final stage, Aunt Hannah was granted her desire. She asked to not suffer long when it was her time to go, she had been a caregiver her whole life and I'm sure her prayer was for her son. In the last days of her life, she still greeted well wishers with a wa...

Brothers, Can we Talk?

I'm a Black woman, born of a Black woman and a Black man. When my mother died, it was my father who nurtured me and instilled in me a sense of pride of self, of my race, of my abilities to do whatever I put my mind to do. He never imposed limitations on me as a Black woman. The only caution he ever gave me was to not burn my candle at both ends and to be mindful of my health, I am an asthmatic. He never stopped me from trying anything and always encouraged me. Daddy was a strong Black man who introduced me to Shirley Chisholm when I was a little girl. He reminded me of the fortitude of my late mother's quest for gender equality in the workplace and of the namesake who marched at Selma. He is the one who gave me my pseudonym, Tayé. Daddy was a strong tower of empowerment and fought all the way to his last breath for social, gender, and racial justice. It is in remembering my father this morning that I'm asking the brothers, can we talk? What is it, especially those of my g...

Ashes to Ashes

This is Ash Wednesday. For a lot of Catholics and Anglican Christians, it begins the holy season of Lent. We remember we are but dust and to dust we return, ashes to ashes. It is a somber reminder of our humanity and the finality of life. We are a mere breath. Today, as a Hospital Chaplain Resident, I am imposing ashes on patients, family, and staff. It is a visible marker of a shared faith and belief. We look with anticipation to the finished work of salvation on the cross and in eager hope of the resurrection. As my day progressed, I noticed how much hope was in the eyes of the ones giving and receiving this reminder of our existence. It was both a somber moment and a joyful moment. Two things can exist at the same time. Like the world we find ourselves in. Even as it seems like the darkest, certainly the darkest I’ve known in my six decades on this earth. Completely imperfect as a nation, there was still a glimmer of light until the nightmare became reality. We wonder abo...

The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

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