Renaissance of Black Love: An Essay

The moon and its effervescent cast of twinkling stars were a worthy companion as I burned the midnight oil. A shea butter-scented candle burned softly in the background. Its luminous flame danced and flickered amongst the darkness as I examined my thoughts. Mmm, the scent it produced was refined, yet alluring. The mood had been set to convey what needed to be said. Black Woman, may I? I know you’ve heard it all before; empty words have only added credence to the pain and betrayal. I understand, believe me, I do.

Systemic trauma wounded our love. The oppressor still seeks to contaminate and destroy our families. Despite our history, we’ve forged ahead through the mire. Our resilience validates the strength passed down to us by our ancestors. Today, now more than ever, we need each other. Our souls will never know peace until we’re restored.

You’re tired, I can see it in your eyes. You’ve cried in the darkness. You’ve yearned for our love, support, and protection. Your grace is as the day is long. How have we repaid you? With scraps? With broken promises? We’ve betrayed you with our incautious deeds and lack of consideration. We’ve harmed you with our words. You’ve never deserved this. We fuss, fight, and drift further apart. Like a ship without a sail in search of dry land, we’re lost without you. The promised land will remain hidden if we continue to forsake you. There are no streets of gold without you by our side. To sin against thee is to sin against ourselves. The war between us must end. On the battlefield of love, there are only casualties.

Queen, you deserve nothing short of our best. It’s our duty to protect you with our lives. We must honor you with every ounce of our being. We must lift you and support your dreams just as you’ve supported ours. Those who wish to abuse you and profit from your pain must be canceled and dealt with appropriately.

The next generation of men must learn from our mistakes. A renaissance of Black love is needed. Black love is life. Black love is healing. Black love is everything.

Black First: An Essay

The magic and brilliance of Blackness are often overlooked and cast to the side. It will never be seen as the crime against humanity that it is. It’s unfortunate yet expected. I often wonder what it was like to live during the civil rights era— the era of Dr. King, Malcom X, Medgar Evers, Assata Shakur, Fred Hampton, and others who believed in the liberation of Black people. I would be remiss if I did not say that this is our time in history to make a stand. Political violence has always been an inescapable aspect of the Black experience. It’s been there since the beginning. While I don’t condone violence of any kind, it’s often been brought to the doorstep of Black people throughout American history. It is neither wise nor honorable to be ignorant of the past. Historical context is paramount. White supremacist ideas have always and continue to be a danger to Black society. There is nothing new under the sun in America. The sanitization of White supremacy and its relics is an open assault on the livelihood and well-being of my people.

Recent events in America have highlighted an ever-growing divide. The war of words and ideas has spilled into the streets. The talk of race wars and reckless instigation from the current Administration has only elevated the temperature. They’ve made a martyr out of someone who furthered this divide. Indifference does not mean endorsement, just as death does not erase the ills in one’s life. It would appear that blind allegiance to the misinterpretations of American Christianity has led many to show grace to a white supremacist and his cause. These same people have looked the other way when confronted with anti-Black hate crimes and the atrocities in Gaza. This is the same religion that those who propagate hate used and continue to use to justify chattel slavery, intolerance, and genocide, including the assault on democracy today. I’m careful not to indict the faith as a whole, although I personally feel it has created more conflict between us than it has ever solved.

Threats were illogically levied against HBCUs when the perpetrator didn’t align with their agenda. Those in power, under the veil of faux spirituality, would rather push for statues, unhinged forced mourning, and a national day of remembrance for someone who believed I was better off enslaved instead of bringing the country together. I will not utter his name in this composition. They chose to memorialize a bigot in the name of the Lord, who made it clear he believed Black people should be at the bottom of the social and economic order. His crass words regarding the intelligence of Black women are unforgivable as they are simply untrue. His words resonated with many across this nation, many of whom believe they are Christians. Where are their morals? Where is this love of Jesus they mindlessly espouse, yet do not extend? This is America. This has always been America for Black people.

Despite all we’ve faced and continue to face in this country, we still rise to the occasion every day. The love of self and each other is needed now more than ever. For the sake of our children and those who will come after us, we must continue to move forward, intentionally confronting the issues that plague our society. Being Black first doesn’t mean other lives aren’t valuable as well. With each careful step, we’re creating history. The generations after us will judge us for the actions we take today. Choosing to make a difference in the face of mounting opposition is what makes us special. We’re resilient, strong, and proud. The fight for justice and equality continues.

Not Easily Broken: An Essay

My eyes began to adjust to the darkness as I closed my laptop. I’d struggled to string together a few meaningful sentences. Damn, I’d been sucked into the abyss again. The block reared its ugly head, seeking to devour my creativity. For days, I’d barely touched my manuscript. I’d write a few words and close the computer, wondering where my energy had gone. The darkness reminded me of time wasted despite my sincere attempts to be productive.

I dragged myself to bed as the guilt taunted and prodded me. I wondered if I’d ever finish the story that has taken residence on my hard drive. “It shouldn’t be this difficult,” I mumbled under my breath. It shouldn’t be, but it is: this is the writer’s paradox. The struggling writers trope felt more like prophecy.

How can you write an impactful story when you’re reminded daily of an evil system that’s hell bent on disrupting the lives of your people? It’s difficult to plead ignorance and look the other way when things like the Voting Rights Act of 1965 are in the crosshairs of the Supreme Court. Those in power seek to make us more vulnerable.

Women’s rights are being violated by the day. Distressing thoughts of my daughter’s future in a world run by white men armed with ill intentions, deep hatred, and entitlement have taken up space in the back of my mind. They curate harmful legislation in the name of God. Misguided by their insatiable egos, their appetite for human suffering is sacrilegious. What kind of God relishes in the misfortune of the underserved? Their empty souls use religion to justify their ambitions. It’s theatre at best.

These are my musings. As a man who is deeply connected to his soul, I find solace in honesty and deep introspection. Each day is a new opportunity to push forward. We can’t always control what happens around us, but we can certainly choose how we’ll respond.

Soul Talks: An Essay

Rocks crumbled beneath my feet with each careful step I took along the edge of the desert trail. Evening walks at the base of mountains never get old. I’m one with my soul in these moments, I can hear my innermost thoughts more clearly as birds of prey fly in unique patterns above. In the distance, I was drawn to a young coyote playing near a tall cactus that leaned ever so slightly to the right. Perfection doesn’t exist in nature, yet its natural, undisturbed beauty is self-evident. The sun began slowly descending behind the peak. While taking in the picturesque view of the sun-scorched landscape, I felt a calmness descend over me. This place is special. Nature is one of life’s illustrious teachers. The birds and other animals rarely appeared stressed and bogged down with the cares of this life. I know we’re complex creatures with commitments and complicated social dynamics, but I can appreciate the simplicity of their lives.

Over the past few months, I’d been feeling heavy. People I love have been personally affected by the unconstitutional DOGE cuts. Consistent and ever-present chaos affected my mood as this regime has disproportionately attacked my people. While Black people have never been a priority in America, what we’re seeing today is openly disgusting. I’ve always been a champion of protecting peace, yet I realized I hadn’t taken my own advice.

Prioritizing our mental health is a personal decision, one that is made each day. It must be an intentional decision. We should be aware of what’s happening around the nation and the world at large, but it shouldn’t be at the expense of our health. The effects of not protecting my peace manifested in interesting ways. Writing had become difficult. I’m in the process of writing my 4th novel, which comes with its own set of challenges. The pages of my story were collecting dust for a while: Slowing down and silencing the noise in life is an act of self-love. We must give ourselves a chance to be present without strings attached. Productivity can wait. Our spirit needs to be recharged often.

Rest is something I’ve been doing more of. Living in the moment has taught me the importance of giving myself grace. I don’t engage with things and people that do not bring me peace. This personal decision has reaped bountiful benefits in my life. I encourage you to do more of what makes your soul happy. Stay aware, but don’t let it consume you. Prioritize rest and silence when you can. Put energy into what brings you the most joy. Life, even with its complexities and challenges, is beautiful with the correct perspective. Perspective is truly everything. Always remember to make yourself a priority. May the next half of this year be the best yet.

Clear and Present Danger

I said I wasn’t going to do it. I told myself to leave politics alone; nothing good ever comes from it. But, got damnit I’m furious. I’m angry we’re here again after all that’s been said and done. How could millions of people willingly vote this type of maniac into the highest office of the land? It’s obvious White supremacy is in high demand. I’ve answered my rhetorical question. The truth shall certainly free us, but there are days when progression feels more like a fallacy.

Anxiety is on high alert around the nation as Trump attempts to disrupt lives with each stroke of his pen. He salivates over executive orders as if they were medium rare steaks; he’s a gluttonous fascist with an appetite to conquer and divide. While I refused to tune into the inauguration, I did choose to stay abreast of policy decisions and movements. Trump is a clear and present danger. With the recent rollback of the 1965 Equal Employment Opportunity Act, he’s hell-bent on fulfilling Project 2025, the same plan he claimed to have nothing to do with during the campaign.

From his unqualified cabinet picks to his strange obsessions with Billionaires, Musk, Bezos, and Zuckerberg have no place in government. We are swiftly moving toward an oligarchy—some would say we’re already living in one. I’m tired. If you’re reading this, I believe we share similar sentiments.

Where do we go from here? How do we protect our mental health as our rights continue to be violated? How do we remain encouraged when progress declines? We must guard our hearts and minds during these times. I refuse to let this clear and present danger rob me of my peace of mind. Each day I’ve decided to stay informed without feeding into negative drama. There will be many days of uncertainty, division, and gloating from those with reprobate minds. We mustn’t be moved by those desperate sycophants who’ve voted against their interests. We must stay armed with knowledge as we come face to face with coordinated disinformation campaigns.

Stay strong, watchful, and informed. We must continue to demand equality. Let your voice be heard by writing to your elected officials. Passivity is the enemy of progression. Vote every chance you get. We will not be denied if we remain unified. The days ahead will feel daunting and difficult, but may I remind you that we’ve made it through tough times before, and this time will be no different.

Shameless: An Essay

People. Damn. Why would they say that? Who knows? What were they thinking? They probably weren’t. No empathy, respect for others or self as far as I’m concerned. Evil deeds, violence, and a blatant disregard for civility appear standard. If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s people being people. They utter ugly words without fear of reproach; they speak before thinking and insult before seeking to understand.

As a Black man, I’m familiar with the uglier side of humanity as were my ancestors. With the evolution of social media, which in my opinion, has helped to assist in the perpetual decay of social standards, how do we create safe spaces? The system is architected to display controversial takes that stimulate traffic. The machine is always at work. Bots and rage baiters thrive in these environments as their posts become beacons to rally the pitchfork-armed mob. This mob leaves a trail of lifeless doxed bodies of those who once only wished to share their thoughts. This is why we need our own spaces as the spaces we’ve created on these platforms are often infiltrated. We’re no strangers to these matters as descendants of the survivors of the Middle Passage and Jim Crow segregation— we’re resilient.

Social media companies have abandoned their responsibilities. Government leaders have gleefully cosigned the decline of society as their pockets grow fatter off of the dissension. Where is their shame? It would be intellectually and culturally dishonest for me to declare these are new problems. They’re not. It’s the manifestation of these cultural and societal issues that’s changed. Conflict has always been a part of the human experience and I don’t see that changing. I’ve focused on learning how to navigate this landscape without losing myself.

We must prioritize our mental well-being. It’s paramount that we do this during these complicated and uncertain times. As conflict on all fronts seeks to dominate our lives, it’s important that we center ourselves and create an environment of harmony. We must create and enforce our boundaries. It’s okay to disconnect when overwhelmed. Avoid petty disagreements and perpetual communication with people who reveal they aren’t interested in civil discourse. The next few years will certainly test our resolve. The shameless amongst us have an operating charter they do not wish to alter. I encourage us all not to play their game.

My Thoughts for the New Year

There weren’t fireworks. If there were, I didn’t see or hear them. I don’t think I like them very much anymore anyway. Life can be hilarious at times. I didn’t bring in the new year taking sweet inventory of my life while sipping blush Martinelli sparking cider with my family. No, I wasn’t writing my new goals in my favorite journal in front of the fireplace smiling at the thought of how great 2025 would be. I was in bed wondering how I could’ve gotten sick during my favorite time of the year.

It happens to the best of us; I certainly needed the rest. A New Year is a symbol of new hope and opportunity. It’s a new beginning. Now that I’m better, I’ve processed what 2025 will represent for me. In years past, I’d created a lengthy list of goals that were often undefined, unrealistic, or impossible to meet. Nowadays I keep it simple. I have three goals that I will spend this year working toward. They’re smart and focused goals that can be achieved. I’ve taken the pressure off myself.

I’ve emphasized enjoying life and living in the moment as much as possible. The recent New Orleans terrorist attack is a stark reminder of how fragile life can be. My heart goes out to all the families affected by this heinous act. In less than twenty days Trump will take office. I’ve mentally prepared for the confusion and turmoil that will seep from his presidency.

One of the best things we can do as we enter this season is give ourselves grace. Feed your mind things that uplift your spirit. Go where you’re watered. Remember to make yourself a priority because you matter too. Don’t allow others to disrupt your flow. Remove anything that robs you of your autonomy and peace of mind. You’re in the driver’s seat, you have the right to decide where you’ll be planted and how you’ll make a difference in the lives of those around you. Happy New Year.

Cult of Personality

“You’re in sin when you don’t listen to the man of God. I’m your shepherd,” my pastor shouted. His piercing words and indignant expression were difficult to misinterpret. His unjustified anger and narcissism led him to believe every word he spoke was ordained by God himself. “lf you disagree with me, you’re disagreeing with God!” The feedback from the mic almost resembled the sound of a lightsaber. He’d just unclipped a red lightsaber from his waist holster seeking to destroy the Jedi as he peered around the sanctuary. Well, that’s how it felt at least. That’s about all I remembered from that particular Sunday. It was just like all the others that came before it. With my cell phone slung low between my legs, I often surfed the web to thwart my growing disinterest.

My relationship with the church and religion as a whole had been a rocky one. I’ve questioned my faith and God himself more times than I’d care to admit. Most people who’d known me most of my life would have easily considered me a church boy who could do no wrong, but little did they know I struggled to find happiness in the faith.

Honesty eluded me for years as I went through the motions. The constant cycle of guilt and zeal eventually seized my wavering faith. My identity was wrapped in the church; my dearest friendships were cultivated in the church. Debates about doctrine often lead to arguments. Could I share what I’ve been feeling? Perhaps not. It’s difficult for people to accept others' points of view. There’s a unique arrogance that oozes from people in the church. Their entitlement prevents honest discourse. From diapers to manhood, my life was deeply entrenched in the church. My father preached the gospel although he lived a double life. I often wonder if those who teach and preach the word believe themselves.

Have you ever found yourself questioning what you truly believe? I’m no longer afraid of the unknown. There are more questions than answers and that’s okay. Don’t fear condemnation fanned by haughty individuals who believe they’ve got all the answers. This journey of faith is a complicated one. I’m still figuring out what it all means.

America’s Sin

We were five miles away. My anticipation grew as the city drew near. I’d never been there before; I didn’t know what to expect. Distracted by my gnawing uneasiness, I hadn’t noticed the change in scenery. For hours as far as the eye could see, the wide open midwestern plains had once made its presence known. I exited the freeway toward downtown Tulsa, Oklahoma. That city, oh that city, was full of rich Black history, triumph, and sorrow. Tulsa was a stark reminder of one of America’s sins— a sin it had conveniently ignored.

Walking through Greenwood was both surreal and gut-wrenching. Soulful murals and carefully placed monuments reminded all never to forget the massacre that took place in the spring of 1921. Remnants of that fateful day, hidden in plain sight, stood unbothered as America vehemently refused to right its wrongs. The destruction of Black Wall Street was one of many sins committed against Black people. I could feel the presence of the ancestors as I imagined living in the community. To be surrounded by successful Black businesses, beautiful homes, and families who’d finally felt at peace as their dream of living without fear had been realized would’ve been invigorating.

Angry whites who lusted after Black death and destruction, determined to halt this renaissance of Black prosperity and progression, murdered without repentance. Bullets rained down from prop duster aircraft. The streets were overrun with savages who had one thing on their mind. The stench of death filled the air as chaos ensued. Dead bodies filled the street. Children screamed as they ran with their parents searching for cover as shotgun shells clanged against the pavement. Black men and women grabbed their weapons as they fought to protect their families, homes, and businesses. I stepped into the past and asked myself what I’d do if I were there. I could not fathom such a day; my heart ached.

On Wednesday, June 12th, the Oklahoma Supreme Court dismissed a lawsuit filed by the survivors of the Tulsa Massacre. Although I felt angry, I knew nothing would come of it. America will never reach its truest potential until it deals with the past accordingly. They use legality to avoid taking responsibility. How can the nation parade itself as a symbol of freedom, justice, and hope? The Tulsa race massacre survivors and their families deserve better.

Self-Love Chronicles

You heard what they said. How could you forget? Those painful nasty words cut you deeply. “It’s just a joke,” they say conveniently. You take things too personally. You’re just imagining things. Sound familiar? You heard the snide remarks that were camouflaged as unsolicited advice. Their muffled laughter when you were down was undeniable. Your mistakes and missteps were the topic of brunch conversations. Your brightest moments were met with one-word emotionless halfcocked congratulatory texts. Whispers in the dark always seem to find their way back. They laughed nervously when you confronted them. They’re still around because it’s hard to let go of people who aren’t good for you and your mental health.

How do you find the courage to let go of people who continually gnaw at your self-worth? Damaging words have consequences, or at least they should. Setting and enforcing boundaries is an intimate act of self-love. Without boundaries, we’re just floating in the wind accepting whatever blows our way. You’re worth more than that. People who continually push the envelope should no longer have access to you. You know who they are.

A few years ago, I discovered a distant family member had made unsavory comments about me and my family. This person had a history of propping themselves up as a perpetual victim. If it weren’t about them they just simply weren’t happy or didn’t care at all. Often they were the author of confusion and confronting them usually made matters worse. I’ve helped this person out more times than I can count. It was exhausting maintaining a relationship with a person who only thought about themselves. Loving from a distance is an act of self-love as well.

Embrace the people in your life that continually show up. Water the relationships that bring out the best in you. May we each find the courage to protect our self-worth and energy this year. Self-love isn’t a fancy cliché it is a way of life.