Social Justice

darnold1975

Democracy, Sage, and Whatever This Year Thinks It’s Doing

“At this point, I’m not sure if I’m fighting for democracy or just trying to survive a year that keeps acting like it’s on bath salts.”

-Unknown

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. If this year had a Yelp page, I’d give it one star and a strongly worded paragraph. We are thirty‑something days into the mess of 2026, and I already feel like I’ve aged a decade. I’ve developed three new stress wrinkles. And spiritually relocated to a hammock in the void. Every morning, I wake up, stretch, hydrate, and whisper, “Lord, please don’t let the news be stupid today.” And every morning the universe replies, “Lol, girl… buckle up.”

This year is already acting like it’s on a Red Bull and trauma cocktail, and I’m just trying to keep my chakras aligned and my blood pressure below “boiling crawfish water.” Because friends, we have made it through one month of this year, and I already feel like I’ve lived through three seasons of a political horror series that nobody asked for. One month down, eleven to go in this year, and I’m already spiritually dehydrated, emotionally crunchy, and mentally on airplane mode.

But before we collapse into a heap of snacks and despair, we need to remember something. We are living through one of the most crucial moments in our country’s history. Not the fun kind. Not the “look at us making progress” kind. The “why does it feel like the universe put us on the wrong timeline” kind.

I’ve lived through some terrifying chapter moments where the country felt shaken to its bones. And now, in these recent years, we’ve watched scenes unfold in our own streets that feel like they belong in a dystopian movie Not in the United States of America. It’s heartbreaking. It’s exhausting. It’s infuriating. But here we are. Still standing. Still fighting. Still lighting sage like it’s a full‑time job.

This year isn’t just another year. It’s a battle for the soul of our democracy. And for the freedoms that generations before us fought, marched, bled, and prayed for. And yes, it feels like those freedoms are hanging on by a thread. A frayed, overworked, overstressed thread that needs a nap and a snack.

We cannot sit back and hope the courts fix it. We’ve seen enough to know that institutions don’t always protect us the way they should. So, we do what people in this country have always done when the system fails. We raise our voices. We show up. We refuse to be silent.

And if that means losing friends, family members, coworkers, or that one Facebook cousin who thinks memes are research? So be it. Democracy is not a group project where everyone gets an A for showing up. You pick a side. You stand for freedom and equality, or you stand with the people trying to dismantle them. There is no middle ground left.

And let me be clear. If someone chooses to align themselves with cruelty, corruption, or movements that excuse harm, they will not be around me or the people I love. Period. Boundaries are healthy. Boundaries are holy. Boundaries are the reason some of us are still sane. Because the same folks who scream “family values” the loudest are often the ones forgetting what values actually are. They’ll clutch their pearls over drag queens reading storybooks. But stay silent when real harm happens in their own communities. The hypocrisy is so strong it could power the entire state of Mississippi if we could bottle it.

And don’t even get me started on “purity culture.” The idea of signing my virginity over to my father? Absolutely not. I would rather have a hysterectomy with a ballpoint pen. Here’s the real truth beneath all the rage, humor and exhaustion. We will not have a future if we don’t fight for the present. Democracy doesn’t disappear all at once. It erodes, inch by inch, while people look away. And once it’s gone, it’s gone.

So, we stay loud. We stay vigilant. We stay connected. We stay hopeful even when hope feels like a thrift‑store candle burning on its last wick. Because the future is watching us. And we are not going down quietly. As we drag ourselves through the rest of this year like a Walmart buggy with one busted wheel, let us remember that we are tired, yes. We are stressed, absolutely. We are one headline away from screaming into a pillow, correct.

We are also loud, alive, unbothered in spirit, and too damn stubborn to let democracy slip away on our watch. So, light your sage. Charge your crystals. Hydrate your soul. And prepare your voice because silence is a luxury we cannot afford. We will fight. We will vote. We will show up like the ancestors are watching because they are. And when this year tries to test us again, we will simply look it dead in the eye and say, “Not today, demon.” Thanks for reading! And keep hope alive. 

Affirmation: I stay grounded, loud, and unbothered, because my spirit refuses to let chaos, clowns, or corrupt leaders dim the light the ancestors handed me.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

A Life Too Bright for Silence: Honoring Alex Pretti

“Some people leave footprints. Alex left constellations.”

—This Puzzled Life

 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Grab your protest sign and a cup of coffee. Because if you live in the Deep South like I do, grief doesn’t just arrive. It sweats through your clothes and fogs up your glasses before breakfast.

Before I knew his name. Before I knew the details that would punch me right in the chest, Alex Pretti reached me. All the way down here where I’m surrounded by red as far as the eye can see. And when a story travels that far and hits that hard, you know it’s not just news. It’s a wake‑up call. It’s a “Lord, give me strength” moment.

I didn’t know Alex personally. But the kind of man he was? You could feel it. He was one of those people whose light didn’t ask permission. It just showed up, loud and warm and human. The kind of man who loved deeply, laughed easily, and carried a softness this world doesn’t always know what to do with. A man who deserved to grow old, to be safe, to be held by a country he believed in.

However, an ICE agent took his life. Another name added to a list no one should ever be on. And here I am, a radical left lesbian mom in Mississippi, suddenly out in the streets protesting because a man I never met had his life taken by a system that keeps insisting it’s “protecting” us while leaving families shattered in its reality.

Alex was the kind of man who felt everything at full volume. He cared deeply. He believed people deserved second chances. Even when he rarely gave himself one. He was the friend who showed up with snacks, unsolicited advice, and a chaotic plan that somehow always worked out. He was the man who apologized to furniture when he bumped into it. The man who hugged like he meant it. Said everything with his full chest. And had a softness, that humanity, is exactly what makes his loss so difficult. When I learned that Alex had been shot by an ICE agent, something inside me cracked. Not because it was surprising. Even though it was. But because it was familiar. Too familiar.

Another life taken. Another family grieving. Another official statement full of phrases like “self-defense” and “ongoing investigation.” Another community left holding the weight of a story that should never have happened.

Alex wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t a danger. He wasn’t a headline. He was a man. A son. A friend. A human being who deserved dignity, safety, and a future. And here’s the part that keeps making tears well up in my eyes. We never met. Our lives never crossed. But somehow his light still reached me. Where people like me are used to feeling outnumbered, unheard, and underestimated. Your story landed right in the middle of my heart like a truth I didn’t know I needed. Your life touched a stranger hundreds of miles away. Your death shook a community you never met. Your name pulled me into the streets to protest because what happened to you was wrong, and silence would’ve been its own kind of violence.

We had the only thing we ever needed in common. We were both Americans who still loved this country. All the colors of the rainbow. Who believed in equality for all. And who loves and respects our constitution. Not blindly, but bravely. Not the sanitized version. Not the version politicians slip out when they want applause.

We loved the real country. The one made of people, not power. The one made of communities, not cruelty. The one that’s worth fighting for because it’s ours, even when it breaks our hearts. You loved this place enough to believe in its promise. And I love it enough to protest the systems that stole you from it.

When I speak Alex’s name, I think of the way he lived. I think of his light and his laugh. The kind that made strangers smile. I think of his hope for our neighbors and country. The kind that refused to dim. I think of his softness. The kind that made people feel safe.

Alex taught me that love doesn’t have to be perfect to be real. He taught me that vulnerability is an act of courage. He taught me that showing up messy, flawed,  and human is enough. You and me strangers on paper. Yet connected in purpose. Your life touched mine, and now your name lives in my throat every time I show up with a sign, a voice, and a righteous amount of Southern gay attitude.

I wish your story ended differently. I wish this country loved you back the way you loved it. Your light didn’t go out. It spread. It reached a queer mom in Mississippi who refuses to be quiet. It reached a community that refuses to forget. It reached people who are tired of watching the same system break the same bodies and call it “order.”

And if ICE, the state, or anyone else wants to know why I’m out here protesting, yelling, writing, and refusing to sit down, the answer is simple. Because Alex Pretti and Renee Good deserved to grow old.Because loving this country means fighting the parts of it that keep killing people. Because silence is not patriotism. Accountability is. And because The United States of America’s Constitution specifically states, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that ALL men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” BECAUSE IN THIS COUNTRY, THERE ARE NO KINGS!

And yes, I’ll still make jokes, because grief and humor are cousins in my family. But don’t get it twisted. The fire is real.

Your story changed me. Your name will not fade. And if this country ever gets better, it’ll be because of people like you. And the people who refuse to stop saying your name. Thanks for reading! And never stay quiet.

Affirmation: I honor the fallen by fighting like hell for the living. And by keeping my sense of humor, because the revolution needs snacks and sarcasm.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Black History Month: Where the Ancestors Whisper ‘Keep Going’

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

— Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Because today, we’re stepping into a month that carries the weight of history, the fire of resilience, and the joy that refuses to be dimmed. This is Black History Month, and we’re honoring it with truth, emotion, and a little humor. I, for one,  know that sometimes laughter is the only thing keeping any of us from flipping a table.

Black History Month is not just a commemorative event. It’s a living, breathing reminder of the brilliance, struggle, creativity, and endurance of Black Americans. It began as Negro History Week in 1926, founded by historian Carter G. Woodson and the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History. The week was intentionally placed in February to align with the birthdays of Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln, two figures central to Black liberation.

Over time, the celebration grew, and in 1976, it officially expanded into Black History Month, recognized by every U.S. president since. Today, it is celebrated across the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. And every February 1st, corporations suddenly “discover” Black people exist. But we’re going to focus on the real story (https://www.blackhistoryandheritage.com/article/black-history-month/origins-black-history-month?utm_source=copilot.com.)

Black history is a story of survival and excellence that deserves its own cinematic universe. It’s the spirituals sung in fields where hope was outlawed. It’s the Harlem Renaissance that has exploded with art, music, and literature that still shapes culture today. It’s the Civil Rights Movement marching with blistered feet and unbreakable courage. It’s Black scientists, inventors, activists, teachers, and everyday heroes shaping the world. And often while the world pretended not to notice.

Black History Month holds space for:

  • Grief for what was stolen.
  • Rage for what was endured.
  • Awe for what was created.
  • Joy that refuses to be dimmed.
  • Humor that has carried generations through the impossible.

Black humor is a survival skill. It’s the auntie who tells the truth with a side of shade. It’s the uncle who swears he marched with Dr. King even though he was born in 1972. It’s the family reunion where the food is seasoned, the stories are exaggerated, and the love is louder. Humor doesn’t erase the pain. It makes the journey bearable. The work isn’t done. Because the wounds aren’t healed. Because the systems aren’t equal. Because the stories still need telling. Because the future still needs building.

This is a reminder that the story is still being written in classrooms, in living rooms, in protests, in art, in laughter, in love. And if you listen closely, you can hear the ancestors whispering: “Keep going. And baby, don’t forget to moisturize.”

As we light the charcoal and sprinkle the sage, may we remember that it’s not just to clear the air. But to honor the ancestors who cleared paths with their bare hands. We breathe deeply for the generations who weren’t allowed to. We laugh loudly for the ones who needed joy but didn’t get enough of it. We celebrate fiercely for the dreams that were deferred but never destroyed.

“As a white person, I honor Black History Month by listening more than I speak, learning what I was never taught, and showing up with humility instead of ego. I affirm my commitment to unlearning harmful narratives, amplifying Black voices, and standing on the right side of history. I choose growth over comfort, accountability over silence, and action over performative allyship. I honor the legacy of Black brilliance by being someone who refuses to look away.” Thanks for reading! And keep on keeping on.

Affirmation: I honor Black History Month by choosing growth, listening with intention, and respect.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife