The other day, my father and I had a conversation. This was before all anyone could talk about was Don Imus. Did y’all know he got fired? Why doesn’t that make me feel any better? Anyway, my father was discussing Bush, and the war, and voting, and the constitution.

Bless his heart.

I told him, that I didn’t believe voting made a difference.

He said that it does.

I said to him, would you give the right to choose how the nation is run to a bunch of people who watch flavor of love, or buy spinning rims?

He said no, but insisted that it matters.

I told him, “I can’t see that it does.”

This Don Imus incident just sealed that for me. But prior to this, I’d already decided that our whole system is phucked up. It’s essence is right but there is an anomaly, a contradiction, a huge phucking discrepancy. It’s not based on a system of justice. It is flawed, fundamentally. He talked about George Washington and freedom, I said, George Washington had slaves. But I did concede that to tear out the flaw or redo it could damage the fabric.

My father loves his America, he ‘ain’t no African.’ Okay Dad.

Lately, I’ve found myself immersed in data. And for the first time, I saw what these numbers meant, and not in a way that could be anything but true. I went through what seemed like seas of numbers; talking about how we lead the pack in this, that and the third. I won’t go into detail. The data is out there. Look up health disparities, and African-american. Look up World Health statistics. There is a lot more being said than just numbers. Some other picture is also revealed…It’s deep

For us in America though, most if not all (I’m still proving that) of the health problems we suffer with, can be treated through what we consume.

But check it, what we ‘consume’. Is about more than what we *eat* through our mouth - it is also about what we take in through your eyes, ears, environment, education…religion…parents…community…economically…

Nearly every area of people activity:

1. economics
2. education
3. entertainment
4. labor
5. law
6. politics
7. religion
8. sex
9. war

Ironically, all of these things influence our health. They determine the type of care we get, the beliefs about care, beliefs about health, nutrition. Patterns of disease, the way information travels, the way we respond to certain patterns of nutrition. What impact certain messages have on our eating habits, our buying habits. I learned more about myself than I ever thought possible to know, looking at these numbers.

On top of that, most of us don’t have access to healthcare, at least non that is any good. You know the stories, I don’t have to go there with you.

On top of that most of us are starving – literally. Malnourished to the point that when we get ill it appears as if we have an immune deficiency – my compassionate, empathic, Piscean self can barely stand it.

My heart is heavy y;all…I’m full of empathy, and distress. I never put much stock in numbers. While I was raised with a knowledge of and a deep respect for math and science, I’d been raised to be leery of doctors. I don’t remember seeing one until I was in my late teens. When I got my first corporate job and got BENEFITS, I went RIGHT to the doctor. I just bless her heart! — the person I was then…

As I grew wiser, it occurred to me maybe there WAS a reason why momma didn’t trust doctors. Maybe there was a very good reason, it took a cavalier attitude about my reproductive and physical health by a supposedly well-renowned doctor for me to figure that out.

That near debacle sent me on my own mission to find out if it was true, if I could really heal my Self. I haven’t found my answer, but I’m getting close y’all. And healing. It’s kind of slow, and a lot of work – I got a lot of work to do, maybe even a lifetime. Some days I seem far from my goal and other days I’m astounded by all that my body can do and is capable of. It is truly miraculous, magical.

Still I have been having this vision. It stays in my mind, past my meditations, and clearings. It is an image of a black woman, floating on a mattress, alone. The mattress is in dirty water. This woman reminds me of my mother.

So while I have this grace of being about to see, to be able to free myself. I’m never truly free, because she’s floating on the mattress. It’s surgical y’all.

So I look for ways to heal this wound.

I decide to empower myself.

I pray.

And meditate.

And things start to happen…

It’s scary as hell, cause well, I’ve learned I’ve got a God Complex. And to heal that, I first need to forgive God for being Jehovah (It’s a long story which I won’t get into here.) On top of that, my brother is arrested, I’m employmentally-challenged (I’m working on my words…go with me on this), My mother loses her job. My sister loses her business. My mother’s house goes into foreclosure.

And I’m still sane.

I think.

At least I feel like I can see what I couldn’t before. It’s real clear, what I have to do. So I’m doing it.

And I realize that the only way to solve any of “our” problems, is to solve my own…

I know what you’re thinking…”That’s selfish.”

And I agree, it is. But in this selfishness, I’ve found that ability to do what I can to help, for real. I know how I can make a difference. I know how to serve as part of the solution.

I still get mad though.

I get mad at all of them. All of you. Everybody. I guess I’m a mad black woman. But my diary ain’t like Tyler Perry’s.

Tyler Perry, do you boo-boo. But images tell a lot of stories, and there is a story there, I ain’t gonna tell it here, but there is a story there.

Jaime, I didn’t forget about you as Wanda. How YOU Doin?

I need therapy.

Maybe some time at the bathhouse. A good steam…Hot, cold, hot…

Let me tell y’all. In embarking on my freedom of exploring alternative health options, I have discovered this wonderful place. It’s called the Russian Banya. It’s not quite spa, but it’s damn close. Russian and Jewish people have them in the New York. They have a few of them in Brooklyn and around Manhattan. The Koreans have one too. You wouldn’t really notice it. And if you are like me you might not even think of stepping foot in one. My Uncle introduced me to it. It is GREAT. I have found that the feeling I get after a day at the bathhouse is akin to the feeling I get after sex, without the sex. So if you are interested…shoot me a line, I’ll fill you in on the details. I reserve the right to be choosy – I’m not taking errybody, some of y’all can’t come. I ain’t judging, but I’m judging (and this means you!).

I feel better having got this off my chest. I am usually a stay to myself type of person, I don’t share pieces of myself with the world, but I also recognize that I have a responsibility. What else am I supposed to do with this knowledge if not share it…figure a way to share it. It’s like the secret, in the wrong hands…it’s not that I’m judging, but some of y’all…