I attended a celebration of the late great Barbara Jordan at UT’s LBJ School this week (and learned about an oral history project on her legacy that I’m excited to check out). As part of Barbara Jordan Week at UT, the Barbara Jordan Public Service Award was given to Texas State Senator Senfronia Thompson who’s been serving in the Texas legislature for 50 years, the longest of any African-American or woman in Texas history. It was inspiring to hear Ms. T (as she is known) talk about getting former Gov. Rick Perry to support her priorities and the progress that can be made across the aisle when folks develop actual relationships with one another. A very Barbara Jordan-esque ethos.

I briefly mentioned Empress Wu Zetian, who is associated with the Ten of Wands card in the Our Tarot deck.

This week’s note is very “keep calm and carry on,” and I’m trying to embody that for myself this weekend even though I have a tonnnnn coming up next week (love to see you for some of it!).

Hugs to you, friends!

More on the judges blocking executive orders here.

I hope to bring you episodes with some regularity, but most likely they will arrive much like actual voice notes from your actual friends — without fanfare or preamble. I’ll share what’s on my mind in the moment, unedited and unpolished, and I hope you’ll respond either in the comments or to my inbox (becky (@) democrasexy.com) to keep the conversation going.

Much gratitude to Ankita for her perfect words in her piece “In praise of voice notes,” which I took as a sign from the universe to dust this podcast off. Please read her whole piece below:

If you’re looking for a new tarot deck, the “Our Tarot” deck and guidebook are my go-to for guidance in my own activism and organizing journey. Find it here.

Find Democrasexy’s public, in-person events here.

For invite-only events, join the Democrasexy Founders Circle by donating here.

If you are still on social media, find me on Instagram and TikTok @democrasexy

Want to understand what I mean by “pleasure activism”? Listen to this previous podcast episode:

Here’s the info on the Texas Foremothers Galentine’s Day Tour in Austin, TX:

Monday, February 13, 8-9am

$44.40

Meet at the Texas State Cemetery in Austin

Coffee, crystals, and chosen ancestors journal prompts included in the tour price.

TICKETS HERE

And the full text of my letter to Brandi Carlile (lol, I can’t help but laugh at myself for being a person who wrote a letter to a celebrity) is here:

November 30, 2022

To: Brand Carlile

Dear Brandi,

Before I start this story I want to reassure you that I am okay and the ending is not sad. It is kinda long (sorry), but simply too mystical not to share with you.

On June 7, I woke up numb from the waist down. I could walk and function and feel if something was touching me, but if you’ve walked barefoot off the beach while your feet are still covered in wet sand, that was the sensation in my entire lower body. Everything was a bit muffled. 

The first time I tried driving after The Numbness, my heart was in my throat. I was terrified my foot wouldn’t be able to properly navigate between the gas and the brake. I had to stop running on the trail near my house because I couldn’t sense changes in terrain very well and nearly tumbled into the creekbed a few times.

It took several weeks and a dozen hours on the phone with four doctors’ offices before I finally got a referral for a neurologist and an MRI. A couple hours after my MRI appointment, my neurologist called: “I’m so sorry but you need to go to the emergency room. Today.”

When I checked into the Dell Seton ER in Austin on July 14, the attending doctor told me that I’d be receiving three heavy infusions of steroids to calm the inflammation that was causing my numbness and I would likely be spending three nights in the hospital. I got my first infusion at midnight that night and somehow still managed to fall asleep in the midst of ER chaos.

Early the next morning they did additional MRIs on my brain and upper spine, and I got relocated from the tiny closet of an ER room I’d slept in the previous night to a big hospital suite on a high floor overlooking Waller Creek and downtown Austin. 

As I waited for the hospital neurologist to come in with his entourage and deliver the news of my diagnosis, I sat on the window seat with a brown plastic mug of weak hospital coffee. I looked out at the bright blue sky and cartoon cotton puff clouds drifting above the pink granite dome of the Texas State Capitol. The most beautiful melody floated up to my window from somewhere down below. 

I craned my neck and squinted down to see the Moody Amphitheater at Waterloo Park catty-corner across the street from my hospital room. Some kind of angel was sound-checking for a show that night. 

A quick search on my pocket computer let me know you were that angel. 

Not long after, the doctor came in and somberly told me the initial MRI showed a waist-level lesion on my spinal cord that was causing my numbness. (At a follow-up appointment they showed me a cross-section of the lesion and I was shocked to see how little margin there was around it. “Wow, it’s almost entirely blocking my spine. I guess it’s kind of miraculous I didn’t completely lose function of everything below the waist…?” I asked. The physician’s assistant opened her eyes so wide and nodded her head so vigorously I was worried she was going to pull something in her neck.) 

The MRI on my brain showed several more lesions that had apparently been there a while but hadn’t caused any symptoms I’d noticed. “Probably because I don’t actually use my brain very often,” I joked to the roomful of serious faces in scrubs staring at me. Someone had to lighten the mood. 

Because the words “multiple sclerosis” were hanging heavy in the air. 

Once the doctors left I gave my husband a tight and tearful hug. 

And then I dried my eyes, put on some mascara and red lipstick and made him take boudoir photos of me in a gauzy floral nightgown as I posed suggestively with the “soiled linens” bin in my hospital room. I pretended the IV stand was a stripper pole. 

I was overcome with gratitude for what I saw as my newfound permission to live with reckless abandon for the rest of my days, and I wasn’t wasting a single second. 

The good news was that I would receive one more infusion of steroids in the hospital that afternoon and be released early with a prescription for the third and final dose—25 steroid pills to take on my own over the next 24 hours. (The first pharmacy didn’t have enough to fill the prescription. The second pharmacy called and asked to speak to my doctor because they were sure such a shocking amount of steroids had to be a mistake.)

At 3:33pm I bought a ticket for your show.

At 7:30pm I unhooked the IV, said goodbye to the nurse on duty, and walked out of the hospital’s sliding glass doors and across the street to the Moody Amphitheater. 

My sunshine yellow and seedling green ‘70s kaftan swirled around me as I floated to my seat and the stage lights came on. I somehow perfectly matched the dresses the Lucius ladies were wearing and I wondered how the universe had managed to curate even the smallest details of the evening just for me. 

There wasn’t a single song that night I didn’t weep through.

Tears of wonder.

Tears of gratitude. 

Tears of grief. 

Tears of joy. 

Tears of solidarity. 

Tears of disbelief at my incredible good fortune to be immersed in some of the most beautiful music I’d ever heard just hours after learning that I could lose my hearing completely at any moment should the mysterious whims of MS decide to take it from me. 

But at the end of your set when you introduced your “Pride song” and urged us to “fight but remember to stay gentle,” when you spoke of your affection for us Texans, when you noted that the people of Texas don’t match the policies, I utterly dissolved into body-wracking sobs. 

See, a few years ago I quit my career in advertising and dedicated my life to trying to get the policies in Texas to match the people by inviting a greater diversity of everyday folks into the political process. Just 2.5 weeks before my MS symptoms started I’d thrown a big party called Y’allentines Day–a celebration of trans and intersex Texans. I wanted to let them know they were beautiful and loved, and I wanted to recruit more allies to fight for them in this increasingly hostile state. There were drag queens and Ring Pops and a wig bar and ‘90s-themed outfits and hypercolor cups. We were finding joy in the darkness. 

At Y’allentines Day I also shared my story of discovering my own queerness in college after having been raised Baptist. I explained how I was holding out hope that we could open more hearts to trans people, that I knew it was possible because my own heart had been broken out of its hard shell of homophobia through the gentle touch of a queer boy in my dorm who’d simply dared to live out loud as himself.

As I sat in the moonlight at your show and truly took in the words to the song “Stay Gentle” for the first time, it felt like they’d been written just for me. As a promise that the universe was lighting my path. As encouragement to keep going.

Your show that night was one of the greatest gifts of my life. I’m not sure anything I can put into words will convey what it meant. Thank you.

The next day I learned that one of my chosen ancestors I often visit at the Texas State Cemetery when I’m seeking wisdom, Rep. Barbara Jordan, also had MS. I had already felt a particular kinship to her because she was secretly gay–she was a Black lesbian legislator in the South in the ‘70s… it wasn’t safe for her to be out then. Finding out she had MS made her feel like a whole new level of chosen family. 

I believe that as I gazed out of my hospital window watching the sun glint off the Texas Capitol and listening to your sound check, Barbara’s spirit had a hand in getting me out of the hospital early so I could go across the street and receive divine affirmation through your music.

I’d been planning to simply tuck this incredible experience into my heart and have that be that. But then over Thanksgiving I read “Broken Horses.” 

When I got to the part about your possibly “a little bit gay” Grandma Carol who had MS and a sick sense of humor, it was like a flaming arrow straight to the marrow of my soul. I’ve now read these words at least 18 times, never without crying:

“There is nothing more real or more practical in this universe than mysticism. Remember that… and it’s usually sitting right smack in the middle of grief.”

So now I believe Grandma Carol and Barbara Jordan had been in cahoots to get me to your show that night. And you know what? I went out afterward by myself to the best queer bar in Austin, Cheer Up Charlies, and danced my ass off for them (though I thought I was just doing it for myself at the time). 

After all that, it just seemed like a mistake not to follow the omens and share this story with you.

Last thing I’ll share… The part in your memoir about how you fought to shine a spotlight on Tanya Tucker reminded me of a spirit-pact I have with my chosen ancestors. I’ve got several in addition to Barbara–women whose stories have the power to ignite a new generation if only they can find their way to the right storyteller. Women like attorney Sarah Weddington who argued and won Roe v. Wade in front of the Supreme Court at 26, just a couple years after she’d driven to Mexico to be able to get an abortion herself. Or like Lady Bird Johnson who toured 8 southern states courageously advocating for civil rights in 1964 despite the fact that those states were deemed too dangerous for her husband President LBJ to visit at the time. 

I’m gaining so much learning these women’s legacies, and in exchange I feel I owe it to them to get their stories out as far as I can. Back in January I bought TheForemothers.com as a placeholder until the right idea came along. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’d sure as hell buy a Brandi Carlile album called “The Foremothers.” Maybe each song tells the story of a different powerful but forgotten woman. Maybe a companion podcast unpacks the stories further. Just an idea.

My eternal thanks for everything you’ve given to this broken, bisexual, recovering Baptist.

Mystically yours,

Becky

Thank you for honoring these important foremothers of civil rights and bodily autonomy: Coretta Scott King and Sarah Weddington.

You can find my original “Legacy is a penis word” essay complete with photos here.

Join me at the Texan Feminist Throwdown Sunday, January 22 from 4-8pm at Distribution Hall in Austin! Tickets here.

I don’t know a single Texas progressive who hasn’t been filled with dread as the start of this legislative session loomed. And now the day we have been dreading is here.

One of the things I observed in the response to my events and content leading up to the 2022 election was how neglected the emotional and even spiritual aspect of organizing for change is. We absolutely need to nourish ourselves in these ways if we want to keep at this work.

I’m going to make sustaining my spirit a big focus here in Texas in 2023, so I will be sharing a lot of what I find helpful in hopes that it will help you, too.

Thanks for listening to today’s episode. <3 I love you. I love us.

Here is the Rumi poem translated by Haleh Liza Gafori:

I saw myself sharp as a thorn.I fled to the softness of petals.

I saw myself sour as vinegar.I mixed myself with sugar.

An aching eye seeing through pain,a stewing pot of poison,I was both.

Reaching for the antidote,I touched compassion.I touched mercy.

I was a cup holding only dregs.I poured in the water of life.

Raw and callow,I followed the ones already cooked by Love’s fire.

In the dirt on Love’s path,I found the medicine that ensouls sight.

My armor thinned to a silken scrim,I sifted the soil that gives vision to the blind.

Love said, “Yes, you’ve arrivedbut don’t think it’s your doing.

I’m wind. You’re fire.I stoke your flames.”

New date for my Election Lessons Learned presentation and discussion! Thursday, January 19 from 6:30 - 8pm at Brew & Brew in Austin. It’s free but space is VERY limited so reserve a spot now!

The Texas Campaign Funds for Dependent Care Coalition is working to pass a bill that would make it easier for folks who have care responsibilities for children or others to run for office. (This would be huge especially for women of color and low-income caregivers.) The coalition needs volunteer leaders to head their Digital, Media, and Advocacy Day teams. You can find expectations of these roles and how to help here.

Austin EMS and firefighters are holding a “Stop the Bleed” emergency response training at The Little Gay Shop on Sunday, 1/22 from 10am to noon. It’s a sad fact that increasing anti-queer rhetoric at the Texas legislature means the community needs to be ready to protect itself. Register here.

Order Haleh Liza Gafori’s beautiful translation of Rumi’s poetry, Gold, here.

Get Michelle Obama’s The Light We Carry here.

Audre Lorde’s essay “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power” was essential reading for me. Find it here.

Come to my “Election Lessons Learned” knowledge-sharing session on December 15, 6:30-8pm at the Brew and Brew in Austin, TX: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/election-lessons-learned-comparing-notes-on-the-tx-midterms-tickets-479980864687

Come see me (and adrienne maree brown omgomgomgomgomg) speak at the Sexology Summit in Washington, DC - March 10-11: https://sexpertconsultants.com/summit

Follow the incredible Alicia Roth Weigel on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/xoxy_alicia/

Also follow adrienne maree brown on Instagram for her memes alone: https://www.instagram.com/adriennemareebrown/

My first podcast, The Rabble: https://www.rousertx.com/the-rabble-pod

I get vulnerable about contemplating giving up on Texas after this last election and talk about how "She Said" brought me back from the brink.

Please please go see this movie, it's so important.

https://www.shesaidmovie.com/