Just an hour ago, I had the honor and privilege to hear the legendary and distinguished speaker Dr. Maya Angelou.
It was truly an amazing experience, one that will never be forgotten! From the time she walked on stage ‘till the moment she left her chair after eloquently reciting her poem, there was a remarkable spirit within the room. I felt as though I had been graced with the presence of a mystical and fascinating being that only the blessed are able to see and feel, and she was nothing short of that, Maya Angelou.
She spoke of her past and recited poetry that had touched her spirit, while singing the tune of an old “Negro spiritual.” Her theme entitled “I Can Be A Rainbow In Somebody’s Cloud” reminded us that we can be the ray of sunshine that uplifts the spirit of a single soul; encouraging listeners to dance and sing in harmony with those whom we share this earth with.
Giving words of wisdom she says:
“Whining does nothing to anyone’s displeasure and shows the brute there is a victim in the room” and “be ashamed to die before you have done good to anyone’s humanity.”
Again, nothing short of amazing! I myself am truly inspired and encouraged. “Our ancestors have already paid the way,” she says. Whether it’s the smile from a casual encounter or a wave of hello from a person across the street, know that the very essence in ones soul shines bright in the presence of their spirit.
I leave you with a recent poem she read for us and a song that reminded me of her kind words, Beautiful by India Arie.
A Brave and Startling Truth
We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth
And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms
When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil
When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze
When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse
When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets
Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world
When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe
We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines
When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear
When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
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