A stroke of luck? An answer to prayer? I find it so amazing when I am looking for something so diligently, cannot seem to find it, and then when I least expect it,...there it is.
I had watched an episode of Master Class on the OWN channel, one featuring Maya Angelou. I was so fascinated by what I saw and heard, I kept rewinding to hear it, see it again. And when it ended, I saved the recording,...as if to record a moment of clarity for myself, a moment of liberation. But now I needed to find my book, I knew it was a small one, where was it? A book written by this woman whose autobiographical story I had read and essayed in my first semester in college...where was it? I realized the neglect of my treasure in this moment of loss. I must have lost it in the fire. And exactly one week from the day I had been looking, I went back to the room where I suspected it might lie, and there it was...hiding under a crossword puzzle magazine. Hmm..what had made me leave it there?
No matter, at this point, as to why or how I had so recklessly, or maybe neglectfully is a better word, hidden my treasure. I had found it. A book that was ironically given to me and inscribed by a woman that I really have never cared for, a woman who many people believe to be a loon, ...a woman who actually took the life of one of her husbands. Nevertheless, there it was....Phenomenal Woman: Four Poems Celebrating Women, under my book of crosswords.
It is so very short, this book...so small. Yet,...it encases so much power. Through all of the toils and tribulations I have endured over the past ten, eleven years, it has remained perfectly bound, perfectly encasing its greatness. I couldn't wait to open it up, almost tripping over my own two feet as I stepped over to my rocker and sat down to partake. Reading the words was feeding my starving soul. I heard her voice in my head as I read, I pretended I lay at her feet as she read to me. I needed to sup from her cup, to touch the hem of her garment, this woman....this phenomenal woman. I smiled a couple of times, as I heard her proclaim, " It's in the reach of my hips, the stride of my step, the curl of my lips. I'm a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me." "Just like moons and like suns, with the certainty of tides, just like hope springing high, still I'll rise." "Centered on the world's stage, she sings to her loves and beloveds, to her foes and detractors: however I am perceived and deceived, however my ignorance and conceits, lay aside your fears that I will be undone, for I shall not be moved."
Oh, how my soul longs to know the depth of her wisdom. Oh, how my heart longs to feel the depth of her love for all those who have taught her to speak such eloquent and moving words. These people have been her lovers, her friends, her critics and her enemies. Yet, she stands in the power of who God made her to be: a believer in a world of skeptics, a beacon in a world of darkness, a woman who does not live with regrets. She is me. She is you. She is phenomenal. And I thank God that I have been permitted to know of her, of her... and her words.
Why did I find this book tonight of all nights? Is it because I go through life stumbling upon greatness as a drunk falls into bed? Is it because I was sad today, feeling as though my power had been given away for the very last time, never to be regained and exercised? I certainly hope not. I hope that the book found me, ...found me because I was searching, yearning for sustenance and vitamins for my soul. I do not know if this book has returned to me the full reverence, appreciation for where God has brought me. But, as I reflect on those little black words, so perfectly placed upon those white pages, I do know this: I do not need to keep my head bowed in silence, fear, or shame. I can allow those tears to fall from my eyes, should they take the notion. I can strut my stuff on out the door instead of turning off my sexiness after I leave the mirror. I can laugh even though others choose to wallow in pain and self-pity. I am phenomenal. I AM Maya Angelou. For WE are woman. We are here to shine. We rise like the sun. We spread our wings and soar above the madness. We shall not be moved.
So, when you see me with my head hung low, please remind me of my book. You won't have to direct me to the basket on the floor... in my reading room, under the book of puzzles. Instead, tell me to look up, up to the top shelf, where my book now proudly resides. For it is there to remind me,...to rise.
I had watched an episode of Master Class on the OWN channel, one featuring Maya Angelou. I was so fascinated by what I saw and heard, I kept rewinding to hear it, see it again. And when it ended, I saved the recording,...as if to record a moment of clarity for myself, a moment of liberation. But now I needed to find my book, I knew it was a small one, where was it? A book written by this woman whose autobiographical story I had read and essayed in my first semester in college...where was it? I realized the neglect of my treasure in this moment of loss. I must have lost it in the fire. And exactly one week from the day I had been looking, I went back to the room where I suspected it might lie, and there it was...hiding under a crossword puzzle magazine. Hmm..what had made me leave it there?
No matter, at this point, as to why or how I had so recklessly, or maybe neglectfully is a better word, hidden my treasure. I had found it. A book that was ironically given to me and inscribed by a woman that I really have never cared for, a woman who many people believe to be a loon, ...a woman who actually took the life of one of her husbands. Nevertheless, there it was....Phenomenal Woman: Four Poems Celebrating Women, under my book of crosswords.
It is so very short, this book...so small. Yet,...it encases so much power. Through all of the toils and tribulations I have endured over the past ten, eleven years, it has remained perfectly bound, perfectly encasing its greatness. I couldn't wait to open it up, almost tripping over my own two feet as I stepped over to my rocker and sat down to partake. Reading the words was feeding my starving soul. I heard her voice in my head as I read, I pretended I lay at her feet as she read to me. I needed to sup from her cup, to touch the hem of her garment, this woman....this phenomenal woman. I smiled a couple of times, as I heard her proclaim, " It's in the reach of my hips, the stride of my step, the curl of my lips. I'm a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me." "Just like moons and like suns, with the certainty of tides, just like hope springing high, still I'll rise." "Centered on the world's stage, she sings to her loves and beloveds, to her foes and detractors: however I am perceived and deceived, however my ignorance and conceits, lay aside your fears that I will be undone, for I shall not be moved."
Oh, how my soul longs to know the depth of her wisdom. Oh, how my heart longs to feel the depth of her love for all those who have taught her to speak such eloquent and moving words. These people have been her lovers, her friends, her critics and her enemies. Yet, she stands in the power of who God made her to be: a believer in a world of skeptics, a beacon in a world of darkness, a woman who does not live with regrets. She is me. She is you. She is phenomenal. And I thank God that I have been permitted to know of her, of her... and her words.
Why did I find this book tonight of all nights? Is it because I go through life stumbling upon greatness as a drunk falls into bed? Is it because I was sad today, feeling as though my power had been given away for the very last time, never to be regained and exercised? I certainly hope not. I hope that the book found me, ...found me because I was searching, yearning for sustenance and vitamins for my soul. I do not know if this book has returned to me the full reverence, appreciation for where God has brought me. But, as I reflect on those little black words, so perfectly placed upon those white pages, I do know this: I do not need to keep my head bowed in silence, fear, or shame. I can allow those tears to fall from my eyes, should they take the notion. I can strut my stuff on out the door instead of turning off my sexiness after I leave the mirror. I can laugh even though others choose to wallow in pain and self-pity. I am phenomenal. I AM Maya Angelou. For WE are woman. We are here to shine. We rise like the sun. We spread our wings and soar above the madness. We shall not be moved.
So, when you see me with my head hung low, please remind me of my book. You won't have to direct me to the basket on the floor... in my reading room, under the book of puzzles. Instead, tell me to look up, up to the top shelf, where my book now proudly resides. For it is there to remind me,...to rise.
Beautiful and very moving!!!! You are indeed a writer!!! (online lots of people think they are but only a few are really. Writing, dancing, singing and beauty are the gifts the human ego craves, because it brings with it so much attention. I personally believe there are other gifts, empathy, kindness, listening, healing ...practical gifts like I have a cousin who can put together anything without reading the directions. Everyone has their gifts, one of yours is definitely writing :)
ReplyDelete