To the Memory of Maya Angelou (1928-2014)

Why should I feel confused? Too many recent events in the world from which I feel estranging? Out of any range for concrete action to initiate possible change. But do I feel resigned, frustrated like so many grumpy old men? Is that really the way in which I want to conclude this day? We know there is no meaning in lamentation…

Such mood can suddenly overwhelm you, although things were going fine and easy during the day. No more rain as we awoke, a visit to the neighbourhood market. Found my way in the newly rebuild supermarket nearby. And really, in the afternoon, down on that dry but grey beach, I did what I didn’t dare yesterday: make that refreshing swimming rounds in a rather wild surf at high tide. Feeling alive and kicking, being the only lonely swimmer at that hour. Well, there was another lonely walker far away heading to the North, his raincoat fluttering in the wind, as you can see on the photo.

I didn’t return immediately, but stayed looking to the incoming waves, wanting to experience intensely this peak-moment in the rhythm of flood and ebb. There was barely a gull or other bird to see. After homecoming together we worked through the selection and editing of our pics. There was tea and time to rest in love and harmony. So, what could it be that made me vulnerable to a feeling of discomfort, guilt? Was it the news of the death of Maya Angelou? Why should I feel irritated not to find that collection of poems of her? Which I thought I could find there or there on that shelve. But our library is under reconstruction, which makes my old visual memory useless. Old?? Memory???

Come on, let me conclude then in honour and in gratitude of that marvellous poet Maya Angelou by reciting here the finishing lines of her poem “Still I rise”:

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

(Maya Angelou)