The previous post called out for another even as I wrote it. I just knew there would be a second piece. I rarely do this - read never. Anyway. I could have jammed it all into one longer post, but I wanted to give the previous post some air space. It felt needed.
Maya saved me. She was the first of many hands reached into the darkness to help me up and out. Her hand dipping in over and over. Her words touched me to the core in high school. I refused to continue on in my all white, all girl, all Catholic education. I wanted to see and touch and hear and taste something more than that one note. I sought more urban integrated schools. I opted to live in dormitories with amazing young black women, and Asian women, and athletic woman, and scholarly women, and lesbian and straight women, and a few dudes for good measure. I dated people who interested me. My first boyfriend was from Persia (read Iran), the next from Norway, the next a Marine, a farmboy, an athelete. All lovely shades from white to caramel to blue black. I loved them all. I hung out in college beer dens, tended bar for a while at a local watering hole, took in drag shows downtown and Shakespeare in the park. In other words, I don't feel like I missed out on anything. Maya gave me the courage to see the world as more same than other, to jump in with both feet. She gave me permission to be greedy. That world view persists today.
The rhythm of Maya's words, so exquisite led me the syncopation of Langston Hughes, led me to the mighty John Coltrane, led me to Alvin Ailey, James Balwin, the Harlem Renaissance, the list goes on. All expanded from the single point that was Maya. She was my ground zero. And what lovely ground zero she was. My world definitely better because of her and I hope the greater world around me made better by me for her influence.
Judging by the outpouring of love, I know I am not alone. So very many good ripples in her wake and no room for sadness. The very definition of life well lived.
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