Tag Archives: Maya Angelou

Cage

Cage: (n) a structure of bars or wires in which animals are confined

Even though Maya Angelou seems to know “Why the Caged Bird Sings,” I, myself, do not.

I believe in the power to overcome negative circumstances, but such an endeavor always takes a toll.

A loss of simplicity.

A leaking of faith.

Some intangible that departs the soul because we struggled too much to maintain normalcy.

There are three cages.

Undoubtedly, one is the cage we build inside ourselves to limit our passion while justifying such a move by having lengthy explanations to quantify our fears. We’re never able to adequately interact with others or fathom why they would be interested in any person like us–locked up.

There’s also the cage right beyond our space–a barrier we’ve created that says since we’re a father, mother, religious, addicted, black, white, brown, gay, straight, male or female, we are not going to be able to cross the bars of that enclosure and enter into a larger hemisphere of fellowship. We try but we pull back in horror, fearing that the barricade is electrified to discourage our noble effort.

Then there’s the cage that is somewhere out there. We don’t know where it is. We can’t see it. It’s the boundary of our limitation. We don’t speculate on what it may be, but instead, explore all terrain until confronted by the wall. Perhaps we can avoid it. Yes, maybe we never have to reach the edge of our understanding and ability.

So in the meantime, we can pretend that we’re powerful.

 

 

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Angelou, Maya

dictionary with letter A

Angelou, Maya: (1928-2014): a U.S. novelist and poet, who wrote the autobiography, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” recounting her harrowing experiences as a black child in the American south.

When Ms. Angelou died recently, I was curious about how the press would discuss her journey.

Let’s be honest–it’s what we do. We characterize human beings into such small compartments that it is difficult for them to be contained without busting out the sides.

Here is what I discovered: most of the reports focused on some aspect of her race, her experiences within the realm of her color, or her writings about the subject. It will be many generations before we’re able to escape the statement, “She was black.”

The next popular phrase used for her was “ground-breaking.”

Often I think we fail to understand that breaking ground means that the earth has gone fallow, failing to grow anything, and that someone needs to take a shovel to the crusty surface and risk looking like a fool for pursuing hope in the desert.

Even though we laud her efforts, we must realize that she spent the majority of her life subjugated by a society that found her inferior by hue, even though she was able to intellectually surpass all the hum of their activity.

In third place was an appreciation for her art.

I suppose it might have taken a primal position had it not been for an ongoing, quiet racism that whispers in corners of the secrecy of our private moments.

I personally remember her as a soft-spoken, gentle woman with a bit of edge, who tried to explain the confusion around her using more beautiful language than it perhaps deserves.

I recall her debating a rap artist and telling the young man that using dark or evil language was like pouring poison into the world. She said, “Poison is always poison.”

The young rapper was very respectful but unmoved. For after all, one man’s poison is another man’s medicine, and all the cures we have for ailments, left to themselves or taken in excess, are deadly.

She was a tender, simple woman of craft who believed there was still much to be done, carried the scars of her upbringing and yearned for a more peaceful place.

It is a great comfort to me that she has found that home.

It is a great curiosity to me that perhaps in the future, people like Maya can be known for what they say … instead of what color they appear to be.

 

 

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