assiduous

Constant in application or attention; diligent: an assiduous worker who strove for perfection. 

Unceasing; persistent: assiduous research.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,

      Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

      I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

      Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

      How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

      I am the captain of my soul.

WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY

Quoted in I know why the Caged Bird sings

I hoped the memory  of that morning would never leave me. Sunlight was itself still young, and the day had none of the insistence maturity would bring it in a few hours.

What a beautiful piece of writing - full of soul and emotion and enigmatic too. Maya Angelou was yet another touchstone of our family life and also representative of a set of beliefs and world perspectives with which you and Lottie were imbued. I can not describe how proud I am of both of you and what you have become. It is important to me in this era of shallowness and transience to hold on to fundamental groundings because that is what stops us just drifting with each new idea or trend and to establish out own identity. I love the way in which your piece uses the capital letters for Him and Her which juxtaposes the notion of equal significance and value - and reference?

Well done darling. Keep writing as you really have a talent to write about those things which are important to you and about which you have an understanding. Writing also helps us  make sense of who we are and what is of value to us - it helps define us.

There was a replay on Radio Four of an interview with Maya Angelou at the Hay Festival broadcast on Saturday night about 11.30 pm which you might catch on Bbc Iplayer. It was typical of her irreverence, joy, insight and humour - and of course that wonderful voice. Also an account in Saturdays Guardian Review of a recent encounter with her.

I would like to send a copy of you email to Yvonne, if you are in agreement, as she would be so pleased to see how important Maggie was in helping to form your views and values.

Take care Simone, and always remember that you are loved for exactly what and who you are. WhenI read an email like that Imthinkmthat I've not done too bad a job as a parent.

Lots of,love

Dad xx

The old woman felt sorry for herself
and angry at herself at the same time
many betrayals had afflicted her
she carried grudges
in her throat
that paralyzed speech
and prevented forgiveness

Unlike you who fear betrayal
I live my whole lifetime
in the open air and in the azure present moment
like a butterfly or gnat or horse
said the red tulip
I burden myself with no expectations
therefore I can never be betrayed

A dedication to Maya Angelou

With your parting I took another step away from the dawn of my beginnings and the sun that brought me into this world. I walked further away from the blocks that lovingly laid out my path teaching me empathy, humility and kindness; the foundations by which I try to live my life. Today those blocks toppled down again, like a stack of carefully constructed playing cards blown over in the lightest of breezes, just as we did in the days following Her anticipated yet unexpected departure. That fateful day the wind fleetingly changed directions, whisking Her effortlessly away like a bird taken by the current of the wind or the seeds of a dandelion globe launched into the sky when blown. We were left on the ground chasing the dandelion seeds floating up into the sky, as children would grasp at balloons escaping out of arms’ reach, never to be reunited.

It was She who taught me about You, Maya; Your strength, your story, your poetic wisdom. I read and reread your poems to inspire my own in an effort to make sense of the nonsensical. No one told it better than you and this She knew. It was Your words that we recited at the alter that day; not the Lord’s as should be expected. We all celebrated in this small act of defiance.  Like You, we rose, heads held high, refusing to drown in the tears and sadness that hung in the church like raindrops on a humid day right before the storm breaks. I praised Her that day, not him. I gave thanks for Her sacrifice, Her teachings, Her character. I gave thanks for leading me to You. I still do.

You, Maya, taught me the rebellious delight that comes with using words the way we please. Gallivanting away from rules and tradition to celebrate our own individuality, sexuality, and of course our differences. You celebrated your people. I watched you break free from the confines of poetic rules imposed by yet another foreign system of control. I had never seen such power rise up in a one-woman rebellion from a peppered page of prose. You reclaimed your voice through writing, stamping out a space to tell your story, and by doing so you permitted so many to tell theirs. You shamed our people to read in lines -rather than between them- the rawness of a not-too-distance past. You eloquently described the horror of injustice and inequality that did and does occur. We squirmed under the unrelenting light that you pointed on the truths of America’s past, recreated in such vivid detail through your own story. What literary brilliance.

Your written art has kept on inspiring me through my years, as it will in the years to come. And, acknowledging this, if the wind were to bring the vision that passes through my dreams to settle in the present, that illusion, my new dawn would be named Maya. For Maya is the name that represents a story; a story of two phenomenal women, a story of a civilisation of people still rising, and my story of a new beginning.

Enigmatic
Difficult to interpret or understand; mysterious.