In Memory of Harry Belafonte

Although they were eager to greet him, they stood back respectfully; he smiled, but held up a finger as if to tell them to wait. He closed his eyes and took a moment to feel his way around the silence which was, in itself, glorious. "I would take all of the conflict in the world with me on my shoulders," he whispered, "if it would give this peace to every being equally." "Lift now, all suffering," came a bass voice, singing in the Caribbean lingua franca of the West Indies. "Lift now my soul." And the choir swelled, unrelenting as it moved him (the air suddenly filled with the sweet smells of caramelized plantains, onions, and tamarind). He accepted the welcome to enter the gates, his step light; a rhythm emerged out of nowhere where the quiet had been complete. "Come now, my weary brother," he sang out in an easy baritone. "My sister, leave your work and come ..." He would continue to be a guardian to many; he would guide them away from division, harm, and lethal mediocrity. His smile was radiant.