Why do black divas die so soon?

Yesterday Lorenzo and Omi both brought the news of Vincent Woodard's passing this weekend.

I have not talked to Vincent in years, but Jackie and I had just been talking about him last week. I am heartbroken. I cannot imagine the loss those close to him are experiencing

From 39 Microlectures:

A messenger arrived at a mountain hermitage. The Master interrupted the morning's lesson to hear the news. "It's about your son, sir," said the messenger. "The war has come to your home village. Your son has been killed." "Thank you," said the Master, and the messenger left. After a few moments, the novitiate monks saw that their Master was crying. Never having seen this before, they sat awestruck. Then one young monk spoke. "Master, just this morning you taught us that all life is a series of illusions. If this is true, why are you crying?" The other monks were shocked by the question's impertinence. But the master calmly answered, "It is true. All life is a series of illusions. But this particular illusion is very painful."

The few emails that Vincent and I exchanged after he moved to Boulder to teach were mostly about coordinating his inclusion in the Evelyn Street press publication Affirming Flame. It was the first book I edited, and I was so honored to publish his work. Now when I open the page, I can hear his voice: completely embodied and transcendently spirit, equally gentle and fierce. Alive, alive, alive. Vincent.

I remember watching him in Why Do Black Divas Die So Soon and knowing that no matter how many times I saw the piece, I wasn't old enough in the world yet to understand what I could already feel I was receiving. His work was exquisite, his art, his spirit work. His conjurations. Now that I am just beginning to walk with my own work closer to the doorway of a room whose air still stirs with the fragrant exhalations of Vincent's presence, I have been thinking of him, of what performance became in Vincent's hands, whether he was on stage or just living/playing at a party, taking the floor and singing India.Arie's "Brown Skin" over the boom box. Healing, challenge, prayer, celebration, cry, song, blessing, triumph.

In his time here, he gave this world more than a lifetime's worth. And yet it is hard to feel that we had enough.
Vincent, I am deeply grateful. I wish you safe passage and thank you. Love.