Words Paint Profound Pictures
A page, devoid of content, eagerly awaits my scribbled thoughts. My fingers itch as the cursor flickers on the screen anticipating a word that will lead to a sentence then a paragraph and culminate in a meaningful story worthy of its telling.
I envision a blank canvas that yearns for brush strokes soaked in the colours of a painting that will beckon interpretation. I snap a photograph and capture a moment in time worthy of the memory it holds, the portrait it portrays of a life lived and the lessons it may teach.
Every word is a brush stroke painting a story. Every photograph is a visual chapter.
Yet, what is a story without an audience? The lessons it may teach will go untaught. The connections it may elicit will remain disconnected. The worthiness of its cause will go unnoticed. The vulnerable will be exploited. The voiceless will remain silent.
World Pulse offers a platform to extend my reach and share stories deserving of a broader audience. As a woman, I've yearned to be embraced by a community such as this in which my voice can be heard. In the company of like-minded feminine spirits, I may expose my deepest longings for both myself and my community - from grassroots to global. By weaving a net of embrace, we can relate to each other even if we never meet face-to-face.
I believe that one should never impose on a community, rather contribute to it. And so, here's a taste of the story that has unexpectedly illuminated my path and enriched my life in ineffable ways.
Once upon a time, in a small storage room for chairs at a church in Soweto, teen girls embroidered messages onto strips of fabric sharing their lives, loves, pains, challenges, discoveries and dreams. These scarves were gifted to girls in other African countries, weaving yarns of the makers, receivers and connectors. The story adventurously travelled through its retelling.
A cohesive group was moulded in that tiny room. Girls entered with hurt so deep it erased them from the inside. Together, we cradled our wounded places until we felt whole again reveling in being splendidly imperfect and succulently rare. Just like seeds watered in the midst of a drought bloom into blossoms more beautiful than any possible prediction. Where there's a will, there's a way.
My hope is that this will be a never-ending story, one without a chapter that says, 'The End'. It will be a narrative cherished for lifetimes long after these girls have grown into mothers themselves - all because of the lessons it has taught them.
These young women of Story Scarves are the voices of our future. I have found my younger sisters and they have found me. Kin by choice and heart.
No matter the medium - the written word, the painted canvas or the artistry in fibre - I am whole heartedly compelled to weave meaningful yarns that are soulfully sewn. My inner pulse beats with nourishment in having found what I truly love doing.
I'd like to share a poem by Lao Tzau. It profoundly resonates with me and I'm sure it will resonate with you too.
Go to the people
Live with them
Learn from them
Work with them
Start with what they have
Build on what they know
And in the end
When the work is done
The people will rejoice:
“We have done it ourselves.”
- Lao Tzau, Father of Taoism, Tao Te Ching