This
is my story... of the past year, at least.
My story of my life working - and living? - at Lebone II College of the Royal
Bafokeng. The name says...well, not all of it... but it does come out to greet you... beating it's Djembe drum of pride...
and purpose... giving you a hearty hug of welcome. The longer I've been here
the more complex they both seem to have become. The name and the place. In
terms of understanding them. A school of excellence: a mother ship, a flagship.
A symbol of what will be? The now and the not yet. A spiritual truth, in fact,
though yet to be fully realised in practice.
It contains promise of something hoped for, believed in. A vision, glimpsed by some, blinding others,
longed for in the depths of weary hearts whose bodies obey the call to
pilgrimage, adventure, to faithfulness, endurance.
Should it be THIS hard? A
small, peaceful oasis... nourishing hungry minds. And eager siblings make their
nests together... within the green... mantle of inclusion, following the song
of those who've flown... from out of and beyond the guiding wings... of
knowledge, the light, airy canopy of protection, of shelter. Their minds free
yet only partially sighted, for now... The prehistoric land, and beast, keep
their silence, their mouths closed.. as they watch over the young family,
finding its way, discovering and relearning the language of their inheritance.
I see, as though through a
glass darkly. Scales and scratches impair my vision... of what will be. Thin
rays, no, momentary flickers.. of light... speckle my path. Revelation is
fractured as I strain to look. Colour, variety, pattern, Light... I see.
Clearly. But culture, time, history, old and new, and language... I do not understand.
I only hear sounds. The many tongues... of experience, expectation... make
music. And disonance. The tension of the strings, not seen but felt, attached.
Vibrations both deep, and rich... played out on instruments made for the
purpose of harmony, composing a future symphony of musicians, doctors, artists,
lawyers, actors, engineers, designers. Such music as will hover, like the dew
each morning... refreshing, reminding, inspiring new growth... of ever widening
landscapes... of green.
Maybe compost is MY name.
Organic matter, composed of things that are, and were, and might have been.
Things pruned or put to death. Or killed. Waste? No, wasted not by those with
eyes to see. And no less useful for seedlings struggling to survive. Wild, and random seeds... still fertile
enough to brighten a landscape. Over time. Longer than I imagined. It does its
work, improbable its fruitfulness. Unglamorous.
Difficult to ignore, at first but left alone, it yields the unexpected.
In its own way. Carried in sacks, cloth impregnated with aroma. Stench to some.
Life to others. Fit for purpose. Some nourishment... for roots that might have
died, or withered, at least. Encouragement for pioneering plants, uprooted
though not so far from home. Thirsty, weary; torn and damaged, determined and
feisty. Giants among their own... not seen... but felt. And always growing.
Still growing. Still striving, struggling towards the light.
Sight. And insight. The
healthy plant survives, grows, sows seeds of wisdom. They lodge, wither... From among the plethora
of indigenous species sprout seedlngs, like off-spring: the resemblance not
obvious but True. And evergreen. Though colour, character, pattern, sound are
variegated - the core is unmistakeable. And good.
And so is Lebone. The second.
But this is a First. For all of us, wherever we come from. Whatever part of the
curve we are riding. Whatever the speed. And there's no safety here. From self.
From challenge. From the extra-Ordinary ones - all of them my siblings, your
brothers and sisters. Waiting to share, play, irritate, love; to feast on your
gifts, your offerings, to shun but... still demand... your difference. The
dignity of you. Welcome! This is your time. Your day. The ground is hard... but
soft enough for you to leave a footprint. The shoes are large but you will fill
them. Step into them and keep walking.
Every now and again run. The fun is not knowing where you'll land. And if you
fall, the most surprising, limping, smiling in your midst will help you.
Encourage you. They'll be grateful that you let them. The camaraderie of
community works well. Not always, but
enough... to turn the 'normal' on its head... and make you smile.
Enjoy. Have hope. Work hard.
Relax. Aim for perfection. Settle for excellence. Some of us can only dream of
even that!
BJM/19.11.12
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