A few years ago, I took my boys to the Delta. One was reading The Help for school and the other was learning to play the guitar, so I figured a trip to The B.B. King Museum in Indianola and then to Greenwood would be just the ticket.
I wasn’t wrong.
I love the B.B. King museum. Not only do you get a good grasp on what made the legend, you also understand Blues’ origin. How the the thorny bush of pain and despair of racism and poverty in the Delta gave birth to the beautiful flower of music. When people go through trauma, their stories must be heard and released into the world. The Blues did just that.
To use another metaphor, I’ve always found telling stories to be like how an oyster deals with an irritant. When a piece of sand gets wedged into the oyster, the oyster covers it with layer after layer of nacre, the material lining the oyster shell. Eventually, you get a precious pearl and the pain is relieved.
B.B. King , like so many Mississippi musicians, authors and artists, created beauty from pain.
Our stories, music and art are our pearls of wisdom. And yes, sometimes art does make you uncomfortable.
I guess that‘s what worries me the most about about the latest rage (but not new) trend of book banning. When you suppress stories or the government tries to ban viewpoints, you are suppressing people’s stories. If something bothers you, don’t read it. But to deny others a voice and a chance to be heard — well, that is telling them they don’t matter.
I may not agree with you, but I’ll listen — well, most of the time. Sometimes, I even tune myself out.
I am grateful I live in Mississippi. Our problems make beautiful pearls. We are a land of storytellers, artists and musicians. That is our superpower. That is what makes this place special. My personal vow is to become a better observer and listener. Because I know that being curious is the path to growth.