With a simple instrument I can speak to the world.
With a piece of lead bound in wood that was once alive, I can release what is bound in my own heart, things even I do not know.
I don't know the history of the pencil or the changing of it or its importance in times past, but for me, the pencil was the beginning of dreaming.
Although it may turn out to be uninteresting or unseen or forgotten, we try still, not because we are ignorant of this reality, but despite it. We must try because there is a seed within us that is watered with every heroic story we hear and with every act of love we witness.
Then one day it grows beyond what we can contain in our hearts any longer and we're forced to produce, share, and unlock. And the key to open our own hearts and our own ideas and our own dreams is the pencil.
It records and reveals what we're always surprised even ourselves to see, and we'll wonder later who wrote such a piece or how that inspiration came about. All the while it is us ourselves who harnessed the seed for so many years that grew into something worth sharing; something beautiful.
The art of writing: holding the pencil properly; finding the right lead, and shape to fit your hand, and design to fit your eyes. And then there's the act of writing. This is what the pencil does. It can write poetry and story; draw pictures and doodle. It can spread hate or love; write a death threat or a love letter. It communicates through time and space. It records regrets and good memories. It can imprint the language and shape of our souls on paper.
You cannot merely listen to fully communicate. You must read. You must write. Explore the wonders of this ancient and overlooked instrument. Share your ideas in a most basic way. Use it to communicate to your friends and even strangers. Pick up a pencil; write something down; share the imprint of your soul.
It's in your hand.
Write. Draw. Dream.