On History

I used to believe
That history was something abstract, untouchable
A river flowing round me
Never caring for me
Nor I for it
Living behind walls
Behind bars
I knew the stories
But they were just that – stories
Written in the heavens
By round men in tweed suits
Flourishing signatures on pristine paper
Foolish smiles and prolonged handshakes
A show on a screen
I stood back and watched
Dismayed, disgusted
This is history?
I divorced myself from that world
Of disconnect and false promises
And swore to never return

Then I learned
That history was written by men
Of real flesh and blood
Men of passion and colour
Men who lived
But I felt unworthy
To take my place beside them
Me, on the ground
Them, mighty men of accomplishment
How can I reach so high?
I felt small
Tempest-tossed
On currents beyond my grasp
And began to despair
For I did not believe
I could be like them
And turn the tides of history

Then I thought
That they were no better than I
They, too, grew from the ground
Yet took up the torch
And proceeded to uproot forests
And I thought I could do it to
So I took the plunge
Into the river
And felt the surge of power
The elation of spirit
That rolls through the crowds
At times like these
Looking round in wonder
I felt something new, that day
And it sustained me
Motivated me
To give myself to the cause
I lost myself
In the cycle of protests and strikes
Taking up of signs
My shouts mingling
With those of the thundering crowd
Swimming with the currents
Surrounded by activity
I felt good
Energised
Refreshed
And I told myself
This way I can make a difference

Then I realised
I was lying to myself
And abandoning my post
That my role was not in the river
A spirit of water
Escorting a leader
But up on the bank
With a few others
A voice against the river
Calling out deceit
Striving for truth
Smashing idols
A lonely lighthouse on the rock
Yet anchored and unyielding
Drawing on wellsprings
To shine deep lights
Blazing a trail
For lost boats who wish to find their way
And guide them further
Down their path to the sea

Now I know
That history is not something read
But rather, lived
That she is not exterior to me
Flowing through placid flatlands
But arches through space and time
A blazing curve
Through millions of bodies
And we, the pioneers
Stand beneath the waterfall
Where the torrent meets the pool
Sheltered in the caves at her base
One may stay dry
But this is a life unlived
Step out of your cave
Under the deluge
Extend your hands
And raise your voice
Pounding between your shoulders
It will hurt
For this is the moment of truth
Fold beneath the pressure
Bend your back
And the waters will cast you to the ground
To be swept away downstream
But keep your back straight
Your mind clear
And your heart pure
Then the water is yours
She will purify you
Past, present and future
Falling to you
Through you
In a wondrous chain of souls
For she is yours, to shape and to cast
Formations that harness the power
Of a thousand fiery souls
Who may lead the charge against the blockade
The dam, the foreign structure
Built to restrain the river
By means of body or mind
To pummel it from all sides
Hammering, felling, widening the cracks
Until it crumbles and crashes
Releasing the pent up waters
Before they are consumed by fire