monthly musings from JD
September 2008 - The Old Lion
With his very concerned mate by his side, The Old Lion limped out into the glare of the arena.
He was magnificent, as only an old warrior can be.
He bore the scars of a thousand battles, wearing each one with a fierce pride that would not be seen again in the arena for a long, long time.
His left paw was bandaged.
His once mighty mane had now turned white, and parts of it were coming out from the effects of his final battle, but he was undaunted in his task. He would allow no wounds to keep him away from this place, this moment, this assignment. It was his torch. He would have risen from the grave to fulfill this appointment. It was his torch, and, as God, or some other higher power was our witness, he had come to the arena to pass it. No one would, or could, stop him.
The arena went wild upon seeing him. As they roared their excitement, their love, their approval, the old lion stalked around the clearing once, waving his ‘good’ paw as his mate carefully assisted him.
And then she left him alone to complete his final act.
He stood alone in the center of the clearing.
The world was crying now. Anyone who belonged to the pride, anyone who had ever had a heart, or a victory, or a tragedy, or anyone who had ever lived who had not been blinded by the hatred of lies, or bigotry, or discrimination, was crying now.
The members of the pride would not stop applauding.
“Do not let him speak”, I said to no one as I softly banged my hands in honor of this great creature. “Keep applauding”!
And they did.
The Old Lion repeatedly thanked them in a vain effort to still them, but they would not stop. Everyone knew exactly what was happening, and if they stopped he would speak, and then he would be gone, and his likes would never be seen again, and they could not envision a world without him.
But time always unmercifully, and mercifully, moves into the next second, and after several minutes of this great accolade, the crowd finally stilled.
Historical moments of such magnitude rarely come along. When they do, we are honored to witness them.
His voice was strong and firm.
His vigor was, at least for these moments, returned.
He slashed the air with his ‘good’ paw as he spoke.
His words tied his past, our past, to the future, and he was adamant in his delivery.
“The Dream Lives On”! he thundered, echoing moments from 28 years before, from 40 years before, from 48 years before. For those in the pride old enough to remember those wars, his words unleashed a million memories, and hopes, and yes, DREAMS, to flood their beings in an almost overwhelming tide of emotions. If you were not crying at this point, you do not deserve any claim to the newly passed torch.
He pushed on.
We comforted him with our tears, telling him that we HAD walked the road with him. We tried to extend as much energy and strength, and yes, courage, to him as we could.
“THE TORCH IS PASSED!", The Old Lion roared, mad now with the exquisite surrender of release.
“Any day now, any day now, I shall be released”, Dylan had sung.
“I believed in a dream and I rejected the lie”, Dawson had added.
The Old Lion vowed he would be in Washington in January to help usher in the new age. We held our breaths, knowing the final battle he faces.
And then he was done.
The world wept for the passing of this gigantic historical figure.
Surrounded by many members of his pride, his clan, The Old Lion limped out of the clearing and away from the arena and into the ages.
We will not see his likes again.
Our Shoulders
You are standing on our shoulders.
Of John’s.
Of Emmitt Till’s.
Of Bobby’s.
Medgar’s.
Martin’s.
Malcolm’s.
The three little girls in Birmingham.
Us.
You are standing on our shoulders.
We are strong.
We are your strength.
We will not break.
We will sway and bend with the strong winds, but we will not break.
We came before you.
Stand on us proudly.
Trust our foundation.
We, and now you, have brought us here.
Never forget that where you are,
we were.
Many times.
Honor us and we shall set you free.
The torch is now yours.
James Dawson
Written August 25-28, 2008
New York
Previous Songman's Notes
© Copyright 2008 Jim Dawson - The Original Songman | Official Website. All rights reserved.