I’ve written part of a poem called “Ashley’s Glass”; some of you may have read it. I hope to expand it into a children’s story because it tells the whole story of my worldview:
A meteor strikes the beach, roasting the sand and instantly splaying it into the air. As dust flies in all directions, it solidifies into glass and miraculously falls in just such a way that, where there was only a beach before, there now stands a breathtaking crystal palace. A group of children (siblings) find it that morning while playing in the dunes. They’re drawn to the castle, like magic, and devote all their child-like play to it. But one day, evil people come along and, as evil people always do with beautiful castles on beaches, destroy it. The siblings disperse, terribly saddened by their loss, all but Ashley, who lingers, hands full of broken shards, and crying. On into their formative years, the brothers try re-building the castle in their own ways, one through art, the other through politics, the other through poetry, but only Ashley is able to truly remember what it was. Only she yearns for the true castle-that-was. You see, she kept a piece of the glass and when the world around her gets dark or when evil seems to reign, she looks through it and can see all things rightly.
I’m convinced this is how white people need to look at their own history. A miracle hit Europe’s shores and over the years, created something beautiful there. But now it’s all destroyed and only those of us who can look through the lens of the old castle are able to see the world rightly.
This may not seem like an awe-inspiring revelation, but when you’ve studied the “study of history” as I have, or when you’ve been in the trenches with pagan white nationalists, arguing and debating what ought to be done, or when you’ve attended numerous political conferences, filled with confused, directionless folk – you realize none of them remember the castle or care to see it again. Most of them despise the castle and want nothing to do with it.
…but like young Ashley, I’ll hold onto my piece of the glass, hold on even though it cuts me; hold to it for dear life.