To Take America Back

I am proud to be an American (though I do not believe in nations or states--but in a character that is fundamental to North America, though always in such short supply!), if only because I am a proud descendant of such forebears as Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman, Emma Goldman, Henry Miller, Edward Abbey, Jack Kerouac, Hunter S. Thompson. These people were, to my mind, representations of that which is truly American--that they were free-thinking, individualistic, suspicious of anything that gave even a faint odor of the herd--and above all, had no faith in institutions that placed limits on their lives. They were not sheep. They did not look to the nightly news, the editorial page, or the State of the Union to form their opinions for them. They did not need a church or temple to inform them of the miracle of life that is so obviously present at all times in so many forms. There existed no label so large as to encompass their being. Nor were they swayed by the currents of the moment. If they could be said to be patriotic, it was not to some abstract concept of nationhood, but to a higher order--that place where humanity and the natural world around him meet in communion. They knew that most, if not all, wars have been fought over riches and power; that if the man or woman in the street had their way there would be no need for wars, to go to some other land and fight some other man or woman in the street. In short, they stood not with the throng, but on their own two feet. And as I look about me now, here in the 21st century, I have to wonder how many Americans of this sort still walk the earth. In an age that seems to be pushing toward mass collectivization; where humanity, once creator, has been recast as consumer--a mere cog in the vast machinery of supply and demand, I wonder how much longer places will exist where the truly organic human being can stand, and perhaps more importantly, make a stand. Is this the destiny that was to be made manifest? It does make perfect sense--the horrible logic that the American Indians' destruction was not only a precursor to our own, but was in fact hastening it. I have to wonder if the soul of this infant nation passed away with all those other bodies at Wounded Knee. In a world being filled with steel and concrete, my soul cries out for the open spaces. That we are slowly murdering America inch by inch (to say nothing of the rest of the world), seems a point the patriotic are silent on, unless it won't affect profit margins. We sold our souls long ago; now we are bartering with the blood of future generations. But there is still time to take a stand . . .