Independence Day

So, it’s the Fourth of July.  This is always kind of weird for me, because I enjoy the picnics and the sight of fireworks (since my vacation in Afghanistan, the noise makes me very stressed).  I’m not into what I call American flag fetishism, and I hate, hate, HATE the song “Proud to be an American”.  First off, yes, I was born in the States, but I’m a Canadian citizens and identify as such.  Plus, large rallies of patriotic symbols make me listen for the jackboots in the distance.

Putting that aside, I do what I can for the country.  For me, “love of country” means trying to keep up the qualities that make people choose the U.S. as a destination for where they’ll make their dreams come true.  I’ll stand against anything that compromises those qualities.  I further insist that the land is sacred and to be cared for.  This is why I froth at the mouth a bit at the idea that the flag can’t touch the soil.  Why not?  The land is the land, the country itself.  The flag is a godsdamned piece of cloth.  The soil of the country should bless the flag, not desecrate it.  Whoever thought it’d desecrate the flag suffered from profound cranio-rectal inversion.

In 2011, there was a dominionist Christian effort to pray for the U.S., saying that the “District of Columbia” needed to become the “District of Christ”.  They directed their hostility at Columbia, saying She was a pagan goddess who needed ousting.  Since Sven and I were working together at Sven’s bankruptcy firm, gaining financial freedom for those in the chains of debt, I purchased a statue of Freedom, also known as Libertas, also known as Columbia.

Bizarre?  Not at all.  The Capitol building is full of Masonic and pagan imagery.  The magic is there to be used if ever someone decides to learn to use the tools.  I feel dirty saying this, but Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol makes a handy guidebook to magical Washington, D.C.  Pair it up with the book We The People, which like the statue above is available from the Capitol Historical Society for visuals.  I’m just sayin’.

We carried the statue above from San Diego to our house in Arizona, wrapped in one of Sven’s business suits.  Being Sven, he left the suit out on the bed when he went to sleep.  The next morning I woke up, turned over the covers to reveal the suit jacket, and when I lifted the jacket Columbia’s head rolled out onto the covers like something in a Masonic version of The Godfather.  Her headdress had broken off too.

I glued Her head and headdress back on today and will be displaying her on the feasting table this evening in an act of sympathetic magic.  Blessed be.