
by Anna Von Reitz
I can hear the fireworks starting. It's midnight in the wee early hours of the Fourth of July, 2016. Somewhere out in the dark, Americans are celebrating. Most of them call it "The Fourth of July" and don't use the old fashioned name for it--- "Independence Day"--- but that is what I am thinking about tonight: independence.
Fourth of July rolls around once a year whether we want it to or not. The
bunting appears. The fireworks start. The barbecues flame out. The beer
explodes. The dogs and cats head for the basement..... yeah, it's all good, but
is that what it's about?
Independence is something you have to choose. It's an attitude, a mindset,
a way of life, a choice. Independence is what you do when you stand on your own
and take responsibility for your own life, your own government, your own
country, your own planet.
Independence signals a coming of age.
And this is Independence Day.
Looking around me it seems that we have been lulled into a stupor of
dependence--- looking to the government to tell us how to live, expecting the
government to provide our every need, turning to the mainstream media to tell us
what to think and how to think it, parading in lock-step to every new fad of
political correctness, conceiving of ourselves as helpless pawns or cogs in some
vast machine, hopelessly grinding away so that once a year we can congratulate
ourselves on being "free" long after we have forgotten what that really
means.
A young friend of mine called earlier this evening. He said, "What do I
have to celebrate?....." and then he rattled off his own long list of things
that are wrong with this country and with his countrymen and with everything in
general. And then there was a very long pause in which his depression and
sincerity stabbed at me like a thorn.
What kind of world had I given him, this young man who is just starting
out?
Very clearly, he was disillusioned and feeling helpless and overwhelmed and
ready to give up----figuring that freedom isn't possible or never was, like
Camelot. Stop believing in it.
Chuck freedom in the bin with the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus, just another
silly "tradition" for the amusement of grown-ups and greeting card company
profits.
He had caught me by surprise at the end of a long day. For a moment my mind
just whirred around as if it couldn't find any traction----and then, in my
memory somewhere, I could hear someone whispering, "Freedom isn't out there,
it's in here."
It was a soft, dusky, female, African voice, sweet as summer rain and she
repeated with great certainty ---- "Freedom isn't out there," she said, touching
the front of her cotton dress over her heart, "it's in here, child. This is
where freedom lives."
Goldie Williams. She stood leaning on a wooden gate watching the fireworks
in another time and place and she came back to rescue me today, from out of my
memory of a night more than fifty years ago. I smiled broadly just thinking
about her. Blueberry pie for the Fourth of July. Chasing fireflies and twirling
sparklers.
It's not about the external world, I told my young friend. It's about
choices. It's about how you live your life. If you sit around waiting for
someone or something else to set you free, that day is never going to come. You
have to set yourself free, declare your own independence day, and when enough of
us do that, there is nothing on earth that's going to stop us. It's in your own
heart and mind that freedom lives. It's a gift you give yourself, and nobody can
take it away.
Thank you, Goldie, for reminding me where freedom lives and the real
meaning of "Independence Day" ---- just in time to pass it on to another
generation of Americans.
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