What stirs in me on the eve of the birthday of this nation, that feels like a terrible secret, like when you’re not supposed to love somebody or something but you do. Walking home from the park last night, I wondered what this feeling is and why it has nothing to do with what evil has been committed by the malignant rogue state people THINK of now when they think of the United States.
What would I try to say to my European friends (actually I’m not sure I have any “European friends” anymore)–about why I love this place?
Everything about us is insane.
It’s not the government! It’s not any President. We surely ache for our collective sins. It’s not fraud.
It’s a collectively held mirage. People who love this country (immigrants, all) don’t love it as a thing, but as a reverie–a prayer, that never ceases. You may think we should want it answered, but that isn’t how Americans think. I tell you: We’re crazy.
We want to stay in our reverie, just a little longer, because you NEVER KNOW what tomorrow may bring.