I see you, America, your purple mountains, your pay toilets, and your loud, sad commercials. This is your rakish dress, O adolescent land, and now in some way I cannot help loving you, because you are so inappropriate, you are so brash and precarious and young. I recognize your power to destroy When I am free from it, from your pathos and your desperate promises, then I will turn back to you as one of your healers. Because of you I sought myself. In spite of you the discovery has begun.
Nothing is now as it ever has been.
I am the priestess, invoking spirit into the world. For your sake, America, I am the midwife at the breech birth of your Age. And what appears to be destroyed is under metamorphosis. I am the Mother at this incandescent moment. And what seems to be suffering is under initiation.