I live on the land

Hi, I live in America.  Chances are, you do too. WHAT DOES IT MEAN? It’s rare that we see what this truly means. We are so blessed  and so American that we don’t fully grasp what it means to not live here. I  rarely note the powers that be, mostly when I pay taxes or stand in line at the DMV or click and read. I have yet to really come head to head with frustrating or unfair laws. I have to yet to require assistance that my country then provides, or at least not in a way that I can see.  I am protected by invisible forces that zip by my periphery.  I am so blessed with riches and nitrocellulose and color and coffee table and freedom and time that I can, in fact, paint my nails to match my country and call it patriotism. America is a blind spot. It is a mayonnaise haze. It is forever floating in circles in your friend’s nice pool that you need a key code to access, but she has given it to you, so hurray for you. There is never not water there.

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