Around the Fourth of July, I began to write this essay. I was inspired by the ways in which the Fourth is celebrated: by families and neighborhoods, with fireworks and games and picnics and all-day, Summery leisure. I watched movies about the American Revolution, and I thought at length about the Fourth, as a civic celebration, as an iconic moment of childhood, as an inspiration for the immigrants who come here, for artists and writers aspiring to greater depth of talent and expression. For anyone longing for liberation, this celebration of independence and freedom seems full of promise, full of encouragement to go boldly in the direction of one's heart's desire. This is an American narrative of liberty and opportunity, the one we teach school children, the one that inspires numerous people to immigrate despite hardship and challenge (not to mention a less than warm welcome once they arrive). It is based on a shared history that is inspiring and ennobling, as well as horrifically violent and racist.

The Fourth's observance, with its emotion and spectacle, is truly an American Sabbat, a day of remembrance and revelry. Its arrival soon after the beginning of Summer marks its as a time of play and pleasure. It's also a time to recall our civic Ancestors: not merely the Founding Fathers or members of the military, but everyone who died in pursuit of freedom and liberty, not all of whom were warriors. I always feel that part of this Sabbat is marking the sacrifices others have made in building this country, and how far we are from coming into our country's fullest promise of liberty and security.

I wasn't able to write this essay in time for the Fourth of July, and soon enough, even more challenges to the American myth showed themselves. More shootings of Black Americans by police, more shootings in public spaces in general, more murders of trans-folk, more noise and vitriol in public discourse and in online spaces. It feels like it doesn't end, like it never gets better, but rather that tragedy follows on the heels of the tragedy before it, and we cannot grieve or snap out of the shock before the next atrocity comes up.

Last weekend, I went to two different Lughnasadh rituals; an ADF rite (Druid) and a Wiccan circle. In both spaces, we spoke about sacrifice and service. We acknowledged and honored the First Nations of this land, even though we were not doing ritual in that context. We released pain and suffering. And we were asked, what are we prepared to give, to sacrifice, to share of ourselves, to those things we hold most sacred? Where can we put our energies to best effect, where can we focus our intention and actions to help create a better world? What magick can we do, to foster the changes we wish to see? And where are our actions most needed to bring our country closer to securing the blessings of liberty, for all of us.

Tonight, I am thinking about fallen leaders and murdered boys, about children at the borders and so many men and women behind bars. There is no lack of need for attention, for witness, for a willingness to learn and perhaps to be challenged and uncomfortable, for support and understanding and the willingness to stand up for what we love, for what we know to be right. This is a sacrifice we can all make.