'Americans choose or create heroes in their own image.
In a complex industrial society, hero-making goes on at various levels, so that every walk of life and almost every occupation have their heroes.
Thus, on the one hand, the schoolbooks and popular literature of edification draw upon the ranks of leaders—explorers, pioneers, soldiers, statesmen, inventors, and industrialists—for patron saints and tutelary geniuses, to inspire love of country or teach the ethics of success.
On the other hand, the dime-novel concealed behind the geography book glorifies the gentlemen on horseback and the demons with the six-shooter.
Midway between these two extremes is an American fairyland of strong men and giants who perform the impossible'.
- B.A. Botkin
This quote very nearly and perfectly encapsulates the American spirit, and by association the Diaspora as well. ...Nearly. But not entirely.
The spirit of the pioneer is what comes to mind when thinking of the 'Fairytale' periods of our various countries. The cowboy, the railroad men, mountain men, log cabins and sod houses. A rough desperate people living forever on the raggedy edge. Legends all!
During this time of exploration as the Hyperborean struck out into the wider world they brought with them their old gods, even if they did not know it. These ancient Gods hidden safe in the back of their minds, stowed comfortably in their hearts, carried by their spirit. Man and god striding forward together, 'Going boldly where no man has gone before.'.
As these pioneers and explorers created their new homes; not only were ancient Gods revived, but new Gods were born! Born of pain. Born of hardship. And of joy. The joy of freedom! Gods born of the new wilds in which they found themselves. The forests. The mountains. Swamps and lakes. They swim in the rivers and oceans, sailing upon the open seas. They tend to the dead. Gods of innovation and invention. Gods of cunning and bravery! The camp cook, the old school marm, the woodsman, the highwayman and the elusive hero wielding his six shooters or his sniper rifle. The strong man and his hammer, the one with his axe, the one with pick and shovel. They live in the graveyards and in the saloons. They come from the wilderness and leave again as quickly. They spin yarns and accomplish the impossible, sometimes with unexpected ease or doomed to failure. No less the hero for their death but cemented in our minds for their monumental effort and sacrifice.
Giants were born and rose as these people made these new lands their home. Gods of wood and earth and stone, carved from the land itself. One such Giant, though most recognize her not as such. Mother Liberty, whose copper skin patina gleams standing upon island shore. At her feet graven word calls out:
" The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Emma Lazarus - 1883"
And so we answered the call. ...Those willing to risk it all, not to take but to build! To strike out on their own, answering natures call. Not just in America but in those cast out to die upon the Australian continent, or the Cape of South Africa, in the jungles of South America! We mighty few who carried with us the spirit of our forefathers into the future!
It is true that after having settled the land, conquering foes, enduring hardship, and despite all of that! Having rose above all heights thought possible! ...Then, there are those who came like ticks upon a dogs belly to leech off the hard won spoils of war and triumph! They attempt this still, this is true... They call themselves politicians and intellectuals, the priests of the modern age. But they cannot take nor understand the Spirits and Gods of our lands who walk with us, who were carved from stone and blood as we toiled and sacrificed! These are OUR GODS! THE GODS OF THE MIGHTY!