Foggy Truth/Spring Equinox

Truth is the torch that gleams through the fog without dispelling it.
– Claude Adrien Helvetius

Tonight when darkness falls, I pull on my black hooded raincoat and set off in the dense fog to clear my head. Do I strain to find truth through a veil of water droplets dancing in the atmosphere? Or do I suspend my disbelief and glimpse seven Earth-size planets recently discovered that orbit a tiny star? Who are we this spring Equinox when day and night are of (almost) equal duration? What will tip the sail?

As my vision crystallizes, I behold a whitewashed house on Pennsylvania Avenue. In the inner sanctum of illusive diffusion, a triumvirate of witches levitates over a cauldron stirring, chanting – brewing up a batch.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
Hover through the fog and filthy air.
– William Shakespeare (Macbeth)

Ah, the truth of fog or the foggy truth? Nothing as it seems. Or it seems to be nothing. Or nothing is the truth. Will we capsize with the spoils of war or office and destroy the seas, the earth, the living and the legacies of souls before us? Where’s the lighthouse? Is the answer in the stars – where’s the equilibrium? With treacherous momentum, a rogue wave to submerge all waves could leave a shipwreck of parched promises – a dry and desolate land. No! We cannot be blindsided by the blind ambition of Macbeth or the trajectory of madness.

While the mighty captain hoists the skull and crossbones we will join the ranks of the MIA if the EPA sinks – the air unfit to breathe, the seas depleted. And if the cap and his crew spend every waking hour in their oval cabin counting booty, robbing Peter to pay Paul by defrocking the NEA, the vision of civilization as we know it through the eyes and hands of artists, writers, musicians and public broadcasting will disappear. The keepers of the culture and the future sunk.

But what of the ABCs of creativity, you wonder? After all a blog’s a blog. Shouldn’t I be delivering insight in the fog of night, a blueprint not a footprint, a compass for the journey? I could tell a blatant lie and claim I can chart the course, but to what avail? Truth dwells in the fog and the vision in the mist.

Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.
– E. L. Doctorow

Creative pursuits evolve before they make landfall. In my meandering fog, every Saturday afternoon last month at the Bowers Museum, I plumbed the invisible in conjunction with an exhibition of the photographs of Imogen Cunningham, Seen & Unseen. I served as guide for participants to explore and develop their personal vision – to manifest the abstract. A revelation of truth watermarked with their fingerprints.

​Though beware. In the riddle of the fog can lay a vision or a trap. In the thick and orange smog, sirens lure you with their song until you’re shipwrecked on the rocks. But if you listen to the scientists of reason and ancient mariners of wisdom, you will shun such faux temptations. With access for journalists unrestricted and freedom of the press, we can distinguish foul from fair – the toxic from the truth. And with the contributions of artists, writers and musicians we expand the possibilities. We advance and vitalize our civilization.

So as the sun crosses the celestial equator at 3:28 am on March 20, let’s vow to celebrate this spring with vibrant beginnings not fatal endings. Let’s envision a future utopia, not the four horseman of the apocalypse galloping towards us. Let’s demand our planet never runs afoul. Let’s embolden our culture. Let’s ensure the arts and humanities, and public media never run aground. Fair is fair – resist and create. Illuminate the fog!

Truth is by nature self-evident. As soon as you remove the cobwebs of ignorance that surround it, it shines clear.
– Mahatma Gandhi