Category: The Fog

Soon, with the fire-master at my side in the Valley of Fire, I was building my first real fires. As I look back now, they were not very great fires, nothing like what I would build later, but the fire-master was always extolling the virtues of my creations. “It is so very bright!  See how it drives back the Fog! And the warmth it gives! The chill dampness is all but gone!” Standing by my fires, listening to the mesmerizing voice of the fire-master, I could even forget that I remained in the Fog. I began to feel like the master of my own destiny; I could, by my own cunning and effort, defeat the Fog.

Reality soon inserted itself into my reverie. The comfort and security of the fire, although more concrete than anything I had gotten from the now dimly remembered Light, was ultimately transient. As my first fires consumed all their fuel and there was no more to add, they grew dim, flickered, smoked, and went out. Each time a fire died, the Fog crept back in. Eventually, the fire was gone, leaving nothing but the stench of damp ashes; the oppressive weight of the Fog seemed even heavier than before the fire was kindled. Despair crept over me; all my work was for naught.

In those moments, too, the fire-master was at my side. He would reassure me that the temporary nature of my fires could be overcome. If I worked harder and listened to him, I could have a fire that would truly last and truly satisfy. When my fire did not last until dawn (as was often the case), he would point out the importance of being a fire-builder. “See how the Fog closes in, as if to consume you? There is no telling what dangers are out there in the Fog. The bigger and brighter your fire is, the more it will dispel the Fog and the safer you will be.”

Danger in the Fog?  I have always loathed the Fog, and I longed to be free of it, but I had never thought that the Fog concealed danger. But as soon as the fire-master mentioned it, it made perfect sense. Surely all manner of danger lay hidden in the Fog. It was easy to believe that the Fog itself was a malevolent force intent on cloaking danger in its cold mist.

As time passed, the fire-master encouraged me to build my fires ever higher and higher.  When I was wandering alone, I built small fires, just big enough to cheer myself and give myself a bit of warmth against the cold dampness of the Fog. Now I was building massive bonfires. They burned so bright and hot that they scared me a little; it was hard to get close enough to tend them.  Yet they could not go untended.  They always needed my attention; to let a fire diminish soon became unthinkable. My fires became the only thing that really mattered. I would forego rest and food in order to make my fires bigger and better. But bigger and better fires meant I needed more and more wood.

Finding wood was always a challenge. As I lingered in the Valley of Fire, I saw that the valley was a sea of stumps; most of the trees had already been cut down. I had to spend most of my day venturing out looking for wood, ever fearful that I wouldn’t find my way back in the Fog.  But the fire-master knew where to find the best wood and always seemed to know the way back to where I had built a rude shelter in the valley.

On one of my forays in search of wood, I climbed up, partway out of the Valley of Fire. I was surprised to see that the Fog was heavier in the valley than it was up on the ridge. Curious, I continued my climb. As I sat on a large stump, looking out over the Valley of Fire, where the Fog was joined by the smoke of countless fires still burning or smoldering from the night before, I suddenly noticed the Light! I had nearly forgotten that it existed. When in the valley, it was nearly impossible to see the Light. And in my pursuit of ever bigger fires, I had no time to think of things like the faraway, dimly seen Light. Why had I ever been seeking it? Was the fire-master right? Was I a fool for ever having chased after the Light? Was I a fool to have ever sought it? Surely my fires would keep the Fog at bay; what could the Light give me that I could not get for myself from my Fires?  They were much brighter and warmer than the Light, and even though they eventually died out, they were real.  Could I say the same thing about the dimly glimpsed and distant Light?  My fires gave me comfort and security, something the Light seemed to promise, but the promise was never realized. With my fires, I controlled my fate.  I drove the Fog back. I kept myself safe from any dangers lurking in the Fog. What was it about the Light that had once filled me with hope? What had caused me to begin my quest for the Light in the first place? As I wondered, I felt something start to stir within me. It was an ill-defined yearning for something that the Light seemed to offer.

I had only a moment to wonder about these feelings before the fire-master suddenly appeared at my side. “My friend, I was looking for you and saw you climbing up here. What are you doing so high up out of the valley?” he asked solicitously. “There is not much wood here, and even if you did find some, how would you get it back down your fire? This is no place for you. Come with me back to your fire, and I will show you how to get plenty of wood!” He clutched my arm rather more forcefully than I liked and led me steadily back down into the Valley of Fire. My ineffable yearning and half-remembered desire to get to the Light vanished altogether as the fire-master began telling me of new ways to have the biggest, brightest, and hottest fire.

As we made our way back down the now-barren hillside into the Valley of Fire, I could see the landscape dotted with fires piercing the gray of the Fog. They seemed to extend to the horizon. Some were small, like my first fires, and others were epic bonfires whose size was nearly unbelievable; they looked more like wildfires than bonfires. The fire-master would direct my attention to these other fires, especially the most spectacular ones.  As he praised those fires, a new feeling began to grow inside me. I felt anger and a sense of injustice when I thought that other fires might be considered better than mine. My fire must be bigger, brighter, and better than any others.

As if he were aware of my thoughts, the fire-master encouraged them, “It isn’t really fair that these others have fires better than yours, is it? Surely you deserve to have the finest, the best, the biggest fire of anyone. You work so hard at it! Why should your neighbor have a better fire than you?”

Why indeed!

One night, when I had stopped to rest, I saw a most curious sight in a valley below me. Just as darkness fell, lights began to spring up in the valley that lay below me. As I watched, more and more lights sprang to life. Soon they stretched out ahead of me in the direction of my travel. I could not tell how many there were; they extended as far as I could see, eventually being swallowed up by the Fog. I was puzzled. The lights looked like fires, but they seemed to be much too large. I was used to seeing small campfires here and there, but if these were fires, they were much larger than any used for cooking or a bit of nighttime warmth. I was curious, but resolved to let the matter go; I slept.

The next day, as I expected, the Fog prevented me from seeing down into the valley. I decided I was not going to let some vision of fires deter me from my quest for the Light and resumed my trek. But that night, my resolve faltered. As the day faded away, the lights once again appeared below me. This time, they were behind me as well as in front of me. My day’s journey had not brought me to the end of what must be a quite long valley.  I could not guess just how long the valley was; now the shimmering lights of the fires extended as far as I could see both behind and ahead of me. They were now closer, too. Either my day’s walking had brought me lower, or the floor of the valley was rising. What was the meaning of these fires? My resolve to continue toward the Light crumbled under my curiosity.

The fires were close enough to me that I dared to clamber down to them. They cast eerily dancing shadows, and I slipped and slid more than once, tripping over an abundance of tree stumps, but overall, the slope down into what I had come to think of as the Valley of Fire was manageable. As I neared the first fire or two, I could see that my suppositions were correct. Here were huge bonfires – much larger than needed for cooking or a bit of warmth on a cold night. These people here seemed to have ceased wandering and settled down in one spot, where they built fires, creating their own light. Had they seen and abandoned the Light that was drawing me? Had they never seen it? Their massive fires certainly seemed to supplant the Light.

Initially, I scoffed at their fires. As large as they were, these bonfires were puny and insignificant compared to the Fog. And how could anyone gather enough wood to build fires like these for more than a few nights? It must be folly. But as I pressed deeper into this Valley of Fire, I marveled at how the fires did drive back the Fog. All around me was heat and light and groups of people reveling around massive fires.

Drawn by the bonfires and the lure of camaraderie, I decided to rest a while at one of the larger fires that had sprung up in the night in the Fog. There seemed to be power in the Valley of Fire. I was only going to stay at the fires for a few days, but that changed after I met the Fire-Master.

Fire-Master

I met the fire-master one night as I was sitting on the periphery of a crowd that had gathered around a particularly large and splendid fire. He sang the praises of the fire, pointing out how skillfully it was built: the outer structure would stand for hours, and when it collapsed, it would fall in on itself, leaving a still-burning inferno. He seemed to know everything about fires. He pointed out subtle flaws in how this fire was being tended, then excused himself and went to advise the person whose fire it was.

He soon returned, his face aglow from the newly intensified fire. “Have you ever built a fire?” he asked.

I replied, honestly, and I thought, humbly, “I have built many fires, but only small ones for cooking and necessary warmth.”

He laughed, “No, no, my friend. I mean a real fire. The kind of fire that warms the soul and makes you glad to be alive!” His laugh was loud and boisterous, but there was no warmth or humor in it. It made me feel small and foolish, as if there was something everyone besides me knew. Seeing my reaction to his outburst of laughter, he apologized, “I do not mean to offend you, my friend, but when you know the delights, the energy, the power one feels from a truly great fire, it is hard to think of a mere cooking fire as even worth mentioning. Stay by me, and tomorrow night, or perhaps the next night, I will help you build a real fire, and you will see how good it feels to drive away the Fog by your own efforts.”

I hesitated and then told him, “Thank you, but no. I have to resume my journey soon. I am going to find the Light.”

He did not laugh, though I was sure he would, but he looked at me with a hint of pity, as a learned scholar might look upon a not-very-bright child. “I am so sorry to hear that; you are on a fool’s errand. Many have been lured into chasing that chimera, and none have ever gotten anything other than lost and tired. How do you know that it is even a real light, and not merely a trick of the Fog reflecting sunlight or moonlight?” I had no answer for him, for in truth, I had often asked myself the same question when Fog and the darkness conspired to rob me of any hope. I had pinned my hopes on something that I could not be sure was real; maybe I was, as the fire-master said, on a fool’s errand.

As I sat mutely staring into the fire before me, wondering what to do, he put his hand gently on my shoulder and said, “Friend, you don’t have to decide whether to give up your quest or not. Stay here with me for a few days. I will teach you what I know; I think you have the makings of a great fire builder. And after you have learned what I can teach you, then, if you still want to, you can pick up and renew your quest. The Light you are chasing will still be there, won’t it? I’ve heard people claim it is eternal! What harm can come from resting a bit here in the warmth and safety of these fires?”

 He was quite persuasive. He assured me that he could help me build a fire that would last; he could show me how to drive back the fog and keep it away. The promise of life without the Fog was enticing. Besides, I was not really getting anywhere wandering in the Fog trying to find an elusive Light. No one had told me to pursue it, and certainly, no one had told me that I must not allow myself a rest. I slept that night among the glowing embers of countless pyres in the Valley of Fire, and the next day my lessons began.

The fire-master was eager for me to become a successful fire builder. I wondered why he had taken such an interest in me. When I asked him, he would only say that he enjoyed helping others on their way. At first, we did not build any fires; he just helped me find my way to new, bigger, and brighter fires. There, he would point out the subtleties of their construction: how their outer structure was sturdy enough to last the night yet cleverly contrived to let in enough air to sustain the inferno inside. Sometimes I would try to talk to the person whose fire it was, but they were invariably gruff and seemed to be suspicious of my motives. Some even accused me of wanting to ruin their fire, and they threatened me and chased me away.

Even in those rebuffs, the fire-master was ever at my side. “Never mind about them!” he would say. “I will soon have you building fires better than they can even dream about!” And he would go on to point out subtle flaws in the design or construction of their fire, suggesting that under his tutelage, my fires would be perfect; others would be coming to me to see my splendid fires!

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[Note: This is the beginning of a fable that is very much a work in progress. My best intention is to put out new material about once a week. We’ll see.

A small number of readers may have seen a much earlier kick-off to this story. I have recently taken it up again and have reworked the earlier material. As always, I welcome any feedback you’d care to share!]

Fog

I can’t remember a time when there was no Fog.  It is everywhere, and as far as I can tell, it has always been; I’ve never heard of anyone who has not lived in the Fog.  The Fog rules the world; cold and damp cover everything.  The sunlight is diffused to the point of near uselessness. Most days, I strain to see more than a few yards ahead, and I can never see more than thirty yards or so.  The sun rises and sets each day, but it makes little difference.  In the daytime, the Fog is a bit more bearable, but it does not dissipate.

When darkness comes, the Fog is worse.  It is probably the same as it is in the daylight, but it seems worse in the darkness. The chill dampness works its way deeper into my bones.  My few yards of vision contract to inches.  In the darkness, in the Fog, I can’t even see my feet, much less where I am going. I used to try to walk at night to stay warm, but would end up lost, falling into a gully, or crashing into a tree or boulder.

The Fog makes almost everything pointless. I move about, foraging for what food there is and trying to find enough dry wood for a small fire to cook on. Nothing else seems worth the effort. In the Fog, I am lost and alone. The Fog has always been, and I fear it will always be.

Light

I first noticed the Light long ago. I don’t remember how long ago, but it was during a long, dark, and particularly still night that I first noticed a dim glow on the horizon.  At first, I thought it was the sun rising, but then I realized it couldn’t be that; it wasn’t in the direction of the sunrise, and it was far too early for dawn.  No, the Light must be something else.  Unlike the sun, the Light neither rises nor sets; it remains a spot on the horizon. As the fog thickens or thins, the Light appears dimmer or brighter, but I believe the Light never changes. Only the cruel tricks of the Fog make it seem changeable. If you know how to look for the Light and are very attentive, you can still see it even in the daytime, but it is harder to see.  It is easiest to see the Light when the night is very, very dark.

I found myself drawn to the Light. I cannot say what it is about it, but though dim and seemingly distant, the Light is attractive. As time went by, I became adept at finding the Light, even in the daytime. Then, the strangest notion occurred to me. For no reason I could explain, I came to believe that if I could find the Light – if I could get to it — I could escape the Fog.

After many months, I made up my mind: I would try to get to the light. Perhaps I could find out what it was. I would find out if the Light could be my escape from the Fog. Day after day, week after week, and month after month, I pressed on through the cruelly cold and oppressive Fog, trying to find my way to the Light. The way was hard, harder than I had ever expected it could be. It was easy to become lost in the Fog. I was often discouraged, and I gave up my quest many times. But each time the allure of the Light — my irrational belief that if I could get to the Light, I would be out of the Fog — overcame my despair, and I once again set out on what my mind told me was a fruitless search.

As I journeyed through the Fog in search of the Light, I discovered that I was not alone.  Others wander in the Fog.  A few, like me, were trying to make their way to the Light. I was surprised to learn that others had seen it and found it attractive; I had naively thought that I was the only one who had seen it, or at least had felt its pull strongly enough to seek it out. Often, in my despair, I had wondered if the light was even real; perhaps it was a figment of my imagination, something my mind conjured up to ease my Fog-born sense of hopelessness. I was heartened and encouraged to know that others had seen it and were drawn to it.

I had great hopes that one of them could tell me more about the Light. What was it? How far away was it? Could it really dispel the Fog? Forever? But no matter how many times I asked my questions, no one could answer them. Some of the Light seekers seemed sure of themselves and confident that the Light was the answer to all woes, while others were even less sure than I was. But none had any idea how near or far the Light was or how to get to it.

 Most of the wanderers I encountered gave no indication of ever having noticed the Light.  I do not know why they wandered. Perhaps wandering, even for no reason, is better than just sitting in the Fog. Still others claim to have seen the Light. But now they either believe that what they “saw” wasn’t real, or, though they can still see the Light from time to time, they do not think it means anything and have given up ever trying to get to it. They tell me it is hopeless; that no matter how far they traveled, the Light never seemed to be any closer. They are resigned to their lives in the Fog. I dreaded becoming one of them. I continued on, clutching what little hope I could muster.