Reflections from the Swamp
Dear Reader
Reality isn’t ‘out there’ waiting to be seen. It’s filtered through the lens of the mind, and we must prepare ourselves inwardly to perceive more fully.
During the hottest part of last summer, when we occasionally had our long-distance vision obscured by smoke from distant burning fires, I drove down a long, straight Upper Dwyer Hill Road and almost into a watery mirage that spanned the highway. The wall of water kept moving ahead of the car, so I couldn’t take advantage of the tremendous relief it seemed to promise. The Koran mentions that the world is like “a vapour in the desert.” You can see an oasis in a mirage, but it won’t satisfy your thirst.
During these early fall mornings, fog rises over the pond, creating misty illusions of spirits in the trees and unknown creatures slithering in the shadows. One can be momentarily mesmerized by these images and see them as reality. This foggy reality dissipates with the rising sun.
I love parables because they don’t pretend to be true stories and yet often contain truths and lessons. The following parable about mirages and fog offers the reader some food for thought about life.
Imagine you and your friends are seated on a hillside, enjoying some bread and wine while listening to a parable about fog and mirages. What will you take home with you as a message or lesson?
Parable of Fog and Mirages
In the vast desert of the world,
People walk toward the shimmer.
They call it truth, or justice, or victory —
Each name shines like water beneath the sun.
They point and cry, “There! There it is!”
And they walk,
and walk,
believing that if they only keep their eyes fixed on it,
the dream will become real.
But the lake retreats.
The air bends.
And the thirsty are left holding nothing but sand.
Now — travel with me to another place.
A valley,
where the fog rolls in each dawn
like a soft gray blanket.
There, people live close —
so close they could touch —
and yet they cannot see one another clearly.
They mistake outlines for enemies,
shadows for threats,
and whispers for proof.
They shout through the mist,
trying to make the air clear by the sound of their own certainty.
It never works.
And so,
the desert burns with illusion,
while the valley shivers with confusion.
But in both places,
light waits patiently —
just beyond the dunes,
just above the fog —
ready to reveal,
if only someone dares to open their eyes.
Few do.
Because to step into the light
is to lose the comfort of being right.
To see that the lake was sand all along,
and the neighbor’s shadow —
only mist.
So the world keeps walking in circles:
thirsty in the desert,
blind in the fog,
each convinced the other cannot see.
And yet…
the sun keeps rising —
bright,
impartial,
unbothered —
offering clarity that waits,
and waits,
and waits.
Step toward the light, even when it burns your certainty away.
Listen before you speak.
Look twice before you judge.
And when your eyes adjust, reach for another hand —
for only together
can we walk beyond the mirage and fog,
into the clear day.
The light is waiting.
