Wildflowers

We may believe a cataclysmic end of our world can be prevented by the enlightened understanding of a few. But is it true? Evidence thus far suggests the possibility; but blindness and wishful thinking are such close cousins that even on the very precipice, truth may go unrecognized. In every age, we have witnessed the dangers of our abysmal ignorance, the masses raging toward some imagined desirable end, which has led to bloodshed and our further self-imprisonment. And in every age there have been scientific, philosophic, artistic visionaries who have seemingly stemmed the tide by the sheer power of their inspiration and the relative clarity of their observations. These we build upon. Meanwhile wave upon wave we come, crashing against the fragile cliffs, as if our sole purpose were to destroy every chance of a safe landing. By its very design, ignorance fears the light, calls it the enemy, and gives it a hundred familiar names. In one instance it may cling to a book without examining its origin and history, while burning others it neither reads nor understands; in another, it will follow a ruthless leader into the darkest, most dangerous places, without realizing the one it is following is merely its own reflection. And thus it lashes out, and passes its genes from generation to generation. At any given time, belief, as noble and expedient as it may seem, is like trying to see ourselves in a cracked or broken mirror. Try to piece it together and we are sure to cut ourselves. Such is the price of willful ignorance. Such is the price of vanity. If we have not already, we may even reach a point wherein our survival is a greater tragedy than would be our end. Again, how can we be sure? And those countless silent workers who love the light — what of them? They are like wildflowers. They may have crazy, crooked stems, but their roots go deep. If I were the sun, I would cast my lot with them.

November 21, 2020

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