Remember the Mothman

and then to look elsewhere

Upon this rather flimsy “disclosure day,” it’s worth recalling how we frame border-world interactions to ourselves. Some are intrigued by little dots observed and discussed by some of the most thoroughly-vetted people in government; others turn to stories of abductions and flying saucers. Personally, I see the whole thing through West Virginia’s Mothman.

With arms and hearts stretched out, the mass culture yearn for the Vulcan. For the benevolent super-humans of technocratic fantasy, perfected by evolution to become utopian star mariners, sailing cold dark space for eternity in triumphant anti-nuclear serenity. An early 20th century positivist’s vision of Reason, with a touch of the transcendentalist. Something to replace the opaque and elusive angels of old.

It can be disappointing, after such Hollywood visions, to recall that the world’s foremost expert on these phenomena, Jacques Vallée, has repeatedly highlighted the petty idiocy and malevolence of most UAP encounters. The Mothman of Point Pleasant, West Virginia fits that description to a tee, and in remembering it we can remember why not to place our trust in the truth of tales from the borderlands - and why to guard our attention as well.

In a century of breakneck technological change and institutional secrecy and power, people pin their hopes for meaning and clarity on border-world encounters, which perhaps are the last events upon which persons should fasten such expectations.

The Mothman, appearing over 13 months in the mid-1960s in Point Pleasant, was most famously documented by John Keel. The “sightings” continue today around the world. Keel claimed he interviewed multiple people who speak of the creature not as some sort of heron or barnyard owl, but as a human being with wings and red eyes. Its visitations were accompanied by disturbances: intimidation, pursuit, vanished pets, and paralyzing fear.

The Mothman today enjoys statues and even his own potato chip (a bit like a slightly more sour BBQ chip if you’re curious), but there was nothing fuzzy or endearing about the shock and terror the witnesses endured.

Yet, perhaps potato-chipping UAPs is a healthier response than sinking deep and deeper into the quicksand.

When I was 12 years old I was in the passenger seat of a car when I saw a large black cat quickly cross the road in front of me. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes - it was already gone. But I was certain of what I had seen. By a large black cat, I mean jaguar. It was a large large cat. The driver did not believe me, but later called animal control. To their surprise, the officials were cagey, asking for the location and to be informed of any other sightings. Several other people in the neighborhood also reported brief sightings around that 48-hour window.

Months later we found out a wealthy woman in the area kept an illegal menagerie at her home. When she was informed that her animals were about to be confiscated, she released them upon the public. A python of some magnitude joined society, along with, yes, a jaguar who was apparently rather tame. When or where they were collected I do not know.

The public is all too often not invited to share such knowledge. We weren’t even alerted to the possible presence of these animals. It was all hushed up, supposedly so as not to cause panic. The memory of this incident stayed with me - the needs of administrators to maintain the semblance of control, the ability of the rich to play whatever games they want with their neighbor’s safety, the uncanny presence of species being moved far from their habitat, and the peculiar feeling of uncanny secret-ness behind the wall of normalcy.

The angels ever introduce themselves with “Be not afraid.” They are clear and quick, aware and respectful of human fears. They do not waste time in games - they point ever to The Good. There are no secret traps, no codewords needed.

Everything about the UAP phenomenon has always been nothing but baits and switches, gathering attention only to keep a drip, drip, drip of spectacle that goes nowhere.

Is there something behind it? Perhaps, I can relate to those who weary of the iron grip reductionist materialism has had on the world since the 1700s, and who yearn for common acknowledgment that “there are more things in heaven and earth than exist in your philosophy, Horatio.” I can understand following the official discourse - but only with a bemused smile. Nothing threatens to drag people away from the little responsibility they still accept for themselves than the idea that some sort of “reveal” will sweep the chessboard clear and we can begin again, savvy and renewed.

Whatever this phenomenon is, our government participates in the “drip drip drip” of distraction and addictive hints. That is a declaration of loyalty - away from the truth, and towards the manipulation of the truth. One can admit one doesn’t know - but that takes humility. Those in power won’t accept that, so even if they genuinely do not know, the encourage the phenomenon-as-distraction by endlessly teasing it.

All the mystery of the world can be seen in a regular old bird in flight. In the spring leaves, returned after the winter. In the child’s first steps. In the eyes of the suffering, the renewed, the hopeful. I don’t mean this in a merely sentimental way. These are actual mysteries. Being is a mystery. Language and growth and death and the soul we see in the eyes - mysteries leading to still more mysteries.

What the UAP and Mothmen are useful for is reminding us that rabbit holes pull us away from the world we should love, from the adventure of becoming ever more responsible and humble and tender human beings. It replaces real wonder with a simulacrum that can never satisfy. It suggests the darkness and deepness of space is full of things eager to make us feel small, helpless, and dreading even the light of revelation. The Mothman’s possible alter-ego, Indrid Cold (as testified to by Woodrow Derenberger), was aptly named. It is the coldness of life surrendered to fear, where one can no longer move - and can no longer be open to grace.

No to all that. Better to ponder the mystery and recall the angels: “Be not afraid.” Or, if you prefer: “Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”