The Lighthouse

The soft golden glow of the sun rippled diamond-like off the surface of the ocean expanse. It mingled with the thick, soft clouds and turned them every shade on the colour spectrum between yellow and red. Sweeps of soft pink made brushstrokes against dashes of burnt orange. It was a spectacular sunset. They all were. The fading light bounced playfully against the white brick of the lighthouse, dancing through the multi-coloured glass in the arched, narrow windows. It was like something in an oil painting, or a fairy tale. Only I am no princess, and I am not waiting to be saved.

If I stood beside the giant glass lamp and leaned over the railing, I sometimes fancied that I could see land in the distance. Logic told me that I was imagining it. Logic was correct. All that surrounded me was water and sky. You might think I would get bored being alone, with a view that never changed. You might. Admittedly, there aren’t a great deal of opportunities for exciting conversation, and I won’t deny that it would be a pleasant change of pace to hear the occasional bird call, or strain of distant music. I had considered learning to play an instrument, but I’ve never had the attention span for it.

Maybe that is why I am content with this existence. Maybe that is why I don’t get bored. I have counted the one hundred and seventy-two steps from the bottom to the top of the lighthouse more times than I can remember and yet, it never stops being interesting to me. I can find a thousand new ways to count them. Today, I might take them two at a time, tomorrow I might only count every three. I suppose that wouldn’t be very entertaining to most people, but if I have learned anything, it is to be perpetually amazed by the unending variety that can be created about even the simplest things.

I pondered this as I enjoyed the sunset, watching as the far reaches of the sky began to darken, drawing the deep velvet of navy night in towards the fading orange orb as it dipped below the horizon. I held my breath. The lamp behind me flashed at the exact moment that the sun disappeared, sending a momentary blaze of green shooting into the air. For that single blink of an eye, the whole world was bathed in green light. Just as quickly, it was gone and day had opened the door into night.

By the time I had grabbed my lantern and reached the bottom of the lighthouse, the moon was starting to stretch its long fingers to brush against the world. As I stepped outside of the front door and my feet landed on the cold stone, everything around me had become silver and starlight. Holding the lantern aloft, I carefully made my way down the water-slick, curving steps. At the bottom, the water lapped gently against them, somehow not eroding the stone despite the centuries that this place had stood and been kissed by the ocean. There was no danger of time or tide taking this lighthouse. It would stand for as long as its guidance was required and I would stand as its keeper.

A chill grew on the air and a low, thin fog began to creep towards my feet. I waited. I never knew how long it would take. I have my theories on why it sometimes takes longer than others. I believe that it depends on the fierceness with which they hold on and how reluctant they are to arrive.

Tonight, it didn’t feel particularly long and I can’t deny my surprise when I saw that the small, rickety wooden boat that drifted into view was carrying a passenger who appeared barely older than a child. There was no confusion or anger on their face, just an immense sadness that seemed almost too big for their fragile frame to hold. Their head was bowed, the moon turning black hair to a shining ink stain and dark skin to a mirror canvas upon which no sign of illness or accident was painted. All of that was stripped away in this place. Everyone arrived at the lighthouse whole. Physically, at least. The journey did sometimes take its toll on the mind and the will.

Some people like to talk, or to ask questions. Some to rant and rail at the injustice. Some want to share their stories or seek spiritual guidance. No two people experience this the same way. Each one is a privilege to share these moments with, but equally, they all bring pain with them. Pain of loss, regret, shock, anger. Every flavour of pain that has ever been conceived passes through this place. I like to think that the walls of the lighthouse absorb some of it, allowing them to leave it behind and not be further burdened by it as they continued their journey. I take what I can of it, as well. I hold their fears and hopes close to me and promise always to keep them safe. I am their keeper, allowing them a moment to pause on their travels and be relieved of the grief that they bring with them.

This one was silent. The silence was always the deepest wound. The sadness was the heaviest, the pain was the most encompassing. It radiated from the soundless form. Even as they stepped from the boat and placed feet upon the stone, it created no echo. No breath of movement that disturbed the air. I offered a hand, I always do. They took it, though I could barely feel the touch. It was as though my fingers were grasping a column of water. It was there, but it somehow eluded my grasp.

There was no comfort to be found within the lighthouse for this soul, but the cool, crisp air that hung with the taste of salt and the smell of brine seemed to draw them into a calm acceptance. I could feel it as though it were my own. It was a unique blend of despair coupled with a deep, resounding note of inevitability. They were not surprised to find that they were on this journey. Still, their pain transcended what can be put into words. It ran through them and into me. My heart cried out for the unfairness of it all.

We passed the night in silence, sitting side-by-side on the steps. Though they did not speak, I heard their story. They allowed me to take it from them, letting it bleed through our joined hands and into my soul. I would keep it safe. Just like I did with all the others. It would reside here, in this timeless place. As with every story, it would become another brick in the wall, or pane of colour in the windows. It would become part of the lighthouse. Part of me.

When the sky finally began to lighten, the stars pulled back and the colour fell away from the world. For a moment, everything was black-and-white. I held my breath.

The lighthouse woke one more time, splitting the world with its flash of brilliant green and when it had faded, my companion was gone. The burning halo of the sun’s edge bloomed into view and at its centre, just for a moment, there stood the silhouette of a grand ship, sails full and flag flying. Then it was gone. My task was complete for another day.

I returned to my lighthouse, wondering how I might count the stairs today.