A Lighthouse at the Edge of the World
There are nights when I write a paragraph, delete it, write another, delete that as well, going around and around with something I want to say, but it is too ephemeral to grab hold of. It’s too much feeling and not enough words.
Who is out there right now, reading this? Are you as off-balance in the world these days as I am? Do you feel like things are just broken, and you don’t know how to steer your way through the mess that is being made of everything right now?
I feel sometimes that I’m in a small lighthouse at the edge of the land, and that there is a wild and violent storm raging around me. The light needs constant tending to stay bright, and I’m exhausted and clumsy and aching, and I don’t know how long I can keep up the work.
Are you in a lighthouse of your own, just up the coastline, just out of sight around the curve of the shore? Are you weary and wishing for a break in the storm, to have time to eat or sit or just be for five goddamn minutes, without worrying if the rain will creep under the crack beneath the door, or the wind will tear shingles from the roof, or a vast and violent wave will crash over your tiny lighthouse and wash it away into the sea?
Who are you, out there, sharing this storm with me?
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