Apparently it’s not uncommon to be drawn to a lighthouse. In a way that is what they are designed for - to attract our attention and guide us safely. To land us. Safely.
The sailor blown by a mistral wind, the traveller who walks in wanderlust seek out a lighthouse at times. To settle down, rest, reset the compass and learn to navigate by a different star. Then off again for the next passage.
Talking to a new friend the other day he said he needed “a base to come and go from”. Being a musician he spent a large part of each year touring, travelling, living abroad - that which nourishes the need for change, new, movement. But sitting alongside was the need for a constant - his lighthouse. The tension between is what gives juice to living. If I am filled only by one of these cups, my drink tastes too watery or too syrupy. The right combinations and I am sated.
I’m still in my lighthouse - adjusting navigation charts, watching the stars and waiting for the wind to turn. It’s been a safe shelter from often stormy weather and the solid walls, flashing light and vigil watch have given insight and held me well. But there are too many ghosts of broken hearts, loss, grief, yearning and a lighthouse is not built for joy. It’s a solitary place for watching and listening to the details of life, but always here to land me safely home again.
Time to move on. Welcome me, my Light House.