The Lighthouse
Just searching for the shoreline. A bottom. Somewhere to stop bobbing, where stepping out of our vessels doesn’t require treading water. Wading or the possibility of drowning. Others want the tour.
They want to walk up the long staircases. To see the shining mediocrity. Spectacles that we place in the middle of paintings. Manned or empty…
Often it’s the idea of guidance. Lighthouses… For some a magnet. Others see the signal as a warning. They are trying to stay away. Seeking to stay back from the shore. Preventing their natural urges to run aground.
Many of these structures have fallen. Some victim to the storm and the seas they are meant to serve purpose against. Time has eliminated the rest. Like great role models. Principles we use as our compass. Symbols recorded in our history...
Conceptually we all have our lighthouses. They help illuminate boundaries. Like the ghosts of battlefields. Fallen beacons we carry in our hearts and minds.
Perhaps a headstone. A photograph. Recorded voice. Idols burned into our hearts and minds. For the memories, the light itself is unnecessary. Lessons we carry.
Those still swaying in the darkness will need to see that projecting stream of consciousness. Direction to turn to their forces. Even perhaps, to stay out to sea. Brightness like a red flag from shallow places they never wish to step foot again.
Living, loving, learning… Adventuring. Many looking for that spiritual center to bring us home. Maybe they’ve even returned, having rescued, with a soul or two. The rest, who are not lost, remain castaways. Like secrets that will never be told.
Drifting; sinking. Perhaps meaningless and forgotten in their time. Expeditions seeking treasures submerged away from the shore. Found value exceeding any they might’ve had in their own time.
The world often deceives; tests us. Our lighthouses see us through the bluff.
------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------
Music:
