Listen.
That's the ocean.
Just outside the wall.
For the next six minutes...
you're staying in a small room.
At the bottom of a lighthouse.
The walls are thick white stone.
Round, like the tower above you.
Painted over a times.
hundred
There's a narrow bed with a quilt.
A little wood stove, glowing low.
One small window facing the harbor.
Climb in under the quilt.
It's heavier than you expect.
In a good way.
The stove ticks as it warms.
The sheets smell a little like salt air.
Let your head sink into the pillow.
Let your eyes close.
High above you...
the lamp is turning.
Someone lit it at sundown.
It will turn all night.
It doesn't need your help.
Lighthouses have done this for a long time.
Through worse nights than this one.
They know how.
Out past the harbor...
the weather is rougher.
Wind and whitecaps.
Picture your day out there.
Whatever was stormy about it.
That heavy Sunday feeling.
The laundry still in the basket.
Maybe a phone call that went sideways.
Or a worry that's been circling for weeks.
Like a gull that won't land.
Let all of it stay out at sea.
Past the long stone breakwater.
It can roll around out there tonight.
It can't come into the harbor.
In here, the water is calm.
The boats are tied up.
Rocking a little on their ropes.
A fishing boat with a blue stripe.
A little sailboat, sails wrapped tight.
Everyone for in the night.
You came in too.
You made it to the harbor.
Take a slow breath in...
And let it go...
like a wave going back out.
Now listen to the waves.
They come in...
and they slide back.
Let your breath follow them.
As a wave rolls in...
breathe in.
As it pulls back over the pebbles...
breathe out.
In...
with the water rising on the sand.
Out...
with the long hush as it leaves.
In...
And out...
Now look out the small window.
Just in your mind.
The lighthouse beam sweeps across the water.
Slow and wide.
It passes over the sleeping boats.
Then it's gone.
And a little later...
it comes around again.
Every sweep says the same thing.
Someone's watching the water.
You can close your eyes.
Let the light pass over you too.
Over the quilt.
Over your still hands.
Then darkness.
Then the light again.
Slow as breathing.
The light keeps watch now.
That's its job.
Not yours.
The waves come in...
and go out.
The stove is down to embers.
The room is warm.
The quilt is warm.
Somewhere a bell buoy rings once.
Far out.
If a worry swims back into the harbor...
let the next wave carry it out.
There's always another wave.
Breathing in...
And out...
You're in the harbor now.
Safe from the weather.
The light will turn until morning.
Round and round.
Keeping the harbor for you.
the sea.
Goodnight.