a dilapidated lighthouse

Today I took myself 

to my favorite spot on the beach, 

the little crescent-shaped strip of sand,

marked by rocks on one end 

and driftwood on the other.

There is a lighthouse, 

dilapidated but still standing, 

still connecting sea to sky.

I stood at the edge of the earth, 

my feet sinking into the ground 

and seawater pooling around my ankles, 

washing me clean of sin, 

carrying my fear, pain, and doubt 

out to sea to be released. 

It was just me, and the sea, 

and some rocks, and some driftwood, 

and a lighthouse, 

dilapidated but still standing, 

still connecting sea to sky.

I felt reborn standing there,

sand between my toes, 

seawater up to my ankles, 

sea foam speckling my calves, 

my hair dancing in the wind;

every piece of me moved 

by the breath of the Universe,

so alive it was deafening.

Here She is, breathing, 

after everything She’s seen.

After so much death, 

and so much illness, 

and so much pain,

here She is, breathing, 

so alive it is deafening.

She demands acknowledgement, 

even for as simple an act as breathing,

because the Universe understands, 

after everything She’s seen,

after so much pain, 

and so much illness, 

and so much death,

to still be breathing 

is the bravest act of all. 

So I breathe, here, 

on this crescent-shaped strip of sand,

marked by rocks on one end 

and driftwood on the other, 

overlooking a lighthouse, 

dilapidated but still standing, 

still connecting sea to sky,

and I breathe.

If this lighthouse can still be standing, 

still be connecting sea to sky, 

still be a beacon of hope 

despite its dilapidation,

and if the Universe 

can still howl with breath, 

so alive it is deafening,

I, too, can be a lighthouse, 

dilapidated but still standing, 

still connecting sea to sky. 

I too, after everything I’ve seen,

after so much trauma, 

and so much betrayal, 

and so much illness,

understand, to still be breathing 

is the bravest act of all.