There is always a lighthouse. At the edge of the sea, at the edge of the world and at the crest of the horizon. At the fall of the woods, the curve of a road, the corner of a tea shop and the bins in an alley. Wherever it is needed, whenever it is needed; the lighthouse will always appear. The lighthouse is where you will find the answer to all your questions.
I have seen the lighthouse, many times, and gathered many stories from those who have seen it too. What lies herein these pages are stories gathered from the lighthouse. Stories of the people who live within its walls, who visit its halls or exist within the things which fill its rooms.
***
Through the mist appears a girl, her tiger and with them, a question. Where can we find hope?
The girl leaves her kingdom with only her pet tiger for company. She seeks the answer to this question. Together the girl and her tiger walk deserts. They pass ruined statues of forgotten kings. They clamour through jungles loud with lemurs and butterflies. They take a raft, pulled by great turtles through jade coloured seas.
Today marks a year and a day since she began her quest. The girl’s feet are sore. Her tiger’s head droops, his feet are sore too. They are walking through a place called the Fernwood; a forest full of every green imagined and not yet imagined. Leaves curling like fiddles, branches holding up curtains of ivy, lichen and a carpet of the titular ferns. They cover the forest floor, large, small and somewhere in between. Some so enormous they reach twice taller than the tiger and some so small their whole girth covers no more than the girl’s thumb.
They walk, one step after another. Today there is no talking or singing. Instead, there is a weight of apprehension, as dense as the forest they walk through. They do not follow a forest road, or even a deer trail, but an imaginary string that tied itself to the girl’s heart a year and a day ago when she declared to her hollow-eyed and weary people, she would seek the legendary lighthouse. The girl can feel the string twang when she wanders too far off its trail and today she can feel it vibrate like the plucked string of a cello, deep and resonant within her. It keeps her and the tiger moving, one foot after another.
The green of the Fernwood turns from the shades of morning to the deep emeralds of afternoon. Each vibration of the string sings within the girl for one step out of every hundred. When she reaches another round of a hundred steps, the string vibrates as it has done for a year and day, but this time it does not stop.
“We’re close!” She leaps toward the tiger just behind her and hugs him around his neck. The tiger answers with a deep purr harmonizing with the vibration within the girl. She lets go of his neck and looks up at the canopy of green. She laughs, “I wonder what hope will look like? Will it be a big flag or maybe an airship? Something to help the kingdom right? Race you to the door!” She adds with a grin. The tiger raises up on his front feet and nods. This is all the girl needs for encouragement before she takes off, leaping through the undergrowth of ferns like a white-tailed deer.
In seconds the dense green of the forest flips into a messy field of wildflowers, tall grass, burr bushes, and a sky the colour of the lapis lazuli mosaics of home. For a moment, she stops and remembers. Her mind tumbles into white corridors, gold statues, mosaics of a thousand galaxies and dancing upon stones under a red sun. She feels the tiger nudge her shoulder with his nose. Turning, she pets him with a fond smile.
“Ready, set, go!” She says, and the moment fades into a blur of colour, the beat of her boots against earth and the constant thrum of the string within. She laughs through this blur, happy to take a moment to be her young age, before she reaches the lighthouse and must be a princess. The tiger bounds beside her, looking for the moment like the young cub he no longer was.
Down the earth slopes, then up, then down and down — tumbling into the sound, and the sight, of an ocean.
Then there, at the edge of a cliff, at the edge of a world, sits a tall white painted lighthouse with a red roof. The girl’s feet tangle under her and she stops, drinking in the sight. The string from within that guided her this far feels like an orchestra of cellos, all thrumming at once. The girl’s previous abandon resolves once more into a steady walk. One foot in front of the other. But this time, the walk is both light with the end in sight and akin to a formal procession — held in honour of the journey and the destination in equal measure.
At long last, the girl and the tiger stand before the red front door.
“Do I knock?” The girl turns to the tiger with a raised brow. The tiger shakes his head, indicating it is the girl’s decision, not his. She knocks with three firm taps. As the echo of her knocks bounce through the door, she looks up to the windows that stack on top of each other all the way up the lighthouse. She adds a shout of hello for good measure.
A moment passes, then another and another. The girl looks to the tiger and raises her hand to knock once more when the door swings open with a chirp. A house martin hops up and down at the sill of the entryway.
“Hello,” the girl says. The house martin gives a series of chirps and disappears into the lighthouse. “Well then,” the girl says to the tiger and together they enter the legend. As the girl steps through the door, the string tying her to the lighthouse falls quiet. There is no more feeling of musical vibrations within her. She wonders if a new song may begin once she steps inside.
The girl grew up on stories of the lighthouse — of saintly knights and wizards, daring alchemists and wild pirates. All and sundry who ventured with a question to the lighthouse. It is known across the universe, that if you want an answer to a question, a big question — the sort that fill up all the corners of the universe — then you must follow the road to the lighthouse. What that road is, and what you’ll find in the lighthouse varies depending on the storyteller, but many say it is filled with rooms that shrink or multiply, according to your need.
One story speaks of a giant library, with a ceiling of stars, that stretches as far as the universe. There is a swimming pool in that library. Another tells of a room with doors that take you into the desert, the jungle, the ocean, the arctic and your own mind. Her favourite tells of a winding wrought-iron staircase with iron roses weaving around the bannister. This staircase goes up and up toward the stars. The only room in the whole lighthouse is built like a study — a desk, a hearth with a cracking fire that is shaped like different animals depending on the day and all the best storybooks. The ones full of heroes who left home to seek great treasure to bring back.
The foyer of the lighthouse is as white as the outside with a dark wood floor, It creaks with every step the girl and her tiger take. The house martin flutters in the air just ahead of them, at a low, curved doorway. It hovers there for a moment before disappearing through. On the other side is the lighthouse. The way the girl imagined it. A single tall tower of white-painted walls rising for eternity; interrupted only by a winding wrought-iron staircase. She giggles as she touches one of the iron roses on the bannister. It is cool but smooth. The tiger nudges her back, encouraging her to keep walking, for the house martin flies ahead, up and up the tower.
Each step clangs as the girl and her tiger climb the iron staircase. The sounds bounce all the way up and then down, sending vibrations through the girl. These create a new rhythm, one that keeps her feet taking one step after another. She feels rejuvenated and excited once more.
The girl loses count of the steps, but it seems no more than one moment to the next when she at last stands in front of a black door. Then the house martin chirps and darts away, fluttering down and down the tower. The girl watches the house martin for a moment before taking a deep breath and turning the simple copper handle of the door.
“Ready?” She says to her tiger, and she opens the door to reveal a study that resembles the cozy space of her favourite story. There are bookshelves stuffed with codices and scrolls, clockwork and wind-up toys. A large red rug with roses and trees covers most of the floor. A copper telescope sits in front of the three large windows that stretch from floor to a ceiling with a round skylight. There is a desk stacked with papers, a green lamp, an inkwell and a gold orrery. A hearth-fire on the far wall is in the shape of a cat and it purrs sparks of fire.
Next to the hearth is a large red chair and in the chair a badger sits upon its haunches. There are large plush pillows with red covers and silver stars embroidered on their edges, which rest on the floor in front of the chair. The badger gazes at the girl and her tiger. Its eyes remind the girl of a night sky sparkling with stars. Then it speaks.
“Welcome, dear ones. You have journeyed far to arrive here. Sit, rest, and then tell me what you desire to know.”
“How do you know we want something?” The girl can’t help herself. Even though every story about seeking the lighthouse is because the hero has a question.
“Because the lighthouse is you,” the badger says.
“Me?” The girl says, “I’m a girl, not a building and what about all the others who have come here?”
“They are the lighthouse too. They are their lighthouses.”
“There are more?” The girl frowns.
“No, not in the sense that you think of more. There is always only one lighthouse for every person who seeks it but for every person who seeks the lighthouse, there will be one — unique and for that soul alone.”
“So I could have chosen for the lighthouse to be closer and to look differently if I wanted? Why is that not in any of the legends! That’s a crucial storytelling error. I’ve spent a year and a day trying to get here.” The girl’s affront takes on all her years as a princess.
“Yes and no,” says the badger. “You took the journey you needed to take, no more and no less. Another may have taken a decade of your years to reach the lighthouse and yet another may have taken only an hour. That is why the lighthouse is you.”
The girl scowls and crosses her arms. “Well anyway, I’m here now. You can give me an answer.”
“The lighthouse knows all that is and will ever be, yes.”
“Good. Where can we find hope?” The girl says.
“It is in the books,” the badger nods to the shelves that cover the walls of the study. “You will find your answer there.”
“One book? Or all the books?” The girl asks.
“Look,” says the badger. The girl sighs with resignation, for her own life seems to be mirroring her favourite tales, before she steps over to the closest shelf. She scans the titles and then pulls one out at random. Then she pulls another and another, flipping each book, looking for the answer to her question. Her tiger nudges books off shelves and piles them near the girl before curling up by the hearth. The cat shaped fire slips out and curls on top of the tiger.
Soon the room is filled with the purr of cats both big and small and the sky flourishes with sunset before drifting toward night. Candles float into the study, lighting the space as the girl continues to flip through book after book. She learns about creatures of different planets she’d never heard of and finds herself fascinated, reading each line rather than just skimming. She reads a fable about the star whales and laughs and cries to an equal measure.
The best moment is when she finds a copy of her favourite story of a lady knight. For a second she is little, and she is visited by the king and queen who cuddle up to her as father and mother, and together they tell her of the famous lady knight. She catches tears running down her cheeks at the memory, long gone with much of her kingdom now. But as ever, she wipes her tears, takes a deep breath, and she continues to search. She owes it to her people to find an answer to her question.
But as the stars begin to blink out and dawn creeps into the sky, the girl turns to the badger, hands on her hips.
“I can’t find it. Where is it? Why can’t you just tell me the answer, or at least, at least tell me what book it is in! I still have to go find it.”
“You are the lighthouse my dear. Tell me, how have these books made you feel?”
“Curious, sad, excited, nostalgic, wishful,” the girl hold up a finger for each one she lists off. “That can’t be the answer. That doesn’t make sense. None of those are thing I can use. Are there any atlases here?” The girl crosses her arms and raises an expectant eyebrow at the badger.
“No, those are not the answer. Not quite,” the badger says. “Now, tell me, why do you seek an answer and why the lighthouse?”
“Because everyone knows it gives the answers to anything ever and always,” the girl says, in a tone that is threaded with rote schoolhouse training.
“Why do you like the stories? What do they make you feel?” The badger counters the girl’s statement and she throws up her hands, stomping away from the badger in the red chair.
Crossing her arms, she glares out the central window. The sun is rising over the sea and the water sparkles like a thousand crystal lamps. A seagull squawks just outside the windows and another answers. The girl thinks of all the stories of the lighthouse, the story her own life has been this past year and day.
At last she turns around to look the badger in his deep universe eyes and says, “hope. They give me hope that I can save my kingdom. There have been many droughts, a terrible illness that took my parents and we have many other larger kingdoms upon us, knocking at our doors. I need to know why such terrors have happened so that I can fix them, so that I can save the people who do still live. We need hope.”
“You love your people,” the badger says. It is not a question but the girl nods.
“I do, but love does not feed bellies, provide cures or protect borders.”
“No, it does not,” the badger agrees. The girl scowls at this and turns back to look at the sea and the rising sun.
“Tell me, dear one, why did you keep walking?”
The girl doesn’t turn to look at the badger but she says, “you know the answer. You know all the answers as part of the lighthouse. Don’t ask me.”
“Sometimes we need to ask questions of questions in order to know the answers that we don’t ever realize we already knew.”
The girl rolls her eyes and speaks, not looking at the badger, “because I had the hope of an answer that would actually help my people. Not some silly proverbs and stories that sound pretty.”
“Do you dislike stories?”
“That’s a stupid question,” the girl says, still not turning around. Her eyes are tracking the sun as it walks up through the sky and its rays send paths of sparkling crystal across the water. It reminds her of the halls of her home, filled with mirrors and crystals and stones that depict the stories of her people.
“There are no stupid questions. Only questions,” the badger says. He leaps down from the chair, pads up beside the girl and sits on his haunches. He is larger than he seems. His head reaches up to her hip. The badger nudges the girl, and she answers his question.
“I love stories, they inspire me, they make me work harder, they make me, me. I walked for a year and a day with Tiger by my side just to get here. My feet are sore, I am hungry, I am tired but I am here. I did it. I had never left my kingdom before now. I had never slept on roots or in rain. I am grateful I had Tiger with me so I did not get more lonely. But I knew, if all those people could find the lighthouse and share their stories of it, I could find it too. The answer…” the girl trails off, her eyes caught on the sun, now full and fat in the sky. Bright, glittering and signalling a new day.
“… is stories! It’s stories! Hope is all our stories. Every story ever told brings hope. Just like the lighthouse. Oh! Stories can give my people the hope they need.”
The girl bends down and hugs the badger, a wide grin lighting her face.
“Thank you Badger!”
“You had it within you, my dear, all along. Now, would you care for a bath and breakfast?” The badger looks between the girl and the tiger who is awake and nudging the hearth-fire cat off his belly.
The girl smiles, hugs her tiger and together they follow the badger through the lighthouse at the edge of the universe.
Thank you for giving me another reason to hope.
Lovely meditative journey.