“Transformation is not accomplished by tentative wading at the edge”
Eshaness lighthouse built by David Alan Stevenson, 1925
Might I suggest you grab your favorite beverage and pull up a chair. Today, I’d like to share a story about an adventure.
A tale of a journey to the” edge of the world.” A place of transformation.
And with all good stories, yet perhaps not a trait of a good storyteller, first, the backstory.
It was the spring of 2022. Life had resumed it’s facade of normality in the year following the retreat caused by the pandemic. In my workspace, we were instructed to return teaching college students face-to-face… as if nothing had happened…
But something had happened. And I’ll simply say that the year returning to the classroom was hard, very hard for all involved.
I was teaching a lot of credits, two new course preps, adapting materials to account for the loss of learning that had occured during the previous year, dealing with long-Covid, and not in a good headspace. I needed to slow down, to recover and heal, but couldn’t keep up with the day-to-day demands so how I was to rest?
But one thing kept me going… knowing I could return to Shetland in the summer.
As I walked to my car on a grey, dreary April day, I tripped and solidly landed with knees and hands on the pavement. For a split moment, I thought I was fine… but then, my backpack filled with books and a laptop, slid up my back, changed my position, and tipped me forward. My backpack reached my head, slamming my forehead firmly into the concrete.
They say it was a mild concussion.
Mild?
The universe was sending a message…
Slow down.
The irony of having my head meet the pavement facilitated by my work items was not lost on me.
My summer plans to visit Shetland vaporized instantly. I would have to wait until the fall.
At some hopeful moment during “lockdown,” I’d made a reservation to stay in the Eshaness lighthouse. Wouldn’t that be fun? Staying in a lighthouse looking out at the cliffs and water watching the birds fly by, knitting away, being all cozy, and sipping my tea? Idyllic. Peaceful.
So, when I’d “recovered,” I made my way back to Shetland in October 2022 to stay at the lighthouse. Solo. What could be better than Shetland with solitude. Bliss.
Funny thing about staying at a lighthouse at the “edge of the world,”… it isn’t quite as I’d imagined. Sure there’s cliffs, and water, and birds, and tea, and knitting…
but there’s storms, big storms (F11 to be precise), no internet, no phone, no people excpet visitors to view the cliffs and “blow the cobwebs away,” wind that seems to find you even when you’re hiding under the covers, strange voices in the night…
Feelings of vulnerability, being alone, very alone, unease…
When I’d visit town, people would say “you’re staying in the lighthouse? by yourself? why? here’s my number, call me.”
Sally Huband, author of Sea Bean, writes about Eshaness in a chapter titled “Witch.”
”Eshaness is a breathtakingly bleak peninsla that ends in cliffs formed from layers of lava and pyroclastic rock. The windows of the lighthouse, which stands on these high cliffs, are cracked from sea-thrown rocks…My focus is always sharper in Eshaness; a sense of vulnerability heightens my perceptions…”
While the lighthouse stands alone as a beacon warning sea travelers of the cliffs, 3 miles down the single-track road is a small village with a cafe. It was here that the moral of this story lies. I would visit each afternoon to eat a hot, home-cooked meal and use the internet to connect with loved ones back home.
What I experienced in this seemingly simple cafe with wide expansive windows (actually the type I’d dreamed would be in the lighthouse) looking out over the sea was community. Each day, I was greeted with a smile, a warm welcome. How was I getting on? Along with some validation that my feelings of vulnerability and unease at the lighthouse were warranted.
A warning… “there’s a storm coming.” A big one. Let us know if you need anything. The postman offered the same. Just give me a ring if you need me to bring supplies…
Image of the Eshaness cliffs and lighhouse during a lesser storm than the one I experienced. Photo from Instagram.
Here I was feeling more isolated and afraid than I’d ever encountered, yet at the same time I now knew what it truly felt like to be in community. The day of the huge storm, I spent the day at the cafe listening to the stories of many… feeling welcomed, safe, and at ease… while the gales raged on and the sea expressed her rage.
In the evening, as the storm retreated, I drove back to the cliffs feeling a sense of comfort. As I approached the parking lot, with not one visitor car, I no longer felt isolated or alone.
The storm had passed,
moved on through,
and left a rainbow.
A rainbow at the edge of the world…
My heart was full. I stood outside and yelled at the top of my lungs… no longer an expression of sadness or despair… but one of joy.
Growth happens on the edge…
walking the path of peace isn’t always easy…
even a path of peace can have cliffs and edges…
Jumper colors inspired by my interpretation of the Eshaness cliffs.
Peace nugget #7
On day 1 of our journey, I mentioned the need to be intentional about how we define peace. For many, peace is a destination, an outcome, an endpoint, or associated with warm fuzzy feelings without discomfort. Yet peace is much more than a simple process or idyllic product… a path of peace comes highs and lows, ups and downs, peaks and valleys…
As we enter the second of week of Project Peace, how is your awareness of what peace means transforming?
Other
I very much enjoyed reading your comments about food and peace. If anyone is interested in learning just a bit more on this topic, here’s a link to an interview with Melinda Hemmelgarn from the Food Sleuth podcast where I share more thoughts on food peace. Plus, I highly recommend this podcast if you want to learn more about food, health, and agriculture.
My Eshaness jumper is made from Jamiesons and Smiths 2-ply jumperweight yarn. The pattern is the Roost pullover.