Hello my friend.
Welcome to your sleep story.
My name is Stephen Dalton.
I'm an Irish storyteller.
And it's my great privilege to be the voice that you listen to as you go to sleep tonight.
Some time ago,
I wrote three stories about a lighthouse keeper called Seamus.
Creating the world that Seamus lived in and his story consisted of three separate days in his life well tonight I've put them all together for you so you can fall asleep listening to the simple life of Seamus as he lives in his lighthouse A very long time ago.
Next to a beautiful sounding sea.
I really hope you like this one.
Okay,
Let's do the relaxation session now,
Which will take a few minutes before tonight's sleep story.
I'm going to count down from ten to one,
And as I do,
Allow yourself to let go more and more.
Feel the support.
Of the bed beneath you.
Or the floor.
Or whatever you lie upon tonight.
And beneath what you lie upon.
Feel a deeper support.
The support of the earth.
Our home.
Our constant support.
And as you become aware of that support,
See if you can.
.
.
Sink into this moment a little more now.
Jess.
Let go.
A little more now.
Nein.
You.
Are safe.
Allow my voice.
To be an anchor of safety tonight.
To be a friend.
To be a gentle guide.
A guide that only ever brings you.
To safe places.
Too warm.
And cosy places.
Places that enable.
.
.
And support.
You're asleep.
Trust.
That my voice is a friend tonight.
Feel into your body now.
Notice where you might still be holding tonight.
Notice where you may have pain.
Or tingling.
Retention.
Notice anything.
Maybe you feel something in your feet.
Or in your lower legs Resize.
Or your belly.
Your chest.
Shoulders Arms.
Hands.
Or maybe you're like me.
And you hold tension in your face.
Just see if you can soften a little now.
This is a time.
For kindness to yourself.
And to your body.
Seven.
The day is.
.
.
Whatever has been.
Has been.
Whatever will be.
Will be.
But right now.
.
.
All you have is this moment.
Your thoughts can't change what has gone before.
Your thoughts can't change.
What will come tomorrow?
Your brain.
.
.
Needs rest now.
So as thoughts come and go now.
Don't fight them.
Don't chase them away.
See them for what they are.
So much.
Then just.
.
.
Watch them go.
Like leaves.
Floating away on a moonlit river.
Or a cloud.
Passing through a starlit sky.
Six.
This is your moment.
This.
Is your time.
You have earned this moment of kindness to yourself.
You deserve.
To have peace in your life.
We all do.
So,
As you become aware of that fact.
.
.
As you.
Come to the understanding.
That we all deserve peace.
See.
If you can settle into this moment.
.
.
A little more now.
Letting your body know.
That it's really time for rest.
Peace.
Lives within you.
It is a constant friend.
Waiting to be found.
Waiting to be felt.
Where does it live within you?
Maybe it's in your heart.
Maybe it's in your head.
It's up to you to find it.
But I promise you it's there.
Perhaps allow a little gratitude now.
Gratitude.
For the simple things.
For your body.
For the shelter you have tonight.
For the ones you love.
And who love you.
For the beauty and wonder of this world.
Of this planet.
That you can find.
When you look for it.
3.
Begin to engage with your imagination now.
Begin to see a beautiful old Irish lighthouse a very long time ago.
Next to the Atlantic Ocean.
In this place.
Far away.
From all that you know.
To Checking in with your body one more time now.
Finding the places you are holding still.
And allowing yourself to give in.
To allow the tension to ease away.
Your body has worked hard for you today.
It's time.
To give it rest.
And one.
Completely letting go now.
As I tell you.
Tonight's sleep story.
Part One Seamus's eyes are closed.
He's breathing deeply.
Lying in the cozy confines.
With his cozy bed.
In his beautiful lighthouse.
This lighthouse.
That has been his home now.
For many decades.
It is still dark outside.
On this little island.
Off the west coast of Ireland.
Seamus stirs a little.
He is so safe here.
So content.
So at peace.
The sound of the ocean.
This is Constant Companion.
And has been.
All of this time.
Even while he sleeps.
He hears it.
He knows it's there.
Now.
Gently very gently.
He begins to stir.
His eyes peek open.
He sits up.
And looks out through the little portal window.
The stars.
Still sit atop the sea.
And the light from the top of the lighthouse Still rhythmically.
Shines far out.
Far out into the ocean.
Seamus and this light.
Are almost in sync with each other.
Like his heart beats.
To the rhythm of the moving light.
He feels it within him.
His favorite thing to do.
At the start of the day.
Is to open the little hatch door.
And walk out.
In his bare feet.
Onto the grass that surrounds the lighthouse.
He stands now.
With the earth beneath him.
And breathes in his first breath.
Of the outside air.
He thinks to himself.
How grateful he is for this moment.
As he does every morning.
As he looks upon the stars that still shine.
And the waves of the ocean below.
He stretches his hands out either side.
And feels his body.
The air.
He is old now.
Old.
By most people's standards anyway.
But he has treated himself with deep respect.
And so he looks twenty years younger.
And feels it too.
He feels his feet touching the grass.
And he is reminded.
That he is at home.
Home on this earth.
He goes back inside the lighthouse now.
And enters the little kitchen.
He puts on his simple overalls.
He put some water in the old kettle.
Lights the fire And places the kettle atop it.
There are no modern appliances here.
There is no electricity.
For this Lighthouse.
And this man Seamus.
Exist in a different time from ours.
Jamus lived.
Throughout the 1800s.
And early 1900s.
And so,
As we start to learn about Seamus and his simple life in the lighthouse.
We are also visiting.
A different time.
He lights the candles.
The gentle glow.
From these old companions.
Warm his heart.
He sits at the kitchen table and waits for the water to boil.
And as he sits,
He just.
.
.
Sits.
He doesn't look for distraction.
In fact.
.
.
The thought of a distraction Never enters his mind.
He sits.
And notices the sounds around him.
The smells.
The sensations in his body.
Once the kettle is boiled.
He pours it into a little pot.
And mixes it with coffee beans And puts it back on the fire.
Seamus does love his coffee.
He sits back down.
And looks around the room.
This room this little kitchen that he has spent so many hours in He is often surprised by the fact That over the years.
.
.
He has done so little to the kitchen.
And yet.
.
.
In a way.
It seems to change.
Or A.
Anyway.
He takes his coffee off the fire.
Pours it into a little bowl and walks outside again.
Now the sun.
Our nearest star.
Is beginning to rise.
Seamus sits down.
On his favorite wooden log.
And looks to the east.
He welcomes the sun.
It is late spring.
And so there is already a little warmth.
That he feels on his face.
As the sun Climbs above the horizon He breathes in this moment.
And he expresses gratitude.
For the simplicity of his life.
For his health.
For his shelter.
And for the peace of this moment.
He closes his eyes.
His lined face.
Has a great beauty to it.
The lines Show the years.
The years lived well.
Years live by this beautiful ocean.
The Atlantic.
He smells the fresh.
Salty air He always thinks.
That there is something so healing.
About the sea air.
It's no wonder I'm healthy.
He thinks to himself.
He listens.
To that rhythm of the waves.
Something he could never get tired of.
He decides now is a good time.
To go and tend to the light.
He finishes his coffee.
Stands up.
And goes back through the little door at the base of the lighthouse.
He leaves the coffee bowl in the kitchen.
And then opens the door to the staircase.
He begins his ascent.
Climbing.
Each step Every time he climbs these stairs.
He wonders.
How many times have I climbed these stairs?
It must be tens of thousands by now.
He knows exactly.
Every stare.
How many they are.
What numbers stare?
Has something strange about it.
The pattern of the wood.
The sound each different stare makes.
They are old friends in a way.
Who have known his feet.
As long as they have known them.
Round and around he goes.
Climbing and climbing and climbing.
Until eventually.
.
.
He reaches the lantern room.
First.
He opens the windows of the lantern room.
So that when he extinguishes the light Any smoke?
That is produced.
We'll leave the room quickly.
Then.
.
.
He inspects the light.
To assess its condition.
After the night's work.
He checks.
For anything that needs attention.
He looks towards the chimney.
To see if it's blackened He checks the wick.
To make sure it's not burned down too much.
Now.
Seamus carefully turns down the way.
And reduces the flame.
Gradually.
Now the light.
Has been extinguished and Seamus allows the lamp to cool.
Now.
.
.
He trims the wig.
With meticulous care.
Ensuring it is just the right length.
For an even burn.
Too long.
And the flame would be smoky.
Leaving soot on the glass.
Too short.
And it would fail to cast its vital light far enough.
Into the darkness.
The wicks adjustment.
Is a delicate balance.
One that Seamus has mastered.
Over the years.
Now that Seamus has tended to the wig,
He lifts a heavy oil can.
With the practised ears.
Topping up the oil reservoir.
That feeds the lamb.
The scent of the oil.
Rich is pungent.
And familiar.
Fills the room.
Now.
Seamus.
Turns his attention.
To the Fresnel lens.
This is a special lens.
That encircles the flame A masterpiece of optical engineering.
It's composed of multiple sections of glass.
Precisely shaped and arranged.
Capture and concentrate the light.
Magnifying its intensity.
So that it can be seen from many miles away.
Seamus polishes each segment of the lens with a soft cloth.
Removing any accumulation of salt spray or dust The task is laborious.
Requiring a gentle hand And an eye for detail.
For even the smallest smudge can diminish the light's rage.
Seamus knows.
That the lens must be flawless.
Now that Seamus has completed his morning tasks,
He decides it's time to eat.
He goes down the stairs again.
And upon reaching the bottom goes outside.
And towards the chicken house Happily.
There are fresh eggs this morning.
And Seamus takes two of the biggest and goes back inside the lighthouse.
Some days he likes fried eggs.
Some days scrambled.
And when he's feeling like today is going to be a special day,
He enjoys poaching eggs And so today that's what he does.
He boils the water.
And add a little bit of vinegar and takes a spoon and gets the water to travel.
In a spiral formation.
And then.
.
.
Withdraws the spoon Cracks the egg.
And drops it right into the middle The egg comes together beautifully.
And Seamus feels very satisfied.
He repeats the process for the second act.
He has toasted some bread over the fire.
And now he sits.
And quietly eats his breakfast.
Feeling happy in his solitude.
After breakfast.
Seamus does.
The same thing he does nearly every morning.
He goes into his little room.
He takes his old leather journal.
And he goes outside.
And walks down the little path.
That leads to the beautiful beach below This is one of his favorite parts of the morning.
And yes,
He'll even do this if it's raining and windy.
He feels the soft sand beneath his feet.
And he goes to his favourite rock.
He is not sure.
But.
.
.
He is close to shore.
That this rock that he is satan.
For all these years.
Has somehow shaped itself.
To his body.
Anyway.
.
.
He sits on the most comfortable rock.
In all of Ireland.
And looks out upon the ocean.
He loves this place.
The cliffs surrounding him.
These cliffs that have been beaten by this ocean.
For millions of years.
And he knows he is but.
.
.
A ship in the night.
When it comes to the age of these cliffs.
And the age of this ocean.
Lately.
He has been reflecting upon his life.
And the journey.
That led him to being a lighthouse keeper.
He begins to write.
27th of May 1911 Yesterday.
I was rising about my childhood.
Of course,
Those memories are fuzzy.
But for some reason.
.
.
I remember a lot of sunshine I remember.
.
.
My parents and how kind they were.
I remember my sister.
I don't know what my first memory was.
But I know.
.
.
That I was well looked after.
I was loved.
And that's important.
Anyway.
.
.
Today I think I'll write a bit more.
About how I think I ended up becoming a lighthouse keeper.
I think it might be to do with the fact that.
.
.
My sister was a lot older.
So I was often alone.
And it's comfortable for me.
To be alone.
I might say preferable.
That's not to say I don't like to be around other people.
I love other people.
I need other people.
But there is something about solitude.
That I am deeply comfortable with.
How many people can say that?
Another reason to be grateful,
I suppose.
Anyway.
.
.
It was probably that love of solitude.
And also.
.
.
The fact that I became a sailor.
.
.
I remember in my young days of sailing when I would be on a ship.
Out in the ocean at night.
And I would be lying on my back.
Looking up at the stars.
And I would think to myself.
.
.
I never want to leave the ocean.
I always want to be here.
I need to find a way to be here always.
And of course I knew that.
.
.
I couldn't be a sailor forever.
And when we would come close to the land,
And I would see those lighthouses.
I would always think of the lives inside them.
The person or people.
Keeping that light going.
And there would be a safety.
That I would feel in my soul.
When I would see that lighthouse.
And it wasn't just about.
.
.
The light keeping me safe.
Keeping the ship safe.
It was much deeper than that.
It was the feeling.
The realization.
And.
.
.
Recognition.
That us humans Look after each other.
There is something deeply hopeful.
In that fact.
There is something.
.
.
Deeply heartwarming.
About that fact.
We send signals.
Of care to each other.
And I suppose it was in those moments.
That I decided.
That I wouldn't mind doing this job.
Caring for others.
And living a simple life.
Okay.
I've written enough for one day.
Jameis Closes his journal.
And walks towards the shoreline.
He feels the cooling.
Coming.
Healing water of the Atlantic on his feet.
He takes in a nice deep breath.
As he closes his eyes.
Then he breathes out.
And then.
.
.
He begins his walk.
Back up the little track to continue his day.
As a lighthouse keeper.
Part 2 Seamus stands at the foot of the lighthouse.
After just coming up from the beach.
It's late morning now.
And as he looks at the door to the lighthouse,
He realizes.
That it could really do with being painted.
He decides that now is as good a time as any.
And he goes to the little shed.
Next to where the chickens live And he retrieves the paint.
Did I mention that Seamus has a dark Yes.
A lovely old Irish red setter.
That goes by the name of error.
Yes.
The Gaelic for Ireland.
Seamus loves his dark era.
And era loves Seamus.
Error has the perfect life for a dog really living by the ocean.
Free as a bird And all the attention he could want from his beloved master.
Anyway,
I digress.
Seamus takes the paint from the shed.
And the brushes.
Which she had made sure to wash.
The last time he painted the door.
Which must have been last year?
Or was it the year before?
He opens the paint.
And spread some sheets around the grass.
Then he begins the process of taking the old paint off.
And cleaning the door down.
He loves this kind of work.
He doesn't take it for granted.
That he's out in the beautiful ocean air.
On this tiny Irish island.
In the late spring And he has everything he needs.
And he has peace in his soul.
And he is able to settle into his work.
With great ease.
And great dedication.
Once the door is clean of old paint.
Seamus begins.
The process of painting it fresh.
He rhythmically applies the deep blue color.
He has done this many times before.
And it's always the same color.
Of course,
The lighthouse itself needs painting too.
But that's normally done by more than just Seamus.
That's a big undertaking.
As he paints He breathes in and out.
Enjoying the feeling of just being.
The wind blows through his long grey hair.
And the lines around the sides of his eyes crease.
As he smiles to himself.
In a kind of deep satisfaction.
A deep contentment.
With the moment he is in.
He is wearing his usual blue overalls.
Yes,
Five of these.
He has had them for many years.
And it's pretty much all he ever wears.
But he enjoys this.
He never has to think about what he's going to wear.
Or how he's going to look.
Not that he doesn't care about his appearance.
He takes great pride in himself in fact.
But he enjoys the fact that.
.
.
He doesn't always have to keep up appearances.
Especially given that this is the year 1911.
And he lives in a time.
When everyone was very conscious of how they looked to others.
And gentlemen,
Had to dress in a very particular way.
And so did ladies,
Of course.
Even little children.
But Seamus lives this simple life.
Far away from society.
And the stuffiness.
That can sometimes accompany it.
After he finishes the first coat She decides to take a little break.
And he goes into the kitchen He likes to have a second coffee.
A little later in the morning.
And so he relights the fire.
Put some more water in the kettle.
And just sit.
And waits for it to boil The window in the kitchen is open.
And the gulls are flying around above.
It's like they know Seamus' rhythms.
They know when it's coming close to Seamus's lunchtime.
And Seamus is sometimes kind to them.
And throws them a little bread.
He looks out through the window.
Out to the wild Atlantic Ocean.
Next stop America.
He thinks to himself.
Arrow walks into the kitchen.
He knows he's not really allowed in here.
But Seamus can't help himself He loves this dog so much.
And who wants a dog that's like a robot anyway?
He often thinks to himself Era has personality.
And that's why Seamus loves him.
The water finishes boiling.
And Seamus put some coffee into the little pot.
And mixes it with the boiling water.
And puts it back onto the heat for another little while while he waits for the coffee to brew.
He can smell.
Both the coffee.
And the salty sea air.
And he can feel the warmth of the sun on his face.
As it gently moves around.
And starts to shine.
Through the window.
Only gently,
Mind you.
It's not too warm.
Just perfect.
As it often can be.
On an Irish island in the springtime.
He decides to journal a little more while he's sitting here.
He finds it very cathartic.
He finds it very useful.
He wonders if one day someone will read all of this.
He supposes they will.
He doesn't mind.
I'll be long gone,
He thinks to himself.
And maybe they'll enjoy my story.
28th of May 1911 continued.
It was only after I stopped being a sailor that I really seriously started looking into becoming a lighthouse keeper.
I remember visiting Galway.
That great city.
On the west coast of Ireland.
And I met a friend for a pint in the pub.
It was a late night,
I remember.
And we were deep in conversation.
We were sitting by a little fire.
And it was raining outside.
For some reason I think it was.
.
.
January.
Anyway.
.
.
That's not the point.
I remember him saying to me What do you want to do now that you're not a sailor?
I suppose you'll settle down and.
.
.
Meet someone.
Have kids?
I said.
Almost immediately.
And in that moment.
.
.
There was something very telling about my response.
I kind of recognized that.
.
.
For me the family life wasn't it.
I wanted to live a life of solitude.
I actually said it to my friend in that moment.
And he laughed at me.
Almost as if there was something wrong with that.
And so I made my case.
Who says I have to have a family,
I said.
I love people.
I love my friends.
But I'm happy on my own.
And I love the ocean.
And it was the very next morning,
In fact.
Then I went down towards Galway Bay.
And I found someone who worked in the docks.
And I asked them,
How do you get into the lighthouse keeping?
And sure it wasn't long before I was putting on the uniform.
And soon.
.
.
I was manning my first lighthouse.
I was part of a team back then.
There were a few of us.
I would work shifts.
Sometimes I would sleep.
Sometimes I would stay up all night.
I remember those days.
I would sit with the light.
Make sure it was going throughout.
Lot of time to think,
I'll tell you.
Deep in the night when you get bored of reading your book.
And when you have no one to talk to.
A person learns a bit about themselves.
But I loved it.
And of course.
.
.
I stayed at it.
Charamant I hear now?
Anyway.
.
.
To be continued.
The coffee is ready.
And Seamus.
And pours it into a little bowl It goes outside.
To sit on his favourite lock.
He looks up to the lighthouse as he sips his coffee.
Such a beautiful thing,
He thinks.
This beacon that saves lives.
This proof.
That humans care for each other.
He closes his eyes now.
And take some deep breaths.
Enjoying everything about this moment.
This is his moment.
He has nothing to distract him.
He has nowhere to be.
He has nowhere to go.
He is the master of his own existence.
Now he decides to continue painting the door.
He goes back.
And rhythmically applies the next coach.
He really enjoys this process.
And while he's painting.
.
.
He thinks about how his life is kind of like a monk's life.
He grows his own vegetables.
He has his own chickens He lives far away from most of society.
He meditates.
He's very connected to himself and to the world around him.
There's something in that.
.
.
He thinks to himself.
He sighs out a contented sigh.
As he finishes painting the door.
After all of this activity.
.
.
He decides that now is a good time.
To have a little lie down in his little room.
And his little bear and read his book.
A book that he has read many times.
But a book that he loves deeply.
Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson He opens the book on the chapter he was last reading.
And begins from the start again.
Chapter 10 the void.
All that night.
We were in a great bustle.
Getting things stowed in their place.
And boatfuls of the squire's friends,
Mr.
Blandley and the like.
Coming off to wish him a good voyage and a safe return We never had a night at the Admiral Benbow when I had half the work.
And I was dog-tired when,
A little before dawn,
The boatswain sounded his pipe.
And the crew began to man the capstan bars I might have been twice as weary.
Yet,
I would not have left the deck.
All was so new and interesting to me.
The brief commands.
The shrill note of the whistle.
The men bustling to their places and the glimmer of the ship's lanterns Now barbecue.
Tip us a stave.
Cried one voice.
The old one,
Cried another.
Aye,
Aye,
Mates,
Said Long John,
Who was standing by.
With his crutch under his arm.
And at once broke out in the air and words i knew so well fifteen men on the dead man's chest And then the whole crew bore a chorus Yo ho ho,
And a bottle of rum.
And at the third hoe,
Drove the bars before them.
With a will.
Even at that exciting moment,
It carried me back.
To the old Admiral Benbow in a second.
And I seemed to hear the voice of the captain piping in the chorus.
But soon,
The anchor was short up.
Soon it was hanging dripping at the boughs Soon the sails began to draw and the land and shipping to flit by on either side.
And before I could lie down to snatch an hour of slumber,
The hispaniola had begun her voyage To the Isle of Treasure.
I am not going to relate that voyage in detail.
It was fairly prosperous.
This shit.
Proved to be a good ship.
The crew were capable seamen.
And the captain.
.
.
Thoroughly understood his business But before we came to the length of Treasure Island,
Two or three things had happened which require to be known.
At this point.
.
.
Seamus's eyes grow heavy.
And he starts to fall.
Into a deep rest.
A little cat nap,
If you will.
Error comes in.
And lies on the ground next to his bed.
And he also.
Feels a little sleepy The two companions.
Rest for quite some time.
Both luxuriating.
In the restorative rest.
That is being offered to them.
Free of cares Free of worries.
And for now.
.
.
Free of obligations Some time passes.
And eventually.
.
.
Seamus.
Gently comes back.
And realizes.
That it is getting late.
Late enough.
To start thinking about the evening routine.
He goes outside.
And takes a deep in breath.
Of that fresh ocean air.
He sees that the light is beginning to fade and the sun.
Is beginning to say goodbye to the day.
He knows what he needs to do.
For he has done it Thousands.
Upon thousands of times.
He goes back inside.
And begins the climb.
To the top of the lighthouse.
Step.
By step.
Error decides to follow him.
She enjoys the view from the top.
And as Seamus climbs the steps,
He wonders.
For how many more years?
You will do this.
He feels young.
He feels able.
And it's not like there are people queuing up to replace him Each step he climbs.
He feels.
.
.
A little bit more grateful.
For the life that he has had.
For the friends.
The animals.
For his health.
For his family.
His parents and his sister.
And for being blessed.
With a home.
On this beautiful island Far away from civilization.
Eventually.
He reaches the lamp room.
And the sun is continuing its descent.
There are many places.
Upon this planet To watch the sunset.
But it must be said.
She misbelieves.
At the best sunset.
Is to be seen from the top His Lighthouse on the western side of the little island that he has lived on.
For all these decades He sits for a moment.
With error by his side.
The two old friends.
In quiet agreement.
That this is a moment To be savored.
A moment of shared friendship.
A moment.
That will only ever happen.
Once.
Yes,
There have been sunsets before.
And yes,
There will be sunsets again.
But this sunset.
.
.
Is One of a kind.
The lighthouse keeper.
Thinks to himself.
Part three.
Jameis Watches With his beloved dark era.
As the sun finally says goodbye to the day.
And he knows it is time.
To get the lighthouse lit up Because shame is.
.
.
Has already done the bulk of his work in the morning.
Having filled up the oil reservoir,
Cut back the weight.
And cleaned the lenses.
He simply has to use a match.
And light the lamp's wick.
Once he does this.
.
.
He carefully adjusts the flame.
To the right height.
To ensure maximum visibility.
And efficiency He continues to adjust it.
To make sure it is burning brightly.
And steadily.
Now.
Because his Lighthouse as a rotating Fresnel lens.
Which creates a flashing pattern.
Seamus goes.
And winds up the clockwork mechanism that rotates the lens This is a physically demanding task.
Which requires strength and stamina And it's why Seamus.
.
.
Is so strong and fit After all of these decades.
Manning the Lighthouse The mechanism is then set in motion.
And Seamus makes sure that it is rotating at the correct speed.
Now that the light is burning.
And the lens is rotating.
Seamus makes a final check on the lantern room.
To ensure everything is functioning as it should.
This includes.
.
.
Verify that the light is visible.
From various angles and that the rotation mechanism is operating smoothly.
Seamus now records in his logbook the lighting time.
And any relevant details?
About the operation or maintenance issues.
This logbook is important.
Especially when Seamus was working in 1911.
And there was no computers to put data into.
Now that Seamus' work is complete.
For a little while at least.
He enjoys the satisfaction.
Of watching the light.
Do its job.
Knowing that he is responsible.
For possibly helping humans who need it.
One of the things he loves about his work.
Is that it shows that humans care for each other.
We light these lights for each other.
He has always seen it as a hopeful thing.
Ere his dog sits at his feet.
Sarah knows this moment of the day as well.
He knows things are drawing to a close.
And the two companions.
Look out.
Unto the stars that shine from above.
Down onto this little island.
On the far west coast of Ireland.
Okay,
Ara.
Let's go down.
Jamis knows this won't be the last time.
He'll be visiting the lantern room tonight.
For it is part of his duties.
To inspect it periodically throughout the night.
But his body is used to this by now.
And in fact.
.
.
He enjoys it in a way.
He loves the night time.
As if his life wasn't solitary enough.
He loves the quietest part of the day.
He goes into his little room.
And error although he shouldn't lies at the bottom of the bed Seamus has tried to stop Aira doing this.
But he loves this dark.
Jamis takes out his journal again from the little drawer next to his bed.
He likes to end each day.
By not just journaling.
But by remembering.
Some of his favorite moments from the day that was.
And he writes them down.
I remember this morning and my feet.
First walked in the grass as the sun was rising above the ocean.
I remember the feeling A feeling supported by the earth.
I remember.
.
.
Feeling like it was my friend.
The earth,
That is.
Holding me.
Caring for me.
I remember.
Sitting in the kitchen.
Having my first coffee of the day.
I know I've written about it before.
But I really love the smells of coffee.
And ocean air combined.
Makes me feel alive.
And there's something very pure about it.
I remember when I walked on the beach this morning and the sun.
Us.
Millions and billions of little grains of sand moving under my feet.
And I remember sitting on my favourite rock.
And the feeling of support that gives me.
That rock.
That seems to have shaped itself to my body.
I swear it has.
And I remember my feet.
Meeting the water.
I must go for a swim tomorrow,
By the way.
It's been too long.
And I remember painting.
The door of the lighthouse.
And feeling proud of my lighthouse.
In a way.
.
.
I hold up the lighthouse.
And it holds me up in return.
We look after each other.
Like me in error.
People think I'm lonely.
But I'm really not.
I have friends everywhere.
The grass.
The sun.
The rock.
The ocean.
The chickens Era,
Of course.
And there's the local village that I go to now and again.
Do they all know me there?
Anyway.
.
.
I was writing earlier.
About how I came to be a lighthouse keeper.
And I think I'd got to the point where.
.
.
I had become one as a young man.
And I was working alongside other lighthouse keepers.
But there was something.
.
.
Missing for me about that.
I needed to be on my own more.
I didn't get into it to have roommates.
Have to put up with other fellas.
And their bad habits But I stuck with it.
With a quiet determination.
That I could prove myself worthy.
Of being assigned my own lighthouse.
A lighthouse just for me.
A rare thing of course.
But I knew I could show them.
And so for years.
.
.
I was the first up every morning.
I was the last to go to sleep.
And I would be the one who would check the light.
More often than anyone.
Cleaning.
And topping up the oil.
Checking the wicks cleaning the machinery.
And being meticulous with the log books and always having a clean and pressed uniform.
I was a.
.
.
Beacon.
Of what it is to be a lighthouse keeper.
And eventually.
.
.
I was recognized for it.
47 years ago.
I came to this place.
Or is it 4TA?
Anyway.
.
.
One of them.
A long time anyway.
By anyone's measure.
And I wouldn't change a day of it.
How blessed I am.
I'm not sure if I would have been happier if I had a family.
There are those that say I would have been.
And it's not for me to say whether they're right or wrong.
But I know.
.
.
That I feel great peace.
About the path my life took.
I just think that.
.
.
The more we sit in acceptance And the more we.
.
.
Recognize.
The good parts of the day.
The tiniest things.
Well that's how we find peace,
Isn't it?
That's how we find joy.
That's how we grow.
We don't grow by complaining.
We don't grow.
By not being grateful for what we have?
That's my philosophy anyway.
And I'm sticking to it.
I think that's enough writing for one day.
Probably chat to you tomorrow.
Seamus puts down his journal.
And even though it isn't long since he lit the light,
He decides to go for his first check.
Just to make sure it's operating well.
He climbs the stairs.
Hearing the ocean This is why I'm so fit,
Of course.
He thinks to himself.
One of these stairs.
Every day.
Sure it's no wonder I feel twenty years younger than I am.
He reaches the lamp room and sees that the light is working well.
Rhythmically Spreading its light.
Out to the ocean and the night bringing safety with it.
The rhythm of this light.
Feels as much a part of Seamus as his own heartbeat.
He sits for a moment.
On the little chair in the lamp room.
And looks out at the stars again.
He can never get enough of the stars.
They are the same stars he looked upon.
As a young man.
They haven't changed at all He has,
Of course.
And they will be there long after he is gone.
For they were here.
Long before he arrived.
He opens the window for a minute.
And just takes in the air He loves the smell of the air.
The sea air.
It never gets old to him.
He probably thinks about how much he loves the sea air.
A hundred times a day.
I love the sea air.
He thinks to himself.
Again.
He goes back down the stairs now.
His bare feet.
Feeling the surface of the wood.
Every groove in the wood.
Another old friend.
Every sound the wood makes.
Another old friend.
The metal handrail.
That he sometimes holds on to sometimes not Another old friend.
The little metal candle holder.
And the little candle.
Other old friends.
He gets back into his room.
Era,
Deep in sleep by now.
Oblivious.
To his exit.
And now a rival.
He climbs under the covers.
In his cozy little room.
And he decides to keep the candle lit for a few minutes.
And begins to read.
His book again.
Treasure Island It reads.
.
.
But there we were.
Without a mate.
And it was necessary,
Of course.
To advance one of the men?
The boatswain.
Job Anderson.
Was the likeliest man aboard.
And though he kept his old title,
He served in a way as mate.
Mr.
Trelawney.
Had followed the sea.
And his knowledge made him very useful.
For he often took a watch himself in easy weather.
And the cockswain Israel Hans was a careful,
Wily,
Old,
Experienced seaman.
Who could be trusted at a pinch?
With almost anything.
He was a great confidant of Long John Silver.
And so the mention of his name.
Leads me on To speak of our ship's cook.
Barbecue.
As the men called him.
Aboard ship.
He carried his crutch by a lanyard round his neck.
To have both hands as free as possible.
It was something to see him wedge the foot of the crutch against a bulkhead and propped against it yielding to every movement of the ship.
Get on with his cooking like someone safe ashore Still more strange was it.
To see him in the heaviest of weather Cross the deck.
He had a line or two.
Rigged up.
To help him across the widest spaces.
Long John's earrings,
They were called.
And he would hand himself from one place to another now using the crutch now trailing it alongside by the lanyard as quickly as another man could walk.
Some of the men who had sailed with him before expressed their pity.
To see him so reduced.
He's no common man,
Barbecue,
Said the cock swain to me.
He had good schooling in his young days.
And can speak like a book.
When so minded and brave.
A lion's nothing alongside of Long John.
I seen him grapple for and knock their heads together,
Him unarmed.
All the crew respected and even obeyed him.
He had a way of talking to each and doing everybody some particular service.
To me,
He was unweariedly kind.
And always glad to see me in the galley.
Which he kept as clean as a new pin.
The dishes hanging up.
Burnished.
And his parrot in a cage in one corner.
Come away Hawkins,
He would say.
Come unto the yarn with John.
Nobody more welcome than yourself,
My son.
Sit you down and hear the news.
Here's Coppin' Flint I calls my pirate Cap'n Flynn.
After the famous buccaneer.
Here's Captain Flint.
Predicting success to our voyage.
Wasn't you,
Cap'n?
And the pirate would say,
With great rapidity.
Pieces of eight Pieces of hate.
Pieces of eight.
Until you wondered that it was not out of breath.
Or till John threw his handkerchief over the cage.
Now that bird,
He would say.
This may be.
.
.
200 years old,
Hawkins.
They live forever mostly.
And if anybody's seen more wickedness.
.
.
It must be the devil himself.
She's sailed with england the great cap'n england the pirate she's been at madagascar and at Malabar.
And Suriname.
And providence and portobello.
She was at the fishing up of the wrecked plate ships.
It's there,
She learned,
Pieces of eight.
And little wonder.
Three hundred and fifty thousand of them,
Hawkins.
She was at the boarding of the Viceroy of the Indies,
Out to Goa she was.
And to look at her You would think she was a babby.
But you smelt powder Didn't you,
Cap'n?
Stand by to go about.
The parrot would scream.
Ah,
She's a handsome craft she is.
The cook would say.
And give her sugar from his pocket and then the bird would peck at the bars and swear straight on passing belief for wickedness There,
John Wood had.
You can't touch pitch and not be mocked,
Lad.
Here's this poor old innocent bird of mine.
Swearing blue fire and none the wiser.
You may lay to that.
She would swear the same.
In a manner of speaking.
Before Champlin.
And John would Touch his forelock with a solemn way he had.
That made me think He was the best of men.
And add this.
Seamus' eyes.
Begin to grow.
Very heavy.
As he lies in his little bed.
At the base of the great lighthouse on the little island on the west of Ireland.
Under the stars.
And as the light continues to turn.
And send safety.
Far out across the ocean.
Sent by Seamus himself,
Of course.
With a satisfied Puff on the Kanto Seamus,
The lighthouse keeper.
Says goodbye.
To another day.
