At the edge of the world

Went out to the North Light early this morning, with a hot cup of coffee, and wearing my Dad’s hiking boots. This is the lighthouse on the northern tip of Block Island. You can see the mainland off in the distance. You park your car in a little lot and then have to walk on a rocky crescent beach to actually get to the lighthouse. This is unlike the Southeast lighthouse which is pretty much right off the road. I parked my car. The wind was so freezing that the couple of times I took my gloves off to take a picture, I actually ended up getting anxious, because it was so cold I lost feelings in my poor stick-figure fingers. The ocean was a deep dark blue with tossing whitecaps, and the wind was deafening. I found myself shouting at times to myself (the place was deserted), “JAYSUS, it’s fuckin’ COLD!” I walked towards the lighthouse, which meant I walked into the wind. It was brutal. But the sun was coming up behind me, the blue waves tossed fiercely out to my right, the dunes lay down flat in the wind, and careless obnoxious seagulls bobbed on the freezing waves, staring at me in an arrogant manner.

This morning walk was so intense I found myself in tears on the trek back to my car. So so beautiful. I had also been thinking a bit about my collection of beach glass, which has connections for me with a man I once loved, who ALSO had a collection of beach glass (only his was fresh water, being a mid-Western boy, and mine was salt – we gave each other pieces of beach glass) – and I still scan the ground for beach glass, and I imagine even if I am 80 years old, I’ll have a moment where I will think of that fresh-water man I once loved every time I find a piece. It came into my mind, the beach glass, and this particular beach is treacherous with rocks for the most part – dwindling down into a crescent of pebbles – not really a clean sweep of sand where anything like a piece of beach glass stands out.

I made my way close to the lighthouse, a blinding white stone building, picking up the morning sun, with the black tower, the brave light inside. I crawled around the snowy dunes trying to get as close as I could (the place is closed to the public right now), and there were times, I admit, that it got so cold, I literally huddled behind a sand dune to get some relief. The ocean was roaring on all sides. This is a point, remember. You are surrounded.

I stood on the very edge of the northern tip of Block Island, with cross-current waves streaming in at me on both sides, crashing in the middle. There was a sense of the land dipping off into nothingness. I knew I had no danger of “tipping” off the edge – it wasn’t a cliff – it was a rocky beach that curved right off into the waves and that was that. Like The Titanic sinking without a trace. It was exhilarating, an exhilarating spot. I felt some vertigo at times, especially when I stood at the very “bow” of the island – so that the illusion was that there was only ocean in front of me, and that I was floating out over it. If I only judged from what I saw in my line of vision, then I was completely out to sea. The vertigo came and I actually had to look down at my boots, to reassure myself that I was actually standing on land. But what happens at this northern tip is that the water races in at it from both sides, big crashing waves on the left side, and more of a protected lapping on the right side. But make no mistake – both sides are trying to leap over the small pathway of rocks on which I am standing – to get to the other side. It must have been low tide when I was out there, shivering and freezing on the rocky outlet into the sea – and I am sure that that entire isthmus is underwater at high tide, and as a matter of fact, as I stood there, a wave from the left (the more aggressive side) made it further up over the rocks and washed a bit against my shoe.

Okay, okay. Time to go.

It was a hike back to my car, but by that point the wind was at my back (Brian’s wish for me came true: Go raibh an ghaoth go brách ag do chúl) – so it actually got warm enough I could take off my gloves.

I felt exhilarated, and transparent, it wasn’t even 8:30 in the morning yet, and I had been to one of the most beautiful places on earth.

I glanced down at one point, so that I wouldn’t lose footing on the pebbles which were a bit uneven, and right there – right on that very spot where I happened to look down – I caught sight of a rounded piece of clear beach glass. I started laughing at the miracle of it, because I had just been thinking about beach glass on the start of the walk, and then forgot about it, because the rest of the scenery was so spectacular (almost frightening – the place was deserted – no one knew I was out there).

I no longer want to invest energy into the meaning of things because that way (for me) danger lies. I do not care to get advice to the contrary, either – unless you know me really well already (ie: friends or family). My understanding of my own narrative is my own – and it’s hard-won, and well-thought-out. So no ultimate “meaning” assigned to things anymore. Let other people do that for me, if they wish.

Regardless.

I sure am glad I found that piece of beach glass. It’s a nice specimen: thick and substantial. Sometimes you just find a tiny chip of green or blue, but sometimes, if you’re lucky, you find a big chunk – sometimes even with raised markings on it (like it was once part of a mason jar or something like that) – albeit worn down by the sea. I like the big fat chunks, and this one – frosted over, clear and yet opaque – is a good addition to my collection. Kind of a star, actually.

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6 Responses to At the edge of the world

  1. jean says:

    What a spot. I used to sit in the car with Hudson at the North Light – usually at night when i would get a little lonely on the island. We would stare at the mainlaind for awhile (you can see the light at the Ocean Mist!) until I didn’t feel so lonely. It’s an amazing place.

  2. Doc Horton says:

    You conjured up for me a Samuel Beckett landscape with a lone figure walking. I had you shifting the piece of sea glass from pocket to pocket in a ritual manner.

  3. David says:

    What a great writer you are. I was actually feeling the vertigo myself.

  4. tracey says:

    Oh, Sheila. I am loving this whole thing. The trip. What you’re writing about it. Beautiful.

  5. nightfly says:

    Block Island! Wow, that really is the edge of the world. I remember being fascinated by it from, of all things, the mention made in Billy Joel’s song “The Downeaster Alexa.” Found out it was actually further east than Montauk Point – which for Long Islanders like me is The End. There used to be bumper stickers to that effect about Montauk, as I recall… “Montauk – The End” with the “D” crooked as if it were hanging off an edge.

    Well, Block Island would have “sland” hanging off the edge. It freaked me out a little in a good way. And you’re out there! It just adds to the coolness. I hope you really find your time out there rewarding.

  6. luisa DeLuca says:

    i dont understand why i am not mentioned.

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