The Black Rocks
At the edge of the island stood a lighthouse that emitted a piercing beam of light, cutting through the fog situated upon the water. The whole island was dark, and the sea even more so; one couldn't see just ten feet ahead of them while standing at the water's edge. The lighthouse was surrounded by steep rocks—rocks covered in blackness, known as "black rocks" by seamen. The waves left their marks on these rocks, thrashing upon them with great force, eventually telling a story of the sea's moods. Black rocks, or death rocks as many sailors and lighthouse keepers know them, are revered for their sinister nature. They serve as a sign that waves can rise and fall upon the given area at any moment. These black marks surround the lighthouse.
Near the centre of the small island stood the Fisherman's home. Two men, one young and the other much older, lived in the house as part of their station for the fishing company. They were instructed to set the lobster traps for the upcoming season and would be stationed there for the coming month. The older man was a heavy drinker and would often ridicule the young lad he lived with. He mocked him for standing at the edge of the black rocks every night, gazing upward at the glistening light from the lighthouse. "You're a fool, lad. Come and have a drink with me at night and forget the black rocks. You don't know the tides; they aren't your friend in youth. Take it from an old soul—the bottle is much kinder." The young man left the home to gaze once more at the rocks in the dead of the night. The darkness, the chaos, and yet the tranquility and peace—the duality of the darkness and the small beacon of light offered by the lighthouse—was a magnificent sight. The light called to him, and as he took the first step onto the rock, he could feel his feet slip as he braced himself on all fours. He began to crawl slowly towards the entrance to the lighthouse, minding each step with great caution. "Oy! Get off of there!" the old man shouted from below. The young man turned around to look back, but his foot slipped, and he slid down the slippery slope of the sharply angled rock. He was catapulted into the water, and the sea took his life.
Like moths to a flame, we are attracted to the light. Whether the light represents meaning, self-improvement, or anything else, it always signifies a new version of oneself. The light is always surrounded by danger, but nature does this purposefully. You must sacrifice yourself in order to ascend to the light, which is synonymous with abandoning your former ego and embracing a new identity. In other words, it is a voluntary or involuntary rejection of your former self in order to become someone new.
As the older man tempts you to drink with him, you may be inclined to stay. You may forsake your hopes of discovering what lies in the lighthouse for comfort, companionship, and a belly full of warm whiskey. Perhaps the rocks seem too daunting for your taste, and so you never dare to climb them. You are unwilling to face death. You fear both your physical and spiritual demise more than anything in the world. Why does an atheist never try to understand religions, and why does the anointed one never ask themselves, "What if there is no God?" They are afraid of slipping into the water and perishing along with their beliefs.