There’s something so comforting about the sound of foghorn.
It’s a voice of safety and guidance, a saintly sound that seeks to protect sailors from harm.
Now I’m a certified landlubber, but I live near the Narrows in Bay Ridge and whenever the fog rolls in I get an earful of that beautiful noise rolling in right behind it.
It’s a nice old timey sound that harks back to another age of sailing ships and fishing villages.
Ray Bradbury’s 1951 short story “The Fog Horn” features a sea monster that mistakes a remote lighthouse’s foghorn for the mating call of one of its own.
The giant creature eventually topples the lighthouse in a fit of rage and the story formed the basis of the monster movie classic The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms.
Thankfully that has yet to happen in my neighborhood.
I came to appreciate this singular symphony even more during a recent meditation session.
Now I’m just getting over a nasty virus that had wrapped my head in a fogbank of congestion, fatigue, and extreme grouchiness worthy of an angry sea monster.
The dry, hacking cough was a bonus that I would’ve cheerfully skipped if I’d had any choice in the matter.
Had Me Low, Had Me Down…
So many people I know have been sick recently and I am very thankful that I work from home so I wouldn’t have to suffer the additional torture of a daily commute. On the flip side, though, it’s not easy calling in sick when your office is 10 feet away from your bedroom.
I dragged through the week, skipping the gym and cutting off most social activities.
I did keep up on my regular 20-minute meditation routine, but my unhappiness over my health muscled in on my morning session with a serious case of monkey mind that rattled my skull with endless negative chatter about how much the coming day was going to suck and wondering if I’d ever feel better.
As the foghorns began calling, I fixed my mind on that wonderful sound and stayed with it for the entire session.
My breathing became slower and deeper and the incessant internal chatter took a break as my mental monkey climbed the nearest tree.
I felt so safe and secure—like I was sitting in the palm of God's hand, and the foghorn’s din sounded so dense, so deep you could almost walk on it. I came out of that meditation in a much better frame on mind.
It was colder this morning and the sun was out, so there was no need for foghorns. As I meditated I could feel this beautiful healing ray of sunlight come across my face. The warmth got me thinking about spring and health and ditching all these winter clothes.
Some days you get fog and some days you get sunshine. If your thinking is clear you can navigate your way through either one.