Integritus Prime

I’ve just returned from my first trip to Sri Lanka. This post contains some reflections, in no particular order.

Sri Lanka feels like a riper Fiji. It’s hotter. The island is larger. The coconuts are orange. The pineapple is just as sweet. The people all look and feel familiar. I look like one of them too, until I open my mouth and English comes out.

Sri Lanka is about coconuts. It’s about spices that are fire in the mouth, but don’t hurt the stomach. Everyone eats with their fingers. Curry and rice has a new meaning.

I am a scrappy cook who loves flavor; Sri Lanka’s avalanches of flavors are humbling.

My vigilant body forsakes sleep, as usual. I was reading my sister Natasha’s words, but now I must write. The words pull me out of bed. I feel her vibe in me – her tenacity, her feminism, her defiance pushing me forward. Feminist fighters. It was us against the patriarchal world, and now, this is how it always will be.

It’s 12.37 a.m. Some esteemed new colleagues are taken with my blog about feminism. But I am still in Sri Lanka, where it’s dinnertime. I am anticipating the buffet, despite my allergies and trepidation. There is one man, and one woman, exactly, that I trust on staff where I am staying.

There are two other women I trust. They have shown up for me in their own ways. Both have stated their limits too. It takes maturity to do that. No person is an island. But, Sri Lanka is a vast person.

Sri Lanka is a tolerant driver. Swerving, slowing, overtaking, tooting, and patiently following organic non-rules on narrow roads and massive highways.

Sri Lanka is a heat-tolerant missile of flavors.

Sri Lanka is replete with dogs who serve as gentle guardians of sacred places. This is love in its highest form.

Everything exists with a suchness. Even in hospitality here has less pretense. Excellence and laziness are equally apparent. Sri Lanka is honesty.

I swim here with a more relaxed body. The water is warm. I feel less confined. Big spaces can be deceiving – the pool is much smaller here. But, it’s empty.

Unrest is a lurking thief stealing my attention. Machine guns at the airport. Stories. I experience nothing but goodness. The badness is cloudy, and at a distance.

Sri Lanka is a troop of monkeys, feeding happily. Sri Lanka is the unique call of a green-billed caucal at my villa’s doorstep. A visitation. Sri Lanka is a bounding squirrel, unaware of its own gladness to be alive. Sri Lanka is a missing elephant in a room far far away. A room full of bugs that don’t bite. That’s new for my skin.

Sri Lanka is a row of Buddhas. Enlightenment you can pay to look at. A mosque of steps and silences. Stories I have yet to hear. Sri Lanka has its secrets.

When I leave I have just become accustomed to the spicy fare. I miss the dal curry that cooks my mouth at breakfast. I’m back to gravelly toast.

The large waves outside my Colombo hotel beckon. I watch, fascinated, at the minuscule height of the wall. Tsunamis would do damage here.

Sri Lanka is the energy I gain from climbing a fascinating rock at 5am, living on 2 hours of sleep. I am energized the whole day. I work 18 hour days here. My work is holding space for the most precious ones – those fighting beyond the binaries. Giving love, making it safe to heal, release, let go, and let the words come. We write like never before.

It’s today, now, here. I am awake, reminiscing in a new way. My words celebrate, rediscover, and examine the pressure cooker we called a retreat. It could have gone sideways, but it was a place of courage and blossoming. Because we came as we were: vulnerable, afraid, and willing to open. We left renewed. We breathed more hope.

Our solidarity makes us inseparable.

Sri Lanka held us. She let us go. Some part of my heart is still there. Exploring. Some connections made in Sri Lanka are forever. The energy from some of my experiences live on in me, driving me.

I too, am becoming a tolerant driver.