A German woman called her toddler away from the water’s edge. A French couple sipped cocktails at a table. The luxury of this place was surreal compared to the monastery.
Sun drifted down toward hills across the other side of the valley. Clouds rose like temples lined with gold. Slipping noiselessly into the pool, Lydia and I were anointed in its turquoise cool.
Climbing out of the water refreshed, I shook my hair and sat on a lounger to admire the spectacle across the valley. There was no point getting my camera. No photo could live up to the reality. If any great artist – from one of the Ancient Greeks to Van Gogh – had seen this sunset, he would’ve put down his brushes and walked away.
Monks’ voices wafted from a nearby monastery, chanting in velvet unison. Giant rays of gold radiated from the sun and stretched across the sky.
Lydia stepped out of the pool, slipped into her Calvin Klein singlet top and walked toward me.
‘I can’t remember when I last watched a sunset,’ I said. ‘I mean really watched one.’
‘I suppose you could regard it as a form of meditation,’ she said, towelling her hair. ‘The beauty of every second melting into the next.’
I stood up and walked with her to the edge of the terrace to get a better view. As the sun sank into the clouds, majestic bands of colour flattened out to form red and gold brush strokes across the sky.
‘It is a magic country,’ I said, gazing across the hills silhouetted in the distance.
She nodded in silent agreement.
‘You’ll have to find another island to run away to now I’ve found you here,’ I said, only half joking.
Lydia smiled.
‘If I was your age, I’d have done the same,’ I added. ‘Especially if I could speak the language . . . except maybe not the nun thing.”
The scene was perfect now. I wanted everything to stop and stay frozen in this moment. This golden sky in the warm blanket of a tropic night with my beautiful, grown-up daughter in the land she’d chosen to be part of.
There’d been other times when I’d wanted to capture time – a summer when I was insanely in love; an autumn morning near a duck pond where baby Lydia toddled toward me, her arms open for me to catch her soft weight in mine.
But clinging to moments, or for that matter daughters, is futile. The trick is to appreciate their beauty, do your best by them and let them go as graciously as possible.
Life is always in movement. One beautiful moment can evolve into another, more precious form. Every second, even when coloured with sadness, has potential to be richer than the last.
The mastery is in awareness and trust; in having enough wisdom to step back to allow space for the new to unfold. To avoid becoming a Hungry Ghost mourning the past and always craving for the future.
The red and gold brush strokes slowly darkened to crimson. The monks’ voices enveloped us in their liquid harmonies.
‘I love it here,’ Lydia said, as we watched the hills turn a misty lilac. ‘But I’ve done enough.’
Her words left me momentarily speechless.
‘When I first started meditating, I thought if I tried hard for long enough something incredible would happen,’ she continued, her voice fractured with emotion. ‘You know, scientists have done tests and they’ve found physical changes in the brain when people approach higher levels of awareness. I thought I’d be able to achieve that. Maybe even find . . .’
The rest of her sentence hung in the air between us. Please don’t say it’s hard to explain.
‘Enlightenment?’ I asked quietly.
The Frenchman lit a cigarette and the German woman gathered her toddler in a towel.
A tear formed a crystalline river down Lydia’s cheek. Her pain was deep.
‘I just thought if I sat there long enough . . .’ she said, then started weeping.
I put my arm around her.
All the time I’d perceived her as being rebellious, Lydia had been focusing on the unattainable goal of perfection. It was the same determination she’d used to achieve high distinctions at university. Once she set her mind on something, her willpower was relentless.
I wondered what had instilled this drive and if it was to do with being born into a household grieving for an older brother she’d never met. While she was in no way a replacement for Sam, it’s true she would never have been born if he hadn’t been run over that day. Perhaps the darling girl really had burdened herself with the task of healing hearts.
Although I’d always made a point of not portraying Sam as a saint, maybe he’d seemed that way to her. Perhaps on a subconscious level she’d grown up measuring herself against an older brother who was untainted because he was dead.
‘I’ve wasted the last five years of my life,’ she sobbed quietly. ‘I could’ve been going to parties and having fun with my friends instead of striving so hard, meditating hour after hour.’
Rocking her gently in my arms, I pieced the past few days together. The fact that she’d let her hair grow, and the silence after her Teacher had publicly invited her to become a nun, now made sense. Far from being manipulated into committing herself to an ancient religion, Lydia was still in charge of her life.
‘I need to come home,’ she said.
Now I’d finally understood her love for the monastery and Sri Lanka, she was coming home?
‘Really?’ I asked. ‘No maroon robes?’
God, what was I doing? Trying to talk her into being a nun?!
‘This place will always be part of me, but . . .’
Her voice trailed off. I resisted the urge to try and finish her sentence.
‘But what?’
‘I don’t feel right here anymore. I’m sure I’ll come back some day, but not for a while. I want to do a Masters in Psychology. I’ve been in touch with Melbourne University and they’ve got a place for me. I want to combine what I’ve learnt here with Western knowledge somehow . . .’
She buried her head in my neck and asked if she could fly back with me in a few days’ time and live at home for a while.
My time with Lydia in Sri Lanka had taught me so much. All the energy I’d put into worrying about primitive toilets, vegetarian curries and mosquitoes had been wasted. The terrifying island of tears had turned out to be an oasis of delightful contradictions. Not only that, it’d taken me back to the adventurous woman I’d once been.
Most importantly, this beautiful island had helped me to understand Lydia. The tensions between us had been more about our similarities than our differences.
The sky became a crimson blanket, then purple.
‘I feel terrible about coming here when you were sick,’ she said, her cheeks glistening in the fading light. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing.’
‘But you came home when I really needed you,’ I said, rocking her gently. ‘You looked after me beautifully, thanks to your dad paying the fare.’
She straightened her back and wiped her eyes.
‘But it was my Teacher who paid for the fare,’ she said.
‘Your Teacher?! ’ I gasped. ‘I thought he was the one trying to keep you here!’
She shook her head.
‘He never did that. He refused to teach me anything that time. In fact he hardly spoke to me. He made it clear he thought I should be with you. Buddhism regards family as very important.’
The island of Serendipity had saved its biggest surprise till last. The charismatic monk I’d suspected of trying to ensnare my daughter and steal her away from us had been far more generous and understanding of family ties than I’d given him credit for.
I’d been a fool for misjudging the man so badly. He’d had our family’s interests at heart all along. No wonder Steve hadn’t replied when I’d sent him the thank you note.
Through all the turmoil, one thing had been consistent – my daughter’s determination to make a meaningful impact on the world.