Losing ourselves in the ocean

There is nothing like being in the ocean to give one a perspective of how small we are and how everything is connected.  We have escaped to the beach in the Eastern coast of Sri Lanka called Trincomalee.  We have found a little corner of the world largely undiscovered by the world.  Only recently has this area been open to outsiders, having suffered a majority of the violence from the 26 year-long civil war and devastated by the 2004 Tsunami.  We found a wonderful guesthouse, with our room up above and the beach literally steps from our door.  The owner is jovial and friendly and the staff are loving and attentive.  We spend our days swimming in our front yard, snorkeling amongst the nearby outcropping of rocks and collecting shells.  Our days are slow but somehow the time moves, changes and modifies so that we are never bored or wondering what is next.  We eat spicy Dahl and roti for breakfast, search out samosas and cold pomegranate juice for lunch and then eat rice and curry or Kothu (Chopped roti and vegetables stir fried) for dinner.  A cold local beer or ginger brew completes our experience as we eat with the constant soundtrack of the waves and chatty crows.  After learning about the death of Cork’s brother, Ben, we have decided to just stay here for a while.  Grief makes you want to stop and take stock.  Traveling, the logistics of buses and new places suddenly feels overwhelming when you experience loss.  The idea of moving when the world has shifted is unsettling.

We have had the luck to meet amazing people on this journey which help fill the gap when we miss our friends and family at home.  A sudden death also generates such an outpouring of love, reshuffling the deck to suddenly crystallize what is important in life; our relationships with other humans.  Ben’s death has led us to reach out to family and reconnect, bringing us closer even though we are so far away.

Traveling has made our already outgoing family, not hold back and when a family from London showed up, we quickly invited them to join us for everything.  Luckily instead of being put off by our eagerness, they quickly became our best friends.  Our lives have led us to acceptance of impermanence.  We become close to those in a matter of hours, only to say goodbye to them days later, possibly never seeing them again.  Kate, her daughter Alma and her son Manni have become our partners in crime for nearly everything.  We feel lucky to have met them.