The nectar of love: fine art and first moments in Sri Lanka
The energy in Colombo was overwhelming.
The first few days passed in a blur of severe jet lag. It was so humid, and I was so culturally shocked that I was barely enjoying myself. I was angry with myself for leaving a beautiful home and community to travel in the Third World, and I resented Patric for signing up so willingly. In truth, I chose Sri Lanka because it was as far removed from the West as I could imagine. I was tired of living among the sometimes bland culture of Northern California and felt a desperate need to renew my perspective and humanity.
However, many of our initial interactions with locals felt transactional, as if they viewed us solely as sources of money. I felt taken advantage of, and my heart struggled to extend empathy to a nation enduring profound challenges—a devastating economic crisis, the scars of a brutal 30-year civil war, and the aftermath of a tsunami that claimed over 50,000 lives in a matter of hours.
On my second sleepless night, I found solace in the biography of the mystic poet Mirabai, a Rajasthani princess who left everything for the ravishing devotion and love she felt for her god, Krishna. It was shared that a few women in modern India had taken her poetry and transformed it into music. I was introduced to the voices of female musicians like Lata Mangeshkar and Lakshmi Shankar, who passed down the nectar of love through their songs. I was utterly mesmerized as if a portal had opened. Hours were spent in a trance, immersed in Indian music, alchemizing my poisonous thoughts into Amrita.
Although India and Sri Lanka are culturally distinct and impossible to compare, the instruments like the sitar and tablas attuned me to the region’s rich history, ancient nature, and the kindness that began to reveal itself in its people. Around this time, I started reading the Ramayana, the epic tale by the mystic Valmiki. It narrates the story of Rama, an avatara of Lord Vishnu, who restores dharma (cosmic order) on Earth by confronting the demon king Ravana, who ruled the island of Lanka (Sri Lanka). The Ramayana has enriched my life in ways I can barely articulate. The way nature is described is fantastical, yet it was written so long ago, in a time when nature was pristine.
Sri Lanka was on my travel list partly because of its architecture and craftsmanship in wood furniture. Years ago, while living in the Netherlands, I discovered a magazine featuring the work of Geoffrey Bawa. His designs captivated me, and I dreamed of creating a home inspired by his style. Visiting the Gallery Café (designed by Bawa) for an authentic Sri Lankan lunch and touring one of his homes in Colombo felt like stepping into that dream.
Suddenly, Sri Lanka shone in a new light, and I felt immensely inspired and grateful to be in this foreign land, the pearl of the Indian Ocean.
We visited the Buddhist temple, Kelaniya Raja Maha Viharaya. It was full of children learning chants and traditions. They stared at us and giggled. A big yard with an ancient Bodhi tree in the middle, with a golden Buddha, was cherished. People sat around the tree to pray and brought different varieties of lotus flowers, incense, bowls of milk, cups of masala chai, bananas, and coconuts as offerings to the Buddha—a feast for the eyes.
People walked around with big platters of tropical fruits, sharing with others in the temple. The abundance was unlike anything we had ever seen before, and we loved it!
Maria
