I’d always hoped to find a yoga and meditation retreat this trip, so it was disappointing when the place I’d chosen in the UK said they were full. Google maps has been really useful, delivering mostly accurate directions to my phone in some pretty remote locations, and in this case, finding Yala Heights Meditation and Relaxation Centre eight minutes from the beach where I’d been staying. Committing to anything on the road isn’t straightforward: what looks good can easily turn out otherwise, but with Yala Google struck gold and rewarded pressing on through disappointment.

There were nine others at the centre including the couple who look after the place, their two lovely girls and two buddhist nuns. As the first non Sri Lankan visitor, I was mindful of making a good impression, a task made easier by the company who were endearing and very kind. When we spoke of food and I mentioned missing potatoes and liking curd, potato curry, curd and honey appeared at dinner the following day. That was kind and typical of the Sri Lankan hospitality I’ve found.

The first evening I was asked why I was there, so I tried to explain how, like many others, the pandemic had sent me more online, and how that had effected my concentration and filled my head with stuff that swirls around without ever settling. One of the nuns suggested calming things down by slowly walking the meditation paths in the gardens whilst paying attention to the sensation of the sand underfoot. So I’ve practised that these past three days.

She also shared the Taoist story of the Six animals – good bad who knows, an analogy of how mindfulness directed at the body is a way of managing the busy monkey mind.

I took that as a simple but invaluable lesson. Though we went on to discuss the illusory nature of reality and self, relativism, the differences between relationships, connections and attachments, karma and kindness, I’ll take from her the gift of just putting one foot in front of the other.

Recent years have delivered more than their fair share of grief and hardship around the world, and it is tempting to feel that things must shortly start to pickup. But appreciating the ultimate futility of what one wants and what one gets, when there’s no hope of understanding the implications of either is in some way comforting. Though it’s hard to have faith in things working out, we’re perhaps better off attending to what’s under our feet rather than what’s out of reach.

So dear readers, tomorrow sees a 6 hour 250km ride across country to Negombo, Covid test, and bike drop off, before Monday evening’s flight to Gatwick. I hope this trip has brought some sun into your winter and you too look forward to the coming year and more wonderful disappointments –
now where are those thermals.

Namaste