IV - Crossing Over

We stopped at a diner close to Hangzhou’s West Lake area - the terribly touristy spot.

Crowds of civilization and a rude yank away from the sublime experience we had been having thus far. We quickly finished dinner (seeing as how most of the squirming objects swimming about in plastic buckets near the entrance door started suspiciously landing up on our dinner table at an alarming speed!), and decided to walk down the pier along the water, with drooping willows hanging low over the water, lots of people just ambling along, vendors yelling from the usual souvenir shops, and Chinese junk-style dragon boats floating on the lake.

I got some churros packed to go, yes, Mexican churros to kill the taste of whatever squirmy stuff we just had for dinner! (Although I have to say, San Churros in Bandra beats the shit out of these Hangzhou churros ANY day!).  Churros with some gelato like ice cream, and all was well again with the world!

In the dying light of day, we took some more pictures of what has been the perfect day in a long long time. And then dusk fell. We walked on some more, and soon we were all walking away by ourselves, in smaller groups, talking, not talking, ruminating, staring away into the distance, sharing oddities, suddenly sharing things about our lives it would have taken us months to share otherwise.

And as we walked along the pier, lost in conversation and thought, the water in front of us came to life.

The lights went up and the water fountains sprung to dance on one of Andrea Bocelli’s famous Arias, booming out of seemingly nowhere.

Eduardo was just about to say something trivial, and we all shushed him “Don’t say a word now. Just Be.” I thought -

“Be.

Here.

Now.”

We stood and watched the performance in complete silence, mesmerized by the dance of the water. This was certainly not the first time we had seen a choreographed water dance. But by the love of God, it was the most magical thus far. A silent half-moon night, on a quiet waterfront in Hangzhou, lit only by old-world-looking gaslight lamps, with Bocelli’s soulful voice somewhere all around us in the air, and just a handful of us scattered around the waterfront, watching in silence. If every Aria were a prayer to the God above and within, then ours was surely being heard loud and clear in the heavens tonight.

At long last, with thoughts of a day most beautifully spent and new connections forged, we started to walk away – to spend yet another cold night in a monastery’s silent dorm.

We came to a wooden bridge and stopped. I had the sudden urge to say one of three words of Italian I seem to know. I turned to our effervescent Italian man, Eduardo, and said “Attraversiamo!” He looked at me with pride and joy, as you would at a child, and clapped his hands, and said “Brrrava, Brrrava!” As much to my solitary Italian word which was literally and metaphorically right for the moment, as to Bocelli’s final crescendo.

And so we crossed over. The little wooden bridge.

And beyond all the things that had been haunting each of us in our lives so far.

I now let You, and all things go, as I cross over.

 “Attraversiamo”-  indeed.  Tomorrow IS another day.