"Why you never bring boyfriend here to meet me?" he asked now.

"I did, Ketut. Really I did. And you told me you liked him."

"Don't remember. He a rich man, your boyfriend?"

"No, Ketut. He's not a rich man. But he has enough money."

"Medium rich?" The medicine man wants details, spreadsheets. "

"He has enough money."

My answer seemed to irritate Ketut.

"You ask this man for money, he can give to you, or not?"

"Ketut, I don't want money from him. I've never taken money from a man."

"You spend every night with him?"

"Yes."

"Good. He spoil you?"

"Very much."

"Good. You still meditate?"

Yes, I do still meditate every day of the week, slithering out of Felipe's bed and over to the couch, where I can sit in silence and offer up some gratitude for all of this. Outside his porch, the ducks quack their way through the rice paddies, gossiping and splashing all over the place. (Felipe says that these flocks of busy Balinese ducks have always reminded him of Brazilian women strutting down the beaches in Rio; chatting loudly and interrupting each other constantly and waggling their bottoms with such pride.) I am so relaxed now that I kind of slide into meditation like it's a bath prepared by my lover. Naked in the morning sun, with nothing but a light blanket wrapped over my shoulders, I disappear into grace, hovering over the void like a tiny seashell balanced on a teaspoon.

Why did life ever seem difficult?

I call my friend Susan back in New York City one day, and listen as she confides to me, over the typical urban police sirens wailing in the background, the latest details of her latest broken heart. My voice comes out in the cool, smooth tones of a late-nite, jazz-radio DJ, as I tell her how she just has to let go, man, how she's gotta learn that everything is just perfect as it is already, that the universe provides, baby, that it's all peace and harmony out there . . .

I can almost hear her rolling her eyes as she says over the sirens, "Spoken like a woman who already had four orgasms today." Eat, Pray, Love

"你怎么从来不带男友过来给我认识？"此刻他问道。

"我带来过，赖爷。真的，你跟我说你喜欢他。"

"不记得了。你的男友，他有钱吗？"

"没有，赖爷。他不是有钱人，但他的钱够用。"

"中等有钱？"药师要数据表式的细节。

"他的钱够用。"

我的回答似乎让赖爷恼怒。

"你跟这名男人要钱，他会给你，或不会？"

"赖爷，我不要他给我钱。我从没跟男人拿过钱。"

"你每天跟他过夜？"

"是的。"

"很好。他宠不宠你？"

"非常宠。"

"很好。你还禅坐吧？"

是的，我依然天天禅坐，从斐利贝的床溜到沙发上，让自己静坐，对这一切表达感激。在他的阳台外头，鸭子一路聒聒叫，穿越稻田，到处聒噪戏水。（斐利贝说这些巴厘岛的忙碌鸭群，老是让他想起大摇大摆走在里约海滩的巴西女人：高声闲聊，经常打断彼此，自信满满地摆动臀部。）现在的我如此放松地潜入禅修，仿如我的情人正为我准备沐浴。在早晨的阳光下裸着身子，只裹着一条薄毯，我融入恩典中，漂浮在无极的上空，犹如在汤匙上保持平衡的小贝壳。

过去的人生，为何似乎很难？

有一天我打电话给在纽约的朋友苏珊，隔着电话传来典型的都市警车鸣笛的背景响声，我听她向我倾诉最新的失恋细节。我的声音冷静平和，有如午夜爵士电台主持人的语调，我告诉她，放手吧，我说，宝贝，你得明白一切皆已十分完美，宇宙提供给我们安宁、和谐的一切……

隔着警笛声，我几乎看见她一边翻着白眼，一边说："这听起来像是今天已经高潮四次的女人说的话。"