And now I'm coming back to Gili Meno under notably different circumstances. Since I was last here, I've circled the world, settled my divorce, survived my final separation from David, erased all mood-altering medications from my system, learned to speak a new language, sat upon God's palm for a few unforgettable moments in India, studied at the feet of an Indone-sian medicine man and purchased a home for a family who sorely needed a place to live. I am happy and healthy and balanced. And, yes, I cannot help but notice that I am sailing to this pretty little tropical island with my Brazilian lover. Which is—I admit it!—an almost ludicrously fairy-tale ending to this story, like the page out of some housewife's dream. (Perhaps even a page out of my own dream, from years ago.) Yet what keeps me from dis-solving right now into a complete fairy-tale shimmer is this solid truth, a truth which has verit-ably built my bones over the last few years—I was not rescued by a prince; I was the adminis-trator of my own rescue.

My thoughts turn to something I read once, something the Zen Buddhists believe. They say that an oak tree is brought into creation by two forces at the same time. Obviously, there is the acorn from which it all begins, the seed which holds all the promise and potential, which grows into the tree. Everybody can see that. But only a few can recognize that there is another force operating here as well—the future tree itself, which wants so badly to exist that it pulls the acorn into being, drawing the seedling forth with longing out of the void, guiding the evolution from nothingness to maturity. In this respect, say the Zens, it is the oak tree that creates the very acorn from which it was born.

I think about the woman I have become lately, about the life that I am now living, and about how much I always wanted to be this person and live this life, liberated from the farce of pretending to be anyone other than myself. I think of everything I endured before getting here and wonder if it was me—I mean, this happy and balanced me, who is now dozing on the deck of this small Indonesian fishing boat—who pulled the other, younger, more confused and more struggling me forward during all those hard years. The younger me was the acorn full of potential, but it was the older me, the already-existent oak, who was saying the whole time: "Yes—grow! Change! Evolve! Come and meet me here, where I already exist in wholeness and maturity! I need you to grow into me!" And maybe it was this present and fully actualized me who was hovering four years ago over that young married sobbing girl on the bathroom floor, and maybe it was this me who whispered lovingly into that desperate girl's ear, "Go back to bed, Liz . . ." Knowing already that everything would be OK, that everything would eventually bring us together here. Right here, right to this moment. Where I was always waiting in peace and contentment, always waiting for her to arrive and join me.

如今，我在完全不同的情况下回到美侬岛。打从上回来过这里，我已周游世界，搞定离婚，熬过与大卫的最后分手，把变换情绪的所有药物从体内清除，学会一种新的语言，坐在神的手掌中度过难忘的印度岁月，在印尼药师的脚边学习，为一个亟需新居的家庭买了房子。我是个快乐、健康、平衡的人。是的，我不得不留意到自己正和我的巴西情人搭船来到这座美丽的热带小岛。我承认，这几乎是荒诞的神话故事结尾，好比家庭主妇的梦境。（或许也是我多年前的梦境。）然而，使我免于在这充满光辉的神话中消散而去的原因，肯定是这个斩钉截铁的事实——拯救我的人并非王子，而是我自己操控我的拯救——正是我自己，在过去几年间，阻止我倒下。

我想起自己读过禅宗信徒的信仰。他们说，同时有两种力量创造了橡树。显然，一切都始于一颗橡实，其包含所有的承诺与潜力，长大而成树木。每个人都了解这点。但仅有一些人认识到，还有另一种力量在此运作——未来的树本身，它渴望存在，于是拉扯橡实，将种子拔出来，希望脱离太虚，从虚无迈向圆熟。禅宗信徒说，就此而言，橡树创造了自己所出自的橡实。

我思量自己近来蜕变而成的这个女子，思量现在的生活，思量自己一直多么想成为目前这种人、过目前这种生活，不再假扮成其他人，而不做我自己。我想起到达此地之前所承受的一切，怀疑是不是"我"——我是说，目前这个快乐平衡的我，此刻在这艘印尼小渔船甲板上打盹的这个人——拖着艰苦岁月里的另一个较年轻、较迷惑、较挣扎的我迈向前方。较年轻的我，是充满潜力的橡实，但是较年长的我，是已然存在的橡树，始终在说："是的——长大吧！改变！进化！来这儿跟我碰面，我已完整、圆熟地存在！我需要你变成我！"或许四年前，就是目前这个充分发挥潜力的我，盘旋在蹲在浴室地板上啜泣的那位年轻已婚女子上方；或许就是这个我，在这名绝望的女子耳畔亲切地低语："回床上去，小莉……"老早知道一切都会没事，一切终将使我们在此相聚，就在此地，此时。我始终平静满足地在此等候，始终等她前来加入我的阵容。