Fifty MORE dates -A terrifying foray into dating past your fifties

          So… to celebrate my 55st birthday I decided I wanted to manifest a soulmate. 

Ambitiously I wanted to tell the universe to send me my twin flame but by my erstwhile spiritual coach  (-yes! I'm blessed to have such a guardian angel)  said that would involve a truckload of pain and drama which I wasn't ready for- so I edited my personal advert to read soulmate. I will share the text of the advert with you presently. And since this is Sri Lanka and we don't have personals columns I advertised in the fuddy-duddy Sunday Observer (lit SOB) in its matrimonials column. Of all places.

What? You may say indignantly, "but aren't you already married?"

Heck yes I am, I did notice. And we all know what a convoluted tricky marriage that is (especially if you read my book about it "My Village Husbands") I am fully aware that I am legally very married. Soulmates doesn't mean you run and bonk them, ok? If that's what you thought you didn't understand the word properly. Read the Merriam-Webster definition "a close friend or romantic partner with whom one has a unique deep connection based on mutual understanding and acceptance"

Next question, does your husband know? Well, no. 

But he knows, and I have told him repeatedly in no uncertain terms, that I want a divorce from him because he refuses to stop steeping himself in alcohol and wont get a job, and because he has been an unemployed, alcoholic, schizophrenic mommas baby for the last 15 years and charming as he is I have reached the giddy end of my tether (not to mention bank account) and I want a divorce; it's just that I don't necessarily want the Government of Sri Lanka (GOSL) involved in it because they tend to make it bureaucratic, charge various unnecessary fees and drag the process for years like the passport renewal thingy. I do not want to spend 5 lakhs rupees on a lawyer,and then be made to pay alimony to a drunk guy,  since I prefer to support my pet rescue friends and send medical money for kittens with spinal fractures…. I just want a divorce. And we all know why it would not be in his interests to grant me a divorce, not that he would lose anything that he already gets out of me- it would mean he cannot officially extort stuff from me or tell people I'm his wife, for what it's worth. The whole village knows we live in separate houses, we tolerate each other and I'm not too annoyed or resentful at him so we occasionally even do nice things for each other ( like pay the rates bill, lift heavy furniture or cook a meal) but I have so had it with this man, I want out and I demand good romantic-type friends. Anyone who wishes to tell him about my matrimonial advert is free to do so, and if he gets feisty about it all I will do is write an advert for him too (the mind boggles- and I strongly feel i will do this very soon) and auction him off if any woman is interested in taking over, you can be my guest. Put it this way, I'm too cheap to spend lakhs of good money on a government sanctioned official divorce. 

Third question - did you tell them you are married? Yes, every single one of the respondents was informed that I am regrettably entangled with my soon-to-be-Ex(STBE), and that it might take a year or two to be extricated from my latest mess, and patience and discretion was key. As mentioned previously, no jumping into bed on the first date, but then by the age of 55 or preferably 60 I would hope this is lower on the guys priority list (in my case it is so low that I cannot even figure out where it is). The best advice was from my Old Flame (2) who patiently said "Can you *stop* referring to him as your husband?" I fully agree this would be a good start.

In the meantime - how about my replies?

Well I got 55 replies so far (of which 5 were from such actual institutions called Marriage Brokers, which is not something I even knew existed) and yes about twenty of them were from underage guys who just wanted some fun, even though I said I was 55 years old and 5'5'' (I'm all into angel numbers now) the rest were from a motley collection of 49-65 year old men who idly fantasise about being in a nice, comforting, companionable relationship before they die, I guess. Two of the 55 replies were from exes of mine which proves the universe has a sense of humor. (either that or Colombos English speaking elite are such a claustrophobic inbred bunch that I had covered a sizeable cross section in my horny heyday) For the record the advert went in Sinhala too, although the text which has clearly been translated by google was such an outlandish mashup that I forgive Sinhala speakers for giving it healthy space. I asked my mother about their advertisement which they had posted when I was a nubile, curvy 17 and she said they got 8 replies. Something is very wrong, people. 

Which still leaves me with enough fodder for a compassionate commentary on what it is to be a 49- 65 year old single Sri Lankan man in the current day and age. Kudos to you guys, a few of you even know to cook and manage a household (things taken for granted in us women) and are not living with their mommies, or continuously eating oily spicy Sri Lankan takeaway…but here's the deal: when I was 22 I remember getting on my knees and weeping, begging my ex husband not to divorce me because I had been told that a girl's whole value was in being a wife (there was a silly moment where he thought he was important enough to threaten me with divorce)- perhaps I had what are called daddy issues and needed a stable male in my life at one time…

- but now?? A full three decades later the tables have turned. We don't need a guy! THEY (maybe) NEED US! And why, I will get to that presently - 

SIngle women, especially past forty are now finding that it is such fun to live life on our terms. Parents have stopped whining for them to marry on the pretext of what the neighbors will think..and have given up expecting viable grandkids ... .if you are past 50 your biological clock has finally stopped ticking and the battery is as dead as your libido hopefully is. You have money in the bank, you don't care about cellulite anymore and there's a free twenty four hours each day to do whatever you like. You sleep on delicious cotton sheets on a queen sized bed with a warm cat or two and you wake looking forward to another wild day doing stuff you love, pampering yourself in mostly wholesome, even non-sexual ways, travelling to exotic places other married grannies can only dream of, and eating whatever you feel like because you are past caring what size you are.

I guess it's the same for the guys, or it should be, right?  

Not really, not always.

As I said a few of them manage to do their own laundry and rustle up an omelette or two but unfortunately they still need a woman. You know why? Hold your breath.

Its for the bonking. 

Sri Lanka/India/Asia isn't known for a friends-with-benefits culture and something about paying for sex is somehow revolting, an undermining of one's masculine pride and many guys have hang ups about it (plus there are the cheap buggers who don't want to get a room and pay for it) and the poor fellows continue to have roaring libidos until they are 80, Inshallah. It's a man's world after all and apparently God is a man too, so he designed them to be horny till they practically collapse into their coffins…. I TOTALLY sympathise, dear boys. 

Personally I sorted my own raving libido when I was 53 when I got tired of it holding me to ransom all my life - -(by jamming some Bengey up my fanny one day during the pandemic ( I admit that time period turned my brain a bit)- or maybe it was just blessed menopause, who can say.) and to be honest I would have jammed a molotov cocktail  up my vajayjay if it meant I could be free from sexual thoughts which require me having to depend on one more scheming manipulative guy in this judgemental society we have…I had had about enough of my ovaries deciding my fate!…

But guys like their nuts!

Now please don't think I hate men. 

Or wait: on second thoughts - I'm past caring what you think of me really:  my situation report  deduced from all of this is that the poor fellas are in for a lonely porn-saturated old age, where they may even have to boil their own omelettes! - unless they find a new woman they can trust who actually cares for them- or unless they have bucket-loads of money and dont mind attracting a gold digger (you know who they are). 

And women of any remotely matching age (unless they are gold-digging 29 year olds who falsely claim to get turned on by the wrinkled maws of our pot-bellied hairy-eared sugar daddies) are sadly not interested in giving up their hard won freedom for a life of domestic drudgery, doing laundry, catering and providing sexual services not to mention a decade or two of potential geriatric care-giving. 

So from what I see, after we reach our fifties the war of the sexes turns a full circle and ends up with them, the boys needing us way more than we need them (There were of course a few exceptions, nice calm gentlemen with a sense of humour and lives of their own. The common denominator was being able to take care of themselves, keeping themselves fit and healthy and having a wide range of interests that kept them occupied. You go, boys! ).

It's sad, nothing to crow about and I fully sympathise. A famous deeply profound Sinhala tuk tuk verse comes to mind:Jeewithe mal, amma inna kal. Life is full of flowers, as long as mommy's around. Or in this case, wifey?

The Brilliance of Holotropic Breathwork

What is this Holotropic Breathwork? People lying in rows on the ground breathing fast while some strange loud music goes on and they start to go into a trance of some kind. That's what it looks like to the casual observer. To be frank it looks like new age nonsense or a psychedelic episode or people being possessed by the devil. And these people start to twitch and cry and writhe and scream and of course they must be making this up or they must be on something. Or this must be some marketing gimmick like those exorcisms that you find two a dozen on Facebook… Must we spend time and membership fees on this kind of nonsense when we can very well breathe oxygen in our own home on our couch? What is the big fuss?

And yet here I am six years into Holotropic breathing, trying to tell you that this changed my life the way absolutely nothing ever has. No amount of regular meditations, counselling therapy, DBT, EFT, NLP, hypnotherapy, you name it — absolutely nothing BEGINS TO COMPARE.

What is happening here that's so special?

Breathwork is not meditation, let's get that clear. Meditation involves focusing on a certain point, be it the breathing, your thoughts, feelings of compassion, the touch of your foot on the ground — or a dot on the wall — and breathwork is not such an activity. So your mind does not need to make an effort to concentrate or to focus or to track the monkey mind and keep it out of mischief. Breathwork is WORKING on breathing. So all you have to do is breathe. But in a particular way. You breathe in a way that your entire system becomes flooded with oxygen. This takes WORK. And no you should not do this at home. Because at a certain level of oxygen saturation, a change takes place in the physiology of the brain. And it is this change that opens you up to catharsis.

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What Actually Happens in a Session?

So what is happening inside a Holotropic Breathwork session?

First, you walk in, and it looks like a cross between a yoga studio and a 70s psychedelic commune. Mats, blankets, tissues, buckets (yes, buckets — we'll get to that), and facilitators with calm eyes and soft instructions.

You lie down, you are guided to start breathing — deep, connected, faster than normal. Loud music starts playing — tribal drums, evocative chants, sometimes wild classical compositions that seem to swirl you away from daily life.

Within minutes, you realise that this is not your everyday yoga breathing. Your body starts tingling — your fingers, your toes, your face. You might feel lightheaded. You might feel tears building up for no reason. You might feel laughter bubbling up from nowhere. Or terror. Or grief you buried ten years ago when your mother died. Or the deep shame you thought you'd sorted out with your therapist last year.

You keep breathing. The music gets louder. You breathe more. Your rational mind tries to grip the steering wheel — but at some point, it has to let go. That's the gift and the terror of Holotropic Breathwork: your thinking brain eventually gets out of the way and a deeper part of you takes the driver's seat. And that's when the magic happens.

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Is There Any Science Behind This?

All this might sound suspiciously woo-woo. And sure, anything that puts people on the floor in trances and has them sobbing into blankets can look cultish if you don't understand what's happening. But here's where it gets interesting: the effects of Holotropic Breathwork are rooted in our biology and psychology. This is scientific.

Holotropic Breathwork was developed by Stanislav Grof, a Czech psychiatrist who pioneered LSD psychotherapy in the 1960s. When LSD was banned, Grof wanted a legal, natural way to access the same non-ordinary states of consciousness for healing. So together with his wife Christina Grof, he developed Holotropic Breathwork: holotropic means "moving toward wholeness."

The core principle is this: by deliberately over-oxygenating the body and pushing the CO₂ balance out of normal, you change the blood chemistry and the way your brain's default networks communicate.

A 2013 study published in the Journal of Psychopharmacology found that altered states of consciousness can arise naturally from breathwork, similar to those induced by psychedelics (Kjellgren & Taylor, 2013). Participants often describe profound insights, spontaneous emotional release, and feelings of connection to something larger than themselves.

Neuroscience research has shown that techniques like Holotropic Breathwork can lower activity in the Default Mode Network (DMN) — the part of the brain linked to our sense of ego and ordinary narrative self (Carhart-Harris et al., 2014). When this network quiets down, parts of the brain that don't normally "talk" start to communicate. This is why people experience sudden visions, memories, and deep emotional breakthroughs.

It's no coincidence that cultures all over the world — from Tibetan Tummo breathers to Sufi mystics to ancient shamans — have used intense breathing to reach altered states. This is deep human technology, ancient wisdom that has been forgotten.

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But Why the Screaming and Crying?

Here's the thing: your body is a library. Everything that ever happened to you is stored in your tissues, muscles, nervous system. The brain likes to think it's the boss, but the body has a different memory.

When you do Holotropic Breathwork, you create conditions for suppressed emotions, unresolved traumas, and half-forgotten griefs to come up. Unlike talk therapy, you don't have to "figure it out" or "tell the story perfectly." The body does the work — you just keep breathing.

It's common to see people shaking, twitching, yelling, or sobbing uncontrollably. It's not a performance. It's not demonic possession. It's the nervous system literally unwinding. You know that phrase "the issues are in the tissues"? Holotropic Breathwork is like a direct line to those hidden places.

Grown men will weep. Women will rage like demons. During sessions, I laughed so hard I felt I was  possessed by pure joy. I've writhed on my mat, like a snake, and curled up with my feet above me rocking like a newborn. I completely lost that demarcation between me and the rest of the universe and dissolved into one beautiful pulsating vortex like a river flowing into an ocean. I have growled, snarled and trembled tetanically and then relaxed completely into a weightless, dreamless state. 

You might sweat, you might tremble, you might even feel cramps in your hands — a phenomenon called tetany, caused by changes in blood pH and CO₂ levels. It's harmless, but weird. That's why this is best done in a safe, guided space with trained facilitators.

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What About the Risks?

Holotropic Breathwork is generally safe for healthy people. But there are real cautions:

• People with severe cardiovascular conditions, uncontrolled hypertension, epilepsy, or major psychiatric disorders (like schizophrenia) are often advised not to participate.
  
  

• Pregnant women should avoid it — you don't want intense spasms or hyperventilation while carrying a baby!
  
  

• It's intense, so you need to trust your facilitator and your sitter - someone entirely focussed on watching over you. DO NOT do this at home alone.
  
  

A good practitioner will screen you carefully and never push you to do more than your body can handle.

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What Can You Gain?

So why do people keep coming back for this "breathing nonsense"?

Because for many, it works when nothing else has.

In published qualitative studies (for example, Holmes et al., 1996), participants report lasting improvements in anxiety, depression, grief, addiction recovery, PTSD, and existential crises.

Breathwork can deliver the deep, wordless knowing that your therapist might spend ten years trying to coax out in talk therapy. You might find an image, a memory, or a feeling so profound it shifts your entire perspective on life. Some describe a mystical experience — meeting deceased loved ones, communing with archetypal figures, feeling at one with the universe. Whether you interpret these as your brain's creative fireworks or glimpses of something beyond, the impact is real.

My Story — Why I Keep Coming Back

If you asked me six years ago if I'd ever pay good money to breathe on the floor and howl at the ceiling, I'd have laughed. I was a skeptical, practical person. But then life cracked me open — a heartbreak, panic attacks, years of trauma bonding and therapy that felt like talking in circles. A dear friend who I now consider my guardian angel in human form- cajoled, begged, manipulated me to attending a breathwork workshop.

I remember my first session vividly: lying down in my comfy leggings, vaguely enjoying the new age playlist — and then, 30 minutes in, I was sobbing so hard my ribs hurt. I saw a baby son's face, felt grief and guilt I'd buried for twenty years, felt the words in my chest that I never said. And then something lifted.

Did it fix everything overnight? No. But it gave me a crack in the wall I'd built inside myself. It gave me a door. Every session since then has cleared another layer.

Okay, But How Do I Try This?

You don't need to join a cult or move to an ashram. Holotropic Breathwork is offered by certified facilitators around the world. There are workshops, retreats, sometimes short evening sessions.

A good facilitator will:

• Take your medical history seriously.
  
  

• Create a safe space — with plenty of blankets, water, tissues, music, and privacy.
  
  

• Pair you with a "sitter" — someone who stays beside you to make sure you're safe while you breathe.
  
  

• Help you integrate afterwards — because what comes up during a session can be big and needs gentle unpacking.
  
  

It's not cheap, because much thought has to be put into providing a safe space — but consider it an investment in your inner life.

A Word of Caution: Not a Quick Fix

Holotropic Breathwork is powerful, but it's not a magic bullet. Some people do one session and feel changed forever. Some need dozens over years. Some use it alongside therapy, bodywork, or psychedelics. It's a tool — and like any tool, it works best in skilled hands and with your sincere commitment. You HAVE TO DO THE WORK.

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Why People Are Coming Back to Ancient Breathing

Modern medicine is slowly catching up to what ancient wisdom has always known: the breath is a bridge between body and mind.

• Wim Hof, the "Iceman," has made cold exposure and intense breathwork famous — with studies proving his methods can influence the immune system (Kox et al., 2014).
  
  

• Yoga traditions have used pranayama (controlled breathing) for thousands of years to calm the mind and move energy.
  
  

• Researchers today are exploring how breathwork influences trauma processing, anxiety, and even inflammatory conditions.
  
  

Breathing is free. It's yours. And under guidance, it can open doors in your psyche you didn't know were there.

Final Thoughts

Holotropic Breathwork is not a trend. It's not hype. It's an ancient instinct packaged in a modern, structured container. It's messy. It's loud. It's inconvenient. It's breathtaking — literally.

It won't make you enlightened overnight. But it might give you a glimpse of your own raw, unedited self — and a chance to heal the bits that regular talking can't reach.

So if you ever find yourself lying on a mat, eyes closed, music booming, heart pounding, with tears rolling down your face — don't panic. You're not crazy. You're just breathing your way back home.

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References

• Carhart-Harris, R. L., et al. (2014). The entropic brain: a theory of conscious states informed by neuroimaging research with psychedelic drugs. Frontiers in Human Neuroscience.
  
  

• Kjellgren, A., & Taylor, S. (2013). Altered states during shamanic drumming: a pilot study. Journal of Psychopharmacology.
  
  

• Holmes, C. A., et al. (1996). Holotropic Breathwork: The potential role of a modified hyperventilation technique and the importance of altered states of consciousness in psychotherapy. Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine.
  
  

• Kox, M., et al. (2014). Voluntary activation of the sympathetic nervous system and attenuation of the innate immune response in humans. PNAS.
  
  

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For more information on how to engage with this kind of healing modality in Sri Lanka, please contact Sandy 0777683170 or Pushy 0719977799.

The Golden Ankh

Epilogue: The Exodus of the Misfits 

It began with an uprising no one saw coming—not from the royal court, not from the dusty temples of Amok, and least of all from the bureaucratic dung heaps of Sakkara's lower archives.

Mussa, once a slouching, poetry-quoting, sandal-shuffling nonentity, and Princess Naynah, a royal rebel with more brains than patriarchal tradition would ever allow, made a break that would alter history.

With the help of Kephri the scarab—who'd rerouted a labyrinth of guards using nothing but strategically placed dung balls—and the ever-snide Serious, the talking dead cat, they fled Egypt under cover of a lunar eclipse. They navigated through forbidden tomb tunnels, bribed border guards with embalming coupons, and rode atop a stolen sacred ostrich named Marvin.

In the land beyond the desert, on the shimmering shores of the Unnamed River, they founded a city called *Sekhem-Ubasti*—"The Strength of the Forgotten."

There, cats were not sacrificed but consulted. Dung beetles were not crushed under heel but elected to Parliament. Poets, dreamers, and the genetically confused were appointed judges, counselors, and sacred scribes. Everyone had a voice—even if it squeaked, meowed, or buzzed.

Princess Naynah, now simply called Naynah the Bright-Eyed, became the first monarch of this curious land—but only after insisting on the title of 'Facilitator.' Mussa, now High Oracle (and reluctant administrative assistant), composed edicts in rhyme and decrees in riddles.

The people? Misfits, all. Refugees from ancient traditions. Makers of new myths.

And every year on the Day of the Exodus, the citizens gathered at the Great Mound of Reflection, where a marble statue of Serious the Cat stood frozen in his usual disapproving hunch, a papyrus scroll under one paw. 

Below the statue, carved in clean hieroglyphs, read:

Let no one be forgotten.

Let no voice go unheard.

Let no dung beetle go unsung.

History, of course, never mentioned this city. The priests erased it. The pharaohs ignored it. Modern archaeologists dismissed it as a myth.

But if you ever find yourself in this Empty Quadrant and you see a beetle rolling its sacred burden across the sand under the full moon—listen closely:

You might just hear the whisper of a poet laughing.

From Invisible to Illuminated: My Reiki Awakening

It's eleven in the night and my ears are buzzing, my fingers are tingling and I feel like I want to dance in the living room. I've had a tiring day which started at 3:33 with my meditation alarm going off and I've even just watched a movie and had a massive dinner (unusual) but none of that is slowing me down. As I type my latest generation laptop has a hard time keeping up: I have been initiated as a Reiki Healer today. 

Me: 

This ordinary dowdy retired ex-librarian, a character I felt was so gawky and gray that I sometimes have to ask people who cut ahead of me in queues, whether they actually cannot see me. 

At the start of this year I was unseen, unheard, shy, fifty-five and ready to fade away into obscurity. And now, I feel supernatural. I've just been told that I have powers. That we all do. Whatever you believe in, whatever you think is real- the fact remains that we live in a world far more magical than we've been led to believe. And today, something ancient and powerful was initiated for me.

I met Master Gamini a few weeks ago in his airy minimalistic, healing room in Battaramulla that smelled faintly of lemongrass and sandalwood. At 70+ he looks a full 20 years younger. He doesn't dress like a guru. He doesn't perform showy rituals or speak in riddles. He doesn't ask you to come for a four-day, four week or four month course. He treads lightly on the earth with a soft smile and eyes that seem to shine straight out of the quiet heart of a forest. When he speaks, it's like spring water rolling over forest rocks: gentle, steady, transformative and full of latent energy. 

Healing is his passion and he earnestly shows us hundreds of whatsapp messages he has received from all over the world. He answers his phone even at midnight if someone needs healing or even just to listen to someone crying. When he performed a Reiki healing on me a week ago I ended up weeping quietly and then falling asleep as the pain and emotional blocks melted away. 

The Healer Training is even more powerful if that can be. Powerful in its sheer simplicity.

I didn't expect the simplicity. There were no elaborate chants, no cosmic theatrics. He told us plainly, "Reiki is love. Compassion. Gratitude." And then he bowed slightly, with his hands in prayer, and looked us in the eye like we were already healers. Already whole.

He gave us four attunements. Four silent transmissions where all I did was sit and receive. And although I didn't realise it... everything changed.

I cannot explain what happened during those attunements in any logical way. At first I felt warmth, like someone had placed a hand just above my crown. Then tears—strange tears—bubbled up out of nowhere. No sadness, just the body releasing something I didn't even know I was carrying. My hands buzzed. My heart expanded. I felt seen.

The other trainee with me reported that pain that he had carried around for a decade after a serious back injury, was gone. Master Gamini had narrowed into the exact location of this pain in his spine, and gently plucked it away, without a word said.

Master Gamini said something that I will carry with me for the rest of my life: "Even if you don't heal others, you can still heal yourself. That is one more healed person in the world."

I've spent most of my life giving everything to everyone else. I didn't know how to love myself. But now, every morning, I put my hands gently on my heart and say: Thank you, Pushy, for being here. Thank you, Reiki, for being here. Thank you. And I feel it. Not just the words. The truth of it.

We were taught to begin every self-healing with gratitude. To trust our intention more than any timer or technique. To sit with the energy like you'd sit with an old friend. The practice is beautifully slow. You place your hands over your chakras, over your knees and ankles. You don't force anything. You don't make an effort to focus. You care for yourself and in caring, you begin to remember yourself.

Tonight I am buzzing, yes. But underneath the wild electrical current is a deep, pulsing peace. Like the Earth is breathing through me. Like I'm no longer a stranger to myself.

I never imagined I would be the kind of person who believes in energy healing. I thought that was for others—more spiritual, more radiant, more whole. But Reiki doesn't ask you to be anything other than what you are. It just meets you. And then, if you're willing, it begins to reintroduce you to your own light.

I don't know where this path will lead.

But I know I've stepped onto it barefoot, raw, grateful.

Thank you, Master Gamini.

Thank you, Reiki.

Thank you, Me.

(Author's note: Master Gamini welcomes people who want to train as healers. There are no unnecessary complications, and the whole introductory process takes four hours from start to finish. If you are curious to see what it's all about please contact him at +94774590604 https://naturesgracehealing.com/