It’s the most beautiful time of the year in Sri Lanka, the most beautiful island of its size in the world. Not my words, those were the words of 13th century Venetian traveller Marco Polo. 

Have you ever seen a whole country glowing with light yet wrapped in silence so pure it feels sacred?

It’s that time again in Sri Lanka, when streets shimmer with lanterns and the air seems to breathe in absolute truth. Vesak. The celebration of the greatest teacher’s birth, enlightenment, and passing. For just a few days, something shifts. The noise of our everyday chaos softens. The invisible lines drawn between race, religion, caste, and class blur and fade. Have you felt that magic before? 

Driving through Colombo this week, memories flooded back. Do you remember cycling with your friends under the glow of street lanterns? Waiting patiently in long queues for a cup of free coffee, a cone of ice cream, a warm meal offered by strangers who suddenly didn’t feel like strangers anymore? I was just a child then, hands sticky with glue, shaping Vesak lanterns out of paper and hope.

This year, the country is alive again. Lights drape every corner. Buddhist flags flutter like prayers in the wind. Pandals rise like glowing giants, telling stories in light. In some places, the queue for food is a thing to fear. Can you imagine? People are waiting not out of hunger but because giving and receiving are what make this week so sacred.

Then something made me stop; not the lights, not the laughter, not the scent of sweet rice wafting through the air.

It was a prison. The largest prison in Sri Lanka. The deadliest of them all. 

Welikada. A place of walls and wire. And yet, those very walls were lined with lanterns – white, green, red – fluttering beside saintly Buddhist flags. And there, in bold letters, a message: “Prisoners are human beings.”

It shook me.

Because aren’t we all prisoners, in some way? In this age of artificial intelligence and constant noise, don’t we build our own cages of ambition, fear, endless scrolling, and comparison?

Do you feel that too?

The bitter truth, it’s everywhere, yet no one wants to taste it.

We would learn that every second, there is a new notification, a headline, a promise, a warning. Hope and fear come in equal measure, tangled with jealousy, comparison, and the illusion of perfection. It’s like we have buried the healing that is to begin in quicksand, beautiful on the surface but sinking, healing. We scroll, we post, we pretend at times that the truth, bitter as it is, can heal.

Have you ever tasted nelli? That small, humble fruit? The first bite makes you wince. It’s sharp. Unforgiving. But give it a moment. Let it settle. It begins to soothe. That’s the power of something real, a friend, and a supporter. 

I eat nelli. I crave it. Because I have learnt that its bitterness speaks to something deeper in me, something that craves clarity in a world coated in sweetness that means nothing. Life is no different. It stings. It hurts. But only when you allow yourself to feel the full weight of its truth does the healing begin.

Do we dare stop running and taste this bitter, cleansing truth?

Or are we too afraid of what we will find once the sweetness fades? Nelli is just like a confidant who would look in your eyes and say the truth to your face to protect you and heal you. 

A deep and urgent study

Not all friendships are born in the usual way. Some, like mine with John Alton, come wrapped in purpose.

John isn’t just a friend. He is a compass, a mentor, and one of my fiercest supporters. And in many ways, he saw Sri Lanka more clearly than many of us ever have. He encouraged me to bridge the deep, ancient wells of Eastern wisdom with the fast-moving, fractured world of the West. He believed, truly believed, that the teachings of Buddhism, rooted in the soul of Sri Lanka, could offer the kind of leadership the world so desperately needs today.

John is not the John in Billy Joel’s 1973 classic, ‘Piano Man,’ where the lyrics go, “Now John at the bar is a friend of mine, he gets me my drinks for free.” No, this John, John Alton, resembles more the tragic, artistic charm of Johnny Fontane from ‘The Godfather.’ A soulful seeker, not a crooner in a smoky lounge.

Born in 1954 in rural Alabama, where life still echoed the 19th century, John’s journey has been a mosaic of grief, rebellion, and awakening. After losing his younger brother Andrew in 1972, he spiralled into despair, wrestling with the meaning of life and his place in it. 

He found his anchor and solace in the classical world, Greek and Latin literature, emerging as a brilliant thinker, teacher, and eventually, a writer of magical insight. His books – ‘Living Qigong,’ ‘Unified Fitness,’ and ‘Autonomic Intelligence’ – are not just about health or movement, but about the human spirit’s ability to heal, evolve, and transcend.

He was a product of rebellion too, relocating to Montgomery in 1963, witnessing the civil rights movement, listening to the great Martin Luther King Jr., protesting the Vietnam War, growing his hair, becoming a hippie, and fiercely rejecting the rigid beliefs of his parents’ generation. 

In 1987, after immersing himself in Japanese and then Chinese martial arts and medicine, he was transformed, until the Tiananmen uprising forced him out of China. But his search for the mind’s potential never stopped. Just like me, losing a loved one early in your life could destroy spirits, but eventually heaven opens up with a helping hand to find purpose even if it takes decades. I saw that fire in John. 

And in this week’s edition of The Sunday Morning, John delivered a powerful message in his essay, ‘Answering the ancient call.’ He invited readers to pause and calibrate life and leadership amid chaos – the chaos of Donald Trump’s politics, powerful tech titans like Elon Musk, Peter Thiel, and Marc Andreessen reshaping the American order to suit their beliefs, not necessarily of others – and the West stumbling to reclaim its roots. 

He concluded with a line that stopped me cold: “Into such a breach, Sri Lanka finds itself stepping. The all-important question is, will Sri Lanka rise to the occasion and remember its most valuable asset as the home of Theravada, one of the oldest forms of Buddhism and greatest sources of human wisdom ever to grace the Earth?”

Think about what?

An American. A rebel. A seeker. Looking at Sri Lanka, and seeing in it not just a country but a flagbearer. For John and me, this isn’t just admiration, it’s a call. A foundation for a deeper, more urgent study: what if Buddhist teachings held the key to global leadership in an age driven by Artificial Intelligence (AI)?

And the real question: do we, as a nation, see it too?

AI: A double-edged power

The world is shifting beneath our feet.

Technology, powered by AI, isn’t just advancing. It’s accelerating. It’s rewriting the rules of how to think and even govern. And the truth is, no one truly knows where it’s all heading. The consequences for humanity – ethical, social, and psychological – are like a storm gathering on the horizon’s edge.

What does this mean for global leaders? What does it demand from those trusted to guide nations, shape economies, and protect the soul of society?

I asked Dr. Alex Lin, one of Asia’s most respected voices in AI, a man with a doctorate from Stanford University and a track record of quietly empowering hundreds of entrepreneurs across Asia and Africa. His answer was clear, calm, and piercingly wise.

“Leaders no longer need to rely solely on intuition or delayed reports. AI enables real-time insights that support transparency, agility, and trust. Embracing this technology doesn’t replace judgement. It handles it. As stewards of the public good, those who understand and use AI wisely will lead with greater vision, impact, and accountability.”

Think about that.

This isn’t about replacing human leadership. It’s about augmenting it. AI, when used with wisdom and ethics, becomes a tool, not to dominate, but to illuminate. And yet, this power is double-edged. In the wrong hands, it can deepen inequality, reinforce bias, and amplify manipulation. In the right hands, it can build trust, break down barriers, and elevate the very best of human potential.

So the question isn’t just what AI will do to the world, but who will lead us through it.

And that brings us back to Sri Lanka. Back to the East. Back to the timeless teachings that remind us: true leadership begins not with power, but with awareness.

Alex is an optimist. He breathes AI. He sees AI as the architect of a better future, faster, clearer, and more transparent. Yet, I tread with caution because certain times I am old school and circumspect. 

Not because I reject technology. But I have lived enough, seen enough, to know that revolutions, tech or armed rebellions, mayhem, bloodshed, real betrayal, and manipulations don’t always remain the way their architects imagine. Still, when Alex said that “enabling this technology doesn’t replace judgement,” he’s right. Judgement is born from something no algorithm can replicate; not yet, perhaps not ever.

Take Jesper Koll.

A man of deep wisdom, profoundly influenced by decades of experience in one of the world’s most enigmatic economies, Japan. Former Chief Strategist and Head of Research at US giant investment banks, namely J.P. Morgan and Merrill Lynch, and now a guiding force at the Monex Group and Japan Catalyst Fund, Jesper’s brilliance lies in the data behind it. 

His intelligence is natural, lived, and layered. He’s one of the finest storytellers I know, with the empathy of a Buddhist monk. He listens. He waits. He lets you speak. Then, gently and subtly, he nudges you into deeper thought.

Who could replicate that?

The years Jesper has spent navigating failure and triumph, betrayal and trust, wins and losses, hope and fear – those aren’t inputs you can feed into a machine or to an algorithm. Not yet. Maybe never. 

Unless AI can one day mirror the raw and deeper layers of human emotion shaped by geography, culture, religion, intimacy, experience, suffering, and jubilation, it remains a tool, not a soul. This is why I believe the baby boomers and my generation still have a lot more to offer providing natural intelligence to the generations born with the silver spoon of digital, now with AI. 

Even Sam Altman, the face and brains of OpenAI, admits that AI must continue to learn. It is a student, not a master. Closer to 1.5 million AI assets are stumbling, crawling, and learning but certainly shaping the world. 

A land of contrasts 

And this is where I return to the heart of the matter, the human mind. Natural intelligence. Everyone talks about artificial intelligence, but where are the plans to feed natural intelligence, empathy, and the capacity to embrace failures and short-term pain and suffering for long-term success? 

This is why I speak of my carved theory: hope, fear, and jealousy. These are not just emotions. They are the drivers of human history. They fuel wars, build civilisations, topple empires, and spark revolutions. Understanding them isn’t a luxury, it’s a necessity. And at the centre of that understanding lies the ancient wisdom of Buddhism.

Not as a religion, but as the most powerful manual for living ever created. Buddhism begins and ends with the human mind, the source of all suffering and the path to liberation. Public leadership too begins there.

History is not just repeating itself, it’s whispering to us, telling us to tell it, to listen again, and to remember.

John, Alex, Jesper, three brilliant minds from different geographies. Friends, mentors, and fellow travellers on a shared mission. Not to change the world in grand gestures, but to nudge it, gently, meaningfully.

This is why John pins this on Sri Lanka. 

Sri Lanka is far from perfect, but perhaps, in its imperfection, it is far more extraordinary than the world dares to admit.

This is a land of contrasts. Of breathtaking beauty and brutal history. A country of 22 million souls, bound together by pain and perseverance. We have known mistrust, betrayal, and bloodshed. We have endured decades of terrorism, corruption, assassinations of visionary leaders. And yet, we rise. Over and over again, we rise. We rise to the occasion when it really matters. 

Sri Lanka is a mosaic. Multi-religious. Multi-ethnic. Trilingual. The beautiful and sweet languages of Sinhala and Tamil carry our heritage; English bridges us to the world. The diversity that often threatens to divide us is also what makes us resilient. 

We are no strangers to adversity, it flows in our veins. We fight, we give, we serve, we survive. We fail, we stand. What we lack is not strength, but transformation. The courage to evolve into the best version of Sri Lanka, not for the world but for people of the country. 

This island is steeped in centuries of spiritual wisdom. Nearly 70% follow Buddhism, guided by a lineage of over 42,000 monks and 12,000 temples. On weekends, two million children attend dhamma schools, echoing the rhythms of ancient teachings. The remaining population follows Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity, each faith teaching love, compassion, and community. 

Despite occasional friction due to a minority of demons, most Sri Lankans live in a dance of harmony, stitched together by mutual respect. Even in adversity, Sri Lankans not only smile but also can be terribly humourous. 

Colonial history left its mark too; Portuguese, Dutch, and British rule from 1505 to 1948 shaped the architecture of our society, for better and worse. The legacy of the empire lingers in our institutions, our language, our psyche.

But make no mistake, Sri Lanka still has a long road to walk. It will be a painful journey unless it does what the Japanese did post-World War II with a self-confession at a country level. Unless it does so, Sri Lanka will keep floating like a small boat with multiple holes leaking water with uncertainty for the passengers.  

A road of healing. Of unlearning hate, suspicion, and historical rivalry. The wounds are deep and time alone will not mend them. It will take truth, humility, and leadership rooted not in domination but in understanding.

Yet before we hold up a mirror and judge our flaws, let’s ask, what country is truly without scars? Without chaos, corruption, or economic struggles and uncertainty?

The question is not whether Sri Lanka is broken. The question is: do we have the courage to build something wiser from the cracks?

Because if ever there was a land that could model resilience, harmony, and spiritual strength in an AI-driven world, it is this island.

It is us.

A Herculean test

Ten years ago in my basement, I wrote a concept paper to spread goodness, empathy, and compassion. I was one person 10 years ago; today there are many tirelessly working with me, giving their minds, arms, and legs. 

It’s to use the digital revolution with accountability; to tell the truth when you get it wrong; to publicly apologise, learn, unlearn, and learn again; and to immerse yourself in the ever changing world. It’s to teach young and old the power of the technology revolution, to create newsrooms with substance, to test a global case study in this blessed land I call home. 

It can only be done by merging friends, experts from all corners of the world. I named it ‘Zeno’ after a nickname given to me by a friend and I bet my last dollar on that. And it will not be about me, it will be about everyone who travelled with me unconditionally with utmost trust. It will be about the hundreds of shoulders that carried me when I failed, stumbled, could barely walk with despair for rejecting my own version and rewriting the script as the world revolves around me.  

In the midst of all of this, Sri Lanka faces a Herculean test. 

The country – politically, socially, and economically – is on top of a sharp, fine sword. The month of June is crucial; President Anura Kumara Dissanayake has to make the call of the century. The month of July is far more crucial; the November Budget for 2026 is a defining moment not only for his administration but also for this blessed country. 

The weight of 20 million people in the country and two million in the diaspora and the stability of the Indian Ocean is fairly and squarely on his shoulders. I wish he becomes a nelli tree. To tell the bitter truth, unify, and heal this blessed country.

‘Hatred ceases not by hatred’

On 6 September 1951, one Sri Lankan, the first Finance Minister of Ceylon, J.R. Jayewardene stood tall in San Francisco against all odds. He was not saving his own country, but his one speech lasting a mere 15 minutes from 11 a.m. saved Japan. 

He wrote his speech at his hotel, the Mark Hopkins, and borrowed a stenographer from the hotel to prepare his speech hours before he delivered his own words. What he delivered on the next day was not only his own conscience, his government, but also the conciseness of the general attitude of the people of Asia. 

In his speech, he declared: “We in Ceylon were fortunate that we were not invaded, but the damage caused by air raids, by the stationing of enormous armies under the South East Asia command, and by the slaughter-tapping of one of our main commodities, rubber, when we were the only producers of natural rubber for the Allies, entitle us to ask that the damage so caused should be repaired. 

“We do not intend to do so, for we believe in the words of the great teacher whose message has ennobled the lives of countless millions in Asia, that ‘hatred ceases not by hatred, but by love’. It is the message of the Buddha, the great teacher, the founder of Buddhism, which spread a wave of humanism through South Asia, Burma, Laos, Cambodia, Siam, Indonesia, and Ceylon and also northwards through the Himalayas into Tibet, China, and finally, Japan, which bound us together for hundreds of years with a common culture and heritage. 

“This common culture still exists, as I found on my visit to Japan last week on my way to attend this conference, and from the leaders of Japan, ministers of state as well as private citizens, from their priests in the temples, I gathered the impression that common people of Japan are still influenced by the shadow of that great teaching of peace and wish to follow it. We must give them that opportunity.”

“That is why I cannot subscribe to the views of the delegate of the Soviet Union when he proposes that the freedom of Japan should be limited. The restrictions he wishes to impose, such as limitation on the right of Japan to maintain such defence forces as a free nation is entitled to, and the other limitations he proposes, will make this treaty not acceptable, not only to the vast majority of the delegates present here, but even to some of the countries that have not attend this conference, particularly India, which wishes to go even further than this treaty visualises. 

“If again the Soviet Union wishes the Islands of Ryukyu and Bonin returned to Japan, contrary to the Cairo and Potsdam Declarations, why should then South Sakhalin, as well as the Kuriles, be not also returned to Japan?”

“It’s also interesting to note that the amendments of the Soviet Union seek to insure to the people of Japan the fundamental freedoms of expressions, of press and publication, of religious worship, of political opinion, and of public meeting – freedoms which the people of the Soviet Union themselves would dearly love to possess and enjoy.”

“The reason why, therefore, we cannot agree to the amendments proposed by the Soviet delegate, is because this treaty proposes to return to Japan sovereignty, equality, and dignity, and we cannot do so if we give them with qualifications. 

“The purpose of the treaty then is to make Japan free, to impose no restrictions on Japan’s recovery, to see to it that she organises her own military defence against external aggression and internal subversion, and that until she does so, she invites the aid of a friendly power to protect her and that no reparations be exacted from her that harm her economy.”

He concluded his speech saying: “This treaty is as magnanimous as it is just to a defeated foe. We extend to Japan a hand of friendship, and trust that with the closing of this chapter in the history of man, the last page of which we write today, and with the beginning of the new one, the first page of which we dictate tomorrow, her people and ours may march together to enjoy the full dignity of human life in peace and prosperity.”

The San Francisco Chronicle reported that his speech, one of the shortest at the conference, “touched off a roar of acclamation that shook the very windows of the Opera House Conference room”. There is a separate chapter in Jayewardene’s political biography about this incident written by Prof. K.M. De Silva and Howard Wrigins. 

Irony is great. Jayewardene saved Japan, but his tenure as the most powerful Executive President in Sri Lanka was marred by the 1983 July riots, anti-democratic moves, the birth of Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE)-led terrosim and the birth of the 26-year civil war, and the birth of the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna’s (JVP) 1987-’89 armed rebellion. 

But you cannot take away the good he did for the country by opening the economy, industrialisation, free economic zones, strengthening free education, managing the delicate foreign policy in the Reagan era, service to agriculture through the Accelerated Mahaweli Development programme, and a surge in job creation. 

The price of political leadership is too expensive. For some he is a hero. For some he was a destroyer. It all depends on the lens you wear. A strong Buddhist, perhaps he understood the impermanence of everything. 

If life is impermanent, as the teacher said, how could power be permanent? Everything  dissolves into thin air. Today’s friend could be your enemy tomorrow. Today’s enemy could be your friend tomorrow. I shall stop here, and until we meet again, here is something to ponder. 

‘Na hi verena verani

sammantidha kudacanam

averena ca sammanti

esa dhammo sanantano’

It means that hatred is, indeed, never appeased by hatred in this world. It is appeased only by loving kindness. This is an ancient law.