dark moon ceremony

i just finished writing a long saga about yesterdays ceremony....and it disappeared into cyber space...so much for the "dark" side of writing a blog! so now will come a "lighter" version of yesterdays dark moon ceremony. the jewish people celebrate the new moon every month, and the hinuds celebrate the day before the new moon; the dark moon. my own interpretation of this is that the jews emphasize the light, and the hindus give equal credit also to the dark.


lots of synchronicity happened around the ceremony; first, while i was trying to find the right temple and entrance, i suddenly found myself face to face with the teenage boy that had helped me 4 months ago in the internet cafe. we were so happy to run into each other. he invited me over to his house on sunday, and i immediately agreed and was grateful since i had wanted to meet his father who is a priest, and just in general to meet up with him again since he speaks pretty good english, is intelligent, and could maybe shed light on alot of things that are questions for me about hinduism, bali, ecology, etc. the next fluke was when i entered the temple and bravely walked across the courtyard past all the balinese men in the band in order to find a place by the women seated on the grass, i suddenly turned my head to the side and saw that my gamelon teacher was right there, smiling a big smile of recognition as he sat on the little platform with his drum and the other 22 members....out of the hundreds of people there, we just happen to see each other...and the third time was when i was sitting behind a women waiting for the prayers to begin, i was noticing her lovely glittery hairpin, gold earrings, lovely hair do and white blouse, and when she turned her head i saw it was the neighbor woman from the little dark corner kiosk that plays a tough game of dominoes with the men with a loud tongue and strong throw of her domino cards....who would have thought that she had this feminine side to her? and we smiled, recognizing each other from the last time i was here. it also turned out that during the parade that followed, that she was responsible for the huge beautiful offering on the altar which she later carried elegantly on her head all through the main road to the other 2 temples. so much for preconceived ideas about people...i am so judgemental....thinking everyone is all or nothing.


what especially interests me at these ceremonies is trying to understand what is really going on...what do the villagers think as we sit there each time for 1/2 hour while the priests do their praying, and everyone is chatting away quietly. what is all the music from 2 gamelon bands of 22 men playing different repertoires at the same time along with independent chanters singing also entirely different tunes, and the incense sweetening the air, and the young 5 years olds moving their shoulders and beating their hands to the fast paced rhythms making apparent who the next generation of gamelon players will be.


there is a timelessness to it all as we started at 3:30 and it continued until 11 at night, (i left at 7) going from temple to temple in a long procession of a few hundred people. first the 30+ priests, followed by the 7 women with offerings on their heads for the altar, then boys with tall flags, and some 10 men carrying little wooden boxes on their shoulders covered in cloth that the gods inhabit and then one of the gamelon bands, then 20 young girls that are dancers, dressed in white with gold sashes, and then 20 some male dancers in their colorful garb, and then another 20 gamelon players from the second band, and another 10 men or so dressed in white with a black sash and swords and all of us villagers... then arriving at each temple and the priests making offerings, then all of us praying for a few minutes, etc.


i always connect to my own prayers even though outwardly i go along with their ritual of clasped hands facing upwards at the top of the forehead. and while i was doing this at the third temple, which was opposite the sea, and was wondering about this celebration of the dark moon, i suddenly understood that the unpleasant event that took place within me with payment to my gamelon teacher the day before, was exactly that: the dark moon. there was no light, all i could see was the manipulation, assumptions, victimization, misunderstanding, coercing, and then suddenly in the middle of praying, i realized that all the "actors" in the little drama were faces of god allowing me to go from dark to light and to see the importance of them both. i had gotten "taken in" by the physical world, and forgot that it can only be in order to enable me to grow some more. to be in the dark, feel it, recognize it, see my powerlessness there, be guided to turn to the light, and then be lifted to the next step. sometimes when i am with one foot in mid-air before placing it securely on the next step, i begin to "lose my balance" and doubt that all is good, and start believing that the dark is separate from the light

the grace

ahh....i should have saved that photo of the sun rays showering down, for this blog! that is what happened this morning, although it was predawn, and no sun rays, but it felt just like that. i wake up at 5:30 to sit by the sea and watch the sun rise with the silhouettes of the palm trees and fishermens boats while i journal. and there i was journaling about something, and suddenly out of nowhere (but from the left side of my head) the melody that i could not figure out yesterday at the gamelon lesson, came tumbling out!

all i could do was just keep repeating "thank you". i stopped journaling and just listened to it and then decided to pick up the pen and just tap out the rhythm with it so that i would have the kinetic experience too. once i had digested this miracle, i pondered about it. what enables this? what hampers it?

i knew last night when i returned feeling so powerless over recognizing the rhythm and what to do with my left hand, that i had a choice of whether to try and figure it out rationally with my mind, or just let it go and trust that when i am supposed to know how to play it i will, and until then, just make the best effort i can during the lesson itself. i went to sleep, letting it go, as if the space inside my body just needs to process the experience, and not to disturb that with my mind now, which would just be from my ego to succeed. rav laitman, my teacher for kabbalah, is always saying that all that is needed is a true inner desire, that is all, the rest will come from "the light". he is referring to the desire to be at one with god, and fiercely impresses NOT to project this onto our daily life, but i know this is also what happened with the gamelon music this morning. i had such a strong desire to play the tune without "eileen" there....just to be a channel for it to come out and harmonize with the others that were playing, but there was something stuck, a blockage, that had not yet reached a place of light that could correct it. and then the grace came.

this need to play the gamelon is not some ego trip. it is a strong inner connecting with other people through this communal music. there are no composers, no solos, no applause, or personal expressions, they are the traditional songs that were created years ago and have been passed down. it is a playful and alive way to be in union with others, staying centered and open and giving and receiving.

i just wonder what all this music does to them? they are all, constantly either clicking rocks together, singing, playing an instrument, humming or dancing these very complicated "rounds" all the time, and hearing them at all the ceremonies which take place every few days. this morning while i was doing my tai chi on the beach, one of the fishermen that is right opposite the resort, was unraveling his net after having returned from his morning catch, and suddenly he started singing. i glanced over while still doing my tai chi, and there was a big fish caught in his net, and all the other fishermen looked over to me to see if i am noticing it too. and all i could do was give a big smile of participation in his song of joy for the catch! that means he was lucky today and can sell it for $1! dang dang dang dun dan dee dang dun nang de dan doon...

gamelon lesson number 2

just as i feared....he threw me a double whamie! it started off like yesterday, but today he was wearing a sarong and it turns out the 14 year old is 15 and is his son, also an excellent musician. and apparently all of the women and children....are his family living in a big empty house with room after room, totally empty ...the house is a work in progress and probably like with the arabs, just putting down mattresses at night for everyone... how do i know ...because we were playing on the back porch and it suddenly started raining on us, so we carried the instruments through the house to the front porch and again set up the red carpet there, and continued.


what was the double whamie....he began by asking me to play the melody from yesterday. when i listen to indonesian it sounds as if there are a total of some 7 letters: nang, b, d, and they speak at top speed: dang dedundang dnam gdang gdung ge dong nageda ng... i had already kind of forgotten yesterdays tune, but succeeded after one or two attempts...when we finished that i saw he was just kind of fiddling around, humming some melodies, as if trying to remember what to teach next...again i thought, oh gee...maybe he only knew this one first song, now what...maybe this was a mistake coming again...and again he is half singing, half tapping his drum, and not saying anything. and then....he comes over to my gamelon and bangs out a rhythm at top speed that doesn't resemble anything i can even begin to comprehend...what the...


i couldn't believe this is lesson two?! he handed me the little hammer...my turn....i tried my best, but of course it wasn't right. and he just sat opposite with me with the biggest bright white toothed smile and kept repeating it for me at top speed from the beginning...again and again. that is how they teach. you don't do it slower so the person can figure it out, or work on sections, or explain with words, it is all by sight and listening. where do i begin?! from the beginning...ahh,,,it is so difficult to be in beginners mind...i want to succeed the first time and not have to learn...and how to even learn?! and i knew i just have to keep trying with all the mistakes, try and keep myself open, no mind, just let the body learn and release it out again...


after a few trials i had gotten the tune down, but the grabbing of the chimes each time in order to stop the echo was impossible to figure out. so i kept grabbing it just as i hit it so the tone was stopped instead of being able to ring first....he continued to smile and demonstrate and i had my eyes glued to his thumb trying to figure out when and how to do it...and then when that was impossible, i decided to listen to what he was singing, and he was singing the sound of the stopping of the chime too! i suddenly realized that it really is as if 2 hands are playing the piano or something, because as the hand stops the echo it also makes a different sound. this is what is so amazing about playing with them...there are layers and layers that slowly reveal themselves all by themselves...


all i wanted to do was to try over and over again the parts that i was having difficulty with, but there is no such thing, everytime he took a cigarette break i thought "good, now i will try and figure this out a minute" so i would quietly try to tap it out and use my mind to give the command when to grab the chime. but he saw i was trying, so he again just started from the beginning the entire song. that is when i realized there is no such thing as just working on a part that is difficult. with infinite patience he continued to demonstrate everytime with a huge smile, while i consoled myself with the fact that the moment will come when it will come out naturally, and not because i have figured it out with my mind, but just "because" . patience...


he again complimented me on how quick i pick it up and how good i am, and all i knew was that i was making mistakes when i wanted to be a pro already. mithas father translated: "since i am able to receive what the teacher is giving i can come again tomorrow. may i introduce you to each other now?" "yes!" we shook hands and i said "eileen" and he said "kedek" ( of the 8 balinese people i am in close contact with daily, this is the third one called Kedek, along with 3 called madie,. ) so on the one hand i would like to now take pen to paper and try and figure out the tempo etc. so that tomorrow i can come feeling confident that i know it, and on the other hand i know from when i learned tai chi, and hoola hooping, and the gamelon the last time, and indonesian now, that, no mind is the best mind. just let go, trust, be present, stay open, and let go of results...ugh! and smile!

the gamelon lesson

i was walking to mithas house at 4 in the afternoon yesterday and suddenly i saw how the sunshine was shining down through the trees. whenever i see sunshine so clearly like that i always imagine that that is how love, knowledge, and god are; everywhere, regardless of what it is touching, it just is, filling up the space that it is given. after photographing it i continued to mithas where she was going to take me to her fathers friend who plays the gamelon chimes and was willing to teach me. i had originally wanted to be in the womens temple orchestra like last time, but there isn't one that meets regularly here in tejakula, so i reluctantly agreed to go for a private lesson, not really wanting to pay for it, or to just play alone, since being with another 21 women is very powerful!, especially in the temple.



young 13 year old mitha hopped on her motorbike along with her little sister standing in the front and me in the back and off we went. the song "over the meadow and through the woods to grandfathers house we go..." played through my mind as she managed on the narrow bumpy road through the banana, coconut, mango, and avocado trees for about 15 minutes until we reached a big house and drove into the backyard. there a fit 40 year old balinese man wearing a red sleeveless t-shirt and jeans smiled and motioned to the cement porch. he quickly spread out a red carpet that he had folded on the side. it made me laugh, since it was full of holes and stains...but i saw that for him it was the act and the intention, and whether or not it was new and clean was irrelevant. he gestured that we sit down on it. i had brought my bamboo onkelon, in hopes that he would also know how to play that and could play a few tunes which i could tape and then practice on at home. he proceeded to take out of his storage room a dusty gamelon, gong, 2 big congo drums and another small gamelon. he placed them all on the red carpet, and then i understood, that when you play, it is a sacred space and you don't just do it anywhere, you do it on the red carpet. he asked me to play something on the onkelon. i did, feeling confident and capable. he did not speak any english, so mitha was our translator.

i explained to her that what interests me is to play temple songs on the gamelon, so lets focus on that. instead, he came over to the onkelon and tried picking out a tune on it, unsuccessfully, i repeated my request, that what is important to me is to play the gamelon, and that if he happens to know some tunes on the onkelon, all well and good, but if he doesn't then lets just play the gamelon. i started having my doubts as to what kind of musician he actually was....


then he went over to the gamelon and played a simple tune over and over. i sat opposite him, and knew i needed every gram of attention that i could possible possess in order to know which chimes he was hitting, in what sequence and what the rhythm was. it was a combination of western and eastern mind. western; quickly counting how many chimes on either side so i would know which ones he was hitting with the little wooden hammer, but also eastern; just being there, and letting all my senses just take it in. there is no written music, just demonstrating and then you trying. i watched like a hawk, then he invited me to sit down and try. i was able to repeat what he had shown me. and within a few minutes he had already sat down ready to play the congo drum along with a 14 year old boy on the other one, and a 70 year old man on the little gong and we were suddenly a little ensemble! it would have been nice to be able to communicate with him with words, but, alas, my indonesian is not good enough yet, and neither is his english, so even though he would say a few sentences, mitha would translate a few words, and the rest i guessed.

it was wonderful playing together. the only variation on the theme is faster or slower or louder or softer, and you just keep on playing it over and over again, and he is the leader and i have to just watch him while i am playing for the cues. as soon as we were playing all together, i was filled with such joy, like water to a thirsty person. the feeling of unity and connection and the soothing repetitiveness of it together with the intensity and liveliness of it all was great. at one point i noticed that the yard was now full of people that came from the area, to see and listen to us playing; men, women and children. when we finished, i noticed that mithas father had also joined us along with a man in a sarong who sat down and took one of the big congo drums. her father was surprised to hear me playing and commented " eileen, you are more clever than i thought!" and i laughed and said "yes, i am very clever!"

the teacher and the man in the sarong decided to play together too, and the 14 year old accompanied them on the gong. even though it is just hitting it every few seconds, it is not easy to do that for 20 minutes straight at a constant speed. the two men were playing a very old melody that could be compared with a symphony, that just went on and on with twists and turns. the drums play a kind of conversation at top speed with one being the male and the other the female, answering with one hand holding a drumstick and the other side of the drum is beat with the hand. it was wonderful watching this duet between them, the intensity and the connection as they sang along with the beat.

i don't understand music, i just know that this strong powerful loud drumming music goes right into me. very direct. each time they finished their song, we again played the one he had taught me. the man in the sarong watched and then asked me to play the gamelon alone. after i did, he came over and ever so gently he took the little hammer from me and played out the tune sitting opposite me. each time that you hit the hammer on the next chime, you must grab the chime you have just hit so that it no longer will echo, allowing the next chime to ring clear, so one hand is hitting while the other hand is following along grabbing the chime that was just hit, so in fact both hands are" playing" different notes at the same time. at first when he played my little tune i just looked at his hands as he played, wondering what he wanted to show me, and then there was a sudden understanding that this very quiet, conscious movement he is doing with the other hand to stop the vibration is just as important as hammering out the tune. i loved the way all this was taught and understood without any words or pantomimes...just his intention and my reception. he then handed the hammer back to me and motioned that i try again, which i did, having learnt the new skill he showed me so kindly, and he gave me the thumbs up and we played it again a few times, and then, again, the two of them. i realized that all i have to do is sit there and trust that everything is perfectly planned, and just to follow his cues. after 2 hours we stopped and he said that i can come back again. that i have picked it up very quickly, and that i played very well. it was nice to receive a compliment, but at the same time i thought "oh, just wait until it gets a little more complicated, and then i will be lost!'...

he said i can come back whenever i want. "whenever i want?! i want everyday!" and he said, fine, and laughed. he said that whenever he is around i am welcome to come, but in another couple of days there are 5 days of ceremonies and he will be busy because he and the man in the sarong are in the temple orchestra and will be busy rehearsing and playing. so we planned today and tomorrow to advance.

mitha and i hopped back onto the motorbike, and i told him "simpai besok" ("see you tomorrow" which i had just learnt the day before with my studies) and we laughed. mitha again drove through the forest in the dusk, and asked me "did you enjoy?" " did i enjoy?! it was fantastic! it was everything i could have ever wanted! thank you so much!" and as she drove me back i realized i just need time now to let all of this settle. this was a very full experience, taking me off into never never land. i told her that she should stop at her house and i will walk back from there, because i just felt i needed time to process what i had just been through. she said it is dark now and that she will take me home (which is a few minutes past her house) i said no. guess who won....when i saw she passed her house at full speed i laughed and said " i should know by now not to contradict you, because you always do what you want in the end" " it is dark now and you are dear to me, so i must take you home". thank you mitha.

when i got back to the resort, there was another 15 minutes until dinner. i sat down on the sofa, opposite the sea, and just gazed into space. what had i just been through? no words. just letting it all sink in, all of this music, all the impressions, these men that are so talented, this music with its incomprehensible rhythms and melodies, the feeling of togetherness, and how it all just has to now settle somewhere in my body. suddenly the old temple melodies that i had learned 4 months ago came to mind! from where did they appear?! and i just continued gazing into space...grateful and wondering "was i once a gamelon player in a temple?" in a different incarnation? why do i have such a strong pull and satisfaction and talent for this? nicole and jochan eventually walked over to me, surprised to see me gazing into space...they have never seen me not doing something! "what are you doing?" "relaxing!"" how was the gamelon lesson?" "amazing". thank you

and i'm just sitting here

The sky is pitch black. Almost a new moon. It is after 7 in the evening. Waiting for the young Balinese waitress to come over to me smiling and say "dinner 10 minutes". I am sitting in the bale (raised platform with straw roof) a few meters from the sea. i have been sitting here since two in the afternoon. The distance between me and the sea is about 10 metres. as i look out there is a big old tree in the corner with a two meter high cement wall on one side of it that has been lovingly shaped to allow the tree trunk itself to be the corner, and then in front of me is a red volcano stone wall behind the shrubs, which is shoulder height. Beyond that are black stones and sand that make up the beach. Along the shore every meter or so there is a big,tall, old green leaved tree or coconut trees. In between the tree trunks the fishermen sometimes tie a bamboo pole on which they hang their fishing nets on. The boats rest between the trees on shore.

So here I sit. Saturday night. I just finished practicing playing my little onkelon, trying to gain back my skill at playing the tunes I learned the last time I was here, without mistakes. And I decided to just stop a moment. That is rare for me. I am always filling up the space with something. And I just sat here for a moment. Looking out into the darkness. Some spotlights strategically placed by jochan, who has a very aesthetic knack for nature and beauty, accent the hugging tree trunks and some long cascading branches that make a nice canopy of shade during the day. The beautifully gathered and hanging fishing net on the bamboo pole makes me want to cry. The sound of the sea is soothing and rhythmic as the waves gently reach the shore.

Why do I want to cry? Because at this moment I do not need anything else in life. I feel in perfect peace with myself and my surroundings. All I can imagine is that I may have been a Balinese in a former lifetime…it just all feels right.

the village yuppies?

yesterday i went to visit ketut, my guardian angel. even our meeting again echoed the intuition i feel with him, as i sat at dinner telling my hosts that he had called this morning to the gardener to ask if i had arrived, just as i had decided to write him an email to tell him i was here. and just as i was telling them in the evening that he had called, the phone rang and it was him, on his way up north from working down in the south for a few days, wanting to arrange tea time together with me for tomorrow. i happily agreed and laughed at the synchronicity.


last time i was here we planned to travel together to singaraja at 10 in the morning, and i, being without a watch, left the resort and walked by foot to his house assuming that it was a 15 minute walk, but when i arrived, he said he though i had overslept since it was already 10:10. i was surprised he was so prompt. so this time i left on time to arrive exactly at 10, and maybe even a few minutes before. i remembered when i went to japan 10 years ago, reading how guests are supposed to arrive at the door of their host at the exact minute, not before and not after....so i was aiming at that this time too.


when i reached his villa, the maid (ahem) said he was home and she gestured for me to sit down at the dining room table. ketut is a strange mixture of west and east. he worked for 20 years on cruises ships so he knows excellent english, has seen the world, and been with wealthy westerners. and together with that he grew up poor in a little fishing village on the north coast and has a high school degree. period. his house is lovely. it is the only balinese house i have been in (not that i have been in so many) that is so beautiful. it is an "L" shape. it has 4 bedrooms on both sides of the "angle" of the L and an open living room and kitchen at the end of the L. so the entire house is open to the garden, with big glass sliding doors for each bedroom. his parents live with him and his wife and 2 children. they have a long narrow built in pool for the kids and another roofed open area for ceremonies. everything is done in good taste.

he arrived a bit after me, coming in through his open sided roofed 2 car garage that also stores 2 motorbikes,. he was hooked onto his "blackberry" and cell phone, and after a few minutes when he ended the conversation we said our hellos with a hand shake. he "ordered" the maid to serve us tea ("tea" is all he said to her) . we sat at the table and inbetween the constant ringing of his cell phone and our staccato words in between he managed to tell me that he is busy investigating an option to export oranges to jakarta. he pantomimed fingers busy sending SMS's. i laughed that that is how business agreements are made these days! meanwhile a friend of his arrived and joined us at the table. i had met him last time, a nice friendly young man that speaks english very well. "do you remember me from the temple?" he asked me, and i said yes even though i wasn't sure which temple and which time, but i just knew i knew him. he and i spoke while ketut continued to handle non-stop business calls.


it was ketuts words of wisdom to me the last time that gave me faith to continue to believe there was a way to come back to bali with my minimal funds. when i had asked him how he became wealthy he said "just keep moving. while i am driving i am looking on the sides of the roads and watching things and getting ideas. then i try an idea and if plan A doesn't work, i go to plan B and if B doesn't work i go to plan C and if C doesn't work i go to D which means dead." so back in yodfat when i kept trying to figure out how to come back here and each time my plan failed i trusted that now we go to the next one, and hopefully not end up at D! and when plan C worked for me i wrote to tell him i would be returning after all (he had known about plans A and B which failed). his response to me then was happy for me and that " god is always with you." that touched me and i was happy that he was my guardian angel here.


i asked him what he was doing now, and he said he had returned to selling life insurance again in denpassar, which meant commuting the 3 hour drive each way several times a week, going to peoples houses and trying to sell them life insurance. he had done that in the past a few years, and had left it in order to return to the village and modernize the north with his western initiative and ideas. so why did you go back to selling insurance? "now is the time to do this, my former boss called to say he has a very good plan. so i believe it is good and i want people to have it, it is hard work, but i am happy." his friend chimed in praising ketut for offering him to be his partner, since he has been unemployed for 4 months already and has a wife and small son (not "child" but SON!) who is the most important thing for him so he must make a living in order to provide for them.


i was disappointed that ketut was selling insurance. he is such a great guy, and for me an insurance salesman just wants one thing: money. and is that why ketut is doing it? why do the balinese need life insurance? they have lived just fine until now, no? they believe in karma, everything is exactly the way it is supposed to be, so why start bringing in these western ideas to warp it all? who needs life insurance? i don't have any and here i am! it's all fear based.


he politely listened to me. and then quietly and patiently explained that the typical balinese needs alot of money for his cremation (which is the height of his life) and instead of that weighing on the shoulders of their children, he is explaining to them how they can put money on the side and not have that pressure. as he spoke i slowly remembered that i myself have several "plans" which i put $100 away for each of them every month for my pension....so why am i so critical of him? i looked at him and said "i know...you want to teach people how to manage their money and plan ahead so that they can live knowing they will be taken care of and not be a burden on their children." he nodded, grateful that i had stopped my attack and could see his positive approach rather than think he was just out there for the money to rip naive balinese off.


"since i was away for 2 months, 3 villas have been built just along this one road! what will happen to all of the forest here? ". and as we sat in his sun lit large open new and beautiful patio in his garden, he explained that most of the villagers live in matchbox houses (true!) and it is very stressful for them. the younger generation does not want this anymore. they are willing to work hard down in the south where there are good jobs, and then come back to the village and build their villa. they want a better life and they are working towards that." He had made his point....it does make quite a difference when you have running water in your house, privacy, a garden, and aesthetics. we were quiet, he asked if i had had my breakfast yet. (it was now 10:45, i had eaten at 8:30) . i decided that this must be the polite way that the balinese tell you that the visit has ended. i said that yes i had eaten and that now i will be on my way and all the best. we said our goodbyes. as i walked back on the pock holed road past the shacks and pigs in their mud holes, and the chickens walking freely around i realized that i still want to hold on to the "old " bali, but there is no stopping it....i can only hope that as the younger generation works and earns more money, that their outlook will continue to be for the good of the community, like ketut claims to be coming from, and not just a selfish materialistic individualistic approach.


his friend had told me earlier "i have many skills. i speak english very well, i am willing to offer my skills to others, but i also want to get something in return. i will offer someone a ride to some place far, just so i can speak english with them and improve my english, but i have also given them a ride to where they wanted to go for free. that is how i live."

shaving her head

today was nyomans babys' "6 month old" ceremony. it symbolizes the day that the baby can now be put down on the ground, after having been held in peoples hands since born, or laying in a bed. the belief is that the baby is protected from the evil spirits that crawl along the ground. it also symbolizes the day that their head is shaved; a type of cleansing and that now the hair can grow healthy and strong from a clean new scalp. i asked if i could come watch the ceremony, and she said it would be very small, just family, but yes. the size of the ceremony depends on how much money you have at the moment to put out for it, which means refreshments for everyone, offerings, paying a priest, etc.

when i arrived at 3:30 as planned, i found her just about to get dressed. the communal shower from the spring is a 5 minute walk from her house, and where the villagers go if they want to shower. most of the people do not have a shower in their home, or even running water, but it can be brought from near by. her mother in law was holding the baby, which is a more or less permanent status for the grandparents when there are small babies. they just grab one of the sarongs and quickly make a sling and walk around with the baby on them while the parents are working or busy. also, nyoman lives in a small 4 bedroom complex, with her husband, 8 year old daughter, 6 month old baby, her in-laws, and and another aunt, uncle, baby unit. each family has a room a little bigger than the size of their small bed, with a curtain to have some privacy, and they are one next to the other, that is the house. the kitchen is always in a separate structure across from the living quarters.

nyoman invited me to join her first at the family temple in their backyard where all ceremonies begin. we entered a courtyard with rows of small altars, kind of like pigeon coops, she explained that this is where one comes for permission in order to begin a ceremony. when we were children we had to ask our parents permission before doing things, and now we are adults and we continue to ask for their permission before we perform a ceremony. another altar there, other than of the parents (even though they are still alive) is one for brahma, vishnu and shiva (creative force, the living force, and the destructing force). here one brings an offering ( a small basket with hard boiled egg, a tangerine, some cakes, flowers....incense) and asks that these forces will protect them during the ceremony if you do not take a moment before doing things in order to turn to these three forces and acknowledge them and their assistance then things can happen just because you did not turn to them first for their protection. the third altar we put an offering at was for the ancestors. and this is just to wish them that they continue to stay where they are peacefully. so the short ceremony there was a short prayer next to each one and then putting some food down for them. she compared it to a king and his servants, she gives the servants some food so that they will be satisfied, and not come over to her house and do things with their food. the last action we took was again kneeling down opposite the 2 altars and apologizing if in our humble way we made any mistakes in the ceremony procedure.

a baby is only considered a person once they are three months old. then a 3 month old baby ceremony is held and they are named, and are allowed to come into the temple and family temple too. (i think this is the same in judaism, when a baby younger than 3 months dies) only the two of us performed these actions. the grandmother and nyomans husband (called nyoman!) and the baby and little girl waited on the steps of the patio of the house.

when nyoman came back to everyone she arranged another offering and placed it the corner on the sidewalk in front of their house. she said this was for the placenta. that when the baby is born the mother takes the placenta home in a bowl made from natural materials. and is to bury it in front of the house. and from then on, one feeds the placenta during ceremonies and birthdays so that it too will continue to be nourished and guard the baby (and later child!) from any evil. she pointed out that when little babies suddenly smile or giggle, it is because the invisible spirits of the placenta are playing with the baby, and it is only us humans that can't see it happening. the interesting thing for me is in all of these offerings, that it is only the act itself at that moment that has any value, a minute later the offering can be physically eaten by the family and guests. but what is important is the intention when you put it down and blessed it. this physical act is necessary, but just like elijahs cup, they do not wait to see some food actually disappear.

when we walked back, her husband was busy in the bedroom organizing some cd on their little television with balinese dancers and music as backdrop for the ceremony that was to begin. if the family has money and it is a large family affair, then live dancers, and a gamelon band would have been there too. she invited me in to the tiny bedroom where the ceremony was going to take place. they gave me a tiny stool to sit on. the husband and daughter on the floor, and nyoman with her baby, on their bed, alongside her mother in law, and a few baskets of offerings again. the roasted chicken was displayed leaning on the wall in a basket, another sacrifice for the ceremony. her mother in law proceeded to quietly say the blessings along with flicking flower petals, and water towards the chicken sacrifice. and then turned and blessed all of us with the flicking of water purifying us inside and out. the baby was quiet the entire time.

that was it. we then left the room and sat again on the steps of the patio while nyoman nursed her baby, and her husband proceeded to shave the baby girls head with an old fashioned razor blade in his hand. i decided it would be best if i just looked in another direction rather than have my fear filled energy cause any harm to the baby. i couldn't believe how still she stayed for almost an hour while he began first with a little pair of cheap scissors to cut her hair and then later put the edge of the blade to her scull and slowly slowly shaved her head. only towards the last 10 minutes did she become whiny and had had enough. but they managed to entertain her until her father was satisfied with the very professional baldy he had given her. then talc was smeared on her little raw head and she was put in the sarong sling on her mom who thought she needed to sleep. Made', the gardener, had celebrated this same ceremony for his 6 month old son the day before. so when i returned i asked if he too had shaved his sons head. i wondered if it is something that the father has to do. he said that yes, he had waited for his wife to nurse the baby and since the baby is hyperactive he decided to shave his head while he was asleep after having nursed. but in fact anyone can shave the head, mom, dad, a neighbor, or even go to the barber.

i enjoy hearing about all their beliefs and acts of devotion, which remind me alot of things i myself do,for years already, having developed my own way of connecting with god from the 12 step programs i have been in, and also remind me of similar ceremonies from judaism. i often wonder if i would be as curious following a hassidic family around and observing all of their rituals...
. . .

the car ride

when gede, my cab driver, picked me up at the airport this trip, we were chatting and he told me that the Bali Arts Festival just began and for a month there are musical and dance performances going on in the capital everyday. wow, i thought, what an opportunity to see the top performers from all over the country. mitha, the 13 year old that has adopted me, practices classical balinese dancing with one of the top performers, who is now 70+ and i thought that since she is now on summer vacation from school, i could invite her to come with me to denpassar, to the festival one day. so i innocently asked her if it would interest her, and her eyes lit up and she said yes. then her 10 year old sisters eyes lit up when she explained to her that i was going to take her there. so i said, "she can come too!" and then the mother who had been chopping the banana trunk into fine pieces in order to feed the pig also got excited, and i said :she can come too...and thus was born the idea to hire gede and his car and take us all (mom,dad, and 3 girls) to the festival one day. i told mitha to look at the schedule and pick a performance that she would like to see and to let me know when it is and i will hire the cab. great excitement filled the little forest area where they live a humble life in a palm leaf shack....

a few days later i came by and she told me that she had looked up the schedule on the computer and printed it out and that there is a performance at 11 a.m. that we can see, and that we should come home before dark. fine. the trip is over 3 hours each way so we planned to leave at 6 a.m. and return by 6 p.m. that night i started having horrible imaginary scenarios of being in the hot city, tons of balinese coming to the festival, crowded, overwhelmed, expensive tickets, no parking, lots of money for food and drinks for all of us for an entire day, and i began to regret that i had even suggested it! i went back over to them and emphasized that it is a very very long car ride and are they sure they want to go? a unanimous YES! okay, decided that what will be will be and it will be an experience in any case.

when i told my friends about the plan, they asked if the family has ever been in a car before. i said no. and they raised their eyebrows and said "take lots of plastic bags" (the solution for car sickness) and they told me how they once took the staff to the city one hour from here and the whole way they were all vomiting...so i should be prepared...again i went to their house and told them that this could happen, and they laughed and said they know, and they will bring bags and that they want to go. okay. what will be will be. decided that $100 was my limit for this spree, remembering how a wealthy cousin of mine had once invited me over to his place abroad and paid for the plane ticket plus all the extras, and how special that was being treated by someone that had the means to do it. and now here i was, in that same position, the rich american that is willing to use $100 in order to take the poor balinese family that has never driven in a car before and 3 of them have never been to the big capital city of bali before, and as the saying goes, "if you go on a spree, go the whole hog, including the postage".

they walked down their dirt path to the road, dressed up for the event, and we left at 6 as planned. i told gede that the family had never been in a car before or to the city, so he can stop along the way at places or take scenic routes, as he pleases. mithas father chose to sit up front next to gede, her mother and 5 year old behind them, and mitha and i and her 1o year old sister in the back. i laughed as i showed the mother some plastic bags and toilet paper that i had brought "just in case", and off we drove onto the winding narrow road up the mountainside.at first gita, the 10 year old, was busy sharing thoughts with mitha about the trip, but soon enough both she and her mother and younger sister were not happy campers! and since the mother couldn't be taking care of the 2 car sick kids, while she herself was leaning over the plastic bag, the father just took the youngest one and sat her on his lap up front, no seat belts, no problems...anything goes here in bali. and so we continued.

i kept avidly pointing out the rising sun, the sea down below as we took a turn, the beautiful mountains, the fog, the lake, the horizon. but it seemed that i was the only one excited. i slowly began to realize that what is special to me or excites me, is not what excites them. as we continued to climb up higher and higher mountains, the air became cold, people were wearing wool hats and winter coats and walking around with towels on their heads or shoulders. i realized later that it was an inexpensive way of keeping warm with a household item ( a towel) or else they were coming or going to the local spring to wash themselves in the morning. gede said we will be seeing the famous volcano today also. a while later he apologized for the fog, i told him that i like fog, it reminds me of the chinese paintings that i love. only later when he stopped the car after asking if i would like to see the lake, did i understand why he had apologized. we had reached the famous batur volcano and lake. a whole village geared for tour buses that come from around the world to see these sights. 10's of large restaurants hanging over the cliff that was meant to be a tourist attraction, were now covered in fog, and nothing to see. i laughed and enjoyed the bit of sun that was poking through the fog and shimmering on the lake, i laughed how nice it is to be without any expectations...i didn't even know there was a volcano and that that is where we were...so not seeing it because of the fog was fine with me. each of the stops was actually a saving grace for the mother and kids that were still vomiting the entire trip.

an hour later gede suggested we stop at the holy water temple and i readily agreed. once we arrived there i realized i had been there a few months prior with the hoolahoop workshop and had experienced a very special purifying ritual in the pools with the holy spring water. today we took a few "souvenir photos" next to the big holy tree, the narrow painted balinese carved wooden doors, and then passed by the big pond with the goldfish. it awakened memories in me of my childhood and feeding the fish and ducks at the pond in the park and how i loved it, so i excitedly suggested we feed them, and fished (oh no...) around my bag looking for the packed sandwiches in order to contribute a slice of bread for the occasion. but i must have left it in the car, and gede pointed to a little pink colored cupcake, leftovers from yesterdays ceremonial offerings that i thought i would give the kids, and said that the fish would eat that. i quickly (since i always do everything quickly) started picking off little pieces from it and threw it to the fish to show them what i meant about "feeding the fish so they will all come over to us",.. as i stretched the cupcake out to them too to pick off crumbs for the fish, i realized that this was a special treat for humans, not for fish! and that it was almost sacriligeous to be feeding it to the fish! kind of like for us to take a great piece of steak and give it to a man who hasn't had meat in 10 years and suggest he feed the dog with it. when i realized what i was doing i asked if maybe they prefer to eat it rather than give it to the fish....but they were way to humble to say yes, and obligingly fed the fish and again i seemed a bit more excited than they were.

next we moved on to the actual pools with the spigots of holy water pouring from them where pilgrims come with offerings and wait in lines for hours to dunk and pray and swallow and pour this water on them, even bringing it back to family members that were unable to make the trip, so that they too can open up the Gerry cans and pour this sacred water on ailing parts or purify their altars and homes, etc. and here we were, at 7:30, not a soul in sight, and suddenly all of the sacredness of it is absent....without the crowds there making it a priority, it was just a pool with water spouting out. i decided quickly (again) that this was not a chance to be missed, and that i surely will make good use of the opportunity and asked gede if i could just take off my blouse and put my skirt up around my body and dunk like that and later i will just be with my long blouse as a dress so as not to wet his car. he agreed, and there i strip teased as inconspicuously as i could, opposite the 6 of them, who were all quite shocked by my actions. i decided not to react. if they do not want to take this special opportunity, it doesn't mean that i am not going to either. gede encouraged me, saying we have plenty of time, so off i jumped into the waist high pool and began my dipping and praying and hitting and covering and swallowing ritual that i partly remembered from the last time as i imitated the balinese, making up my own prayers. as i reached the third of the 15 spouts i heard shouting, which is very rare. until now i have only heard it when there is a man on the beach that wants to have some privacy to do his personal needs and i am casually walking by, so he will shout, to me in order for me to go in another direction. i looked up to see who was shouting, and sure enough, it was directed at me, and the man was angrily pointing to my see through white skirt that was floating above my black underpants and me braless, and he ran to bring me a sarong and sash. okay...if you say so. and i put it on top of my skirt and tied it and all was well and i could continue. (only later in the day did i suddenly remember that this is a temple and one is supposed to be wearing temple dress; sarong and sash, even if you go in the water, as i had done the last time i was there, with the temple clothes on...had totally forgotten that basic rule!) the days before i had been experiencing existential angst...and that was the real purifying i felt i needed...to be relieved of the confusion and doubt that fill my mind, and to be the best vessel for gods will using all of my senses to see god and hear god and smell god and speak god and taste god and think god in all and everything. amen. when i finished i came out to change into my blouse, and found the family quietly sitting on the side waiting for me. i hoped i hadn't embarrassed them too much or ruined our relationship or the day for that matter. as we walked back to the car mitha shyly asked me what i feel after having done that. i thought for a moment and realized that i feel brand new! i am seeing the world through brand new eyes. all is bright and clear and simple and NOW. wow! if she hadn't asked me that question i don't know if i would have even noticed the difference. thank you mitha. i told her so, and she didn't comment. i laughingly told her how when i went kayaking with my granddaughter and forgot to bring a bathing suit and was soaking wet, i just hung my skirt out the car window and by the time we got to the restaurant it was dry and i could wear it, so i think i will do the same now. and i opened up the window and hung it outside to dry as we still had 2-3 more hours in the car, and i would feel more comfortable with my skirt on too, and not just a long tunic! again...embarrassment for gede who has pride in his shiny van, and the family....but, this is not mine, so i will not restrict my needs .

mithas father was happily chatting with gede the whole trip and i was happy for the two of them. no one commented on the retching noises and every now and then when he would stop the car, another plastic bag with its contents would be thrown along the roadside. now i understood what the plastic bags were all about among these magnificent forest covered mountains. we passed through many small villages, each having their own style of architecture. one of the stops was in order to view lovely narrow terraced rice fields placed on steep winding mountains, glistening in the morning sun. at one point we passed an area where there were lovely wooden hand carved statues of buddha, and other lovely shapes. next to each open fronted store front there were piles of cut tree trunks, and a man or two with hatchets and knives, chiseling out these repetitive shapes. at first it was so beautiful and special and incomprehensible how they just do this sitting on the ground all day. but as it became shop after shop and street after street, and the buddhas became cats, and geckos, and giraffes etc, i lost all interest and felt i was in a tourist trap. here were these amazingly talented people, mass producing objects for export for souvenir shops...if i would have seen one, it would have been great, but seeing thousands made it all feel cheap and meaningless.

we finally arrived at the festival grounds after crawling through city traffic, the antithesis to our beautiful breath taking drive through the villages and mountains covered with bamboo, palm trees, banana plantations, coconut groves, orange orchards and many more. the plan was to see a special dance performance in another half hour. they all slowly got their senses back after the nausea and driving and in we went to find our dance stage....i thought. but instead i realized that no one was really intent upon seeing any dancing. the experience was more one of just "being in the city". i kept pulling out the program with time and place and asking them if we are in the right place, and they just kind of continued looking in the direction of the stalls that were selling clothes cheaply. so, we went to see the stalls. when mitha spotted the ferris wheel in the background, her eyes lit up! i was so happy to see her eyes light up that i asked if she wants to go on it. she looked at her parents, who immediately said "no". i couldn't understand?! no?! why? i happily volunteered to go on it with her, since the others all said they were too afraid, and mitha awaited her parents response, which was again no. i asked why, and she said they think it is dangerous. oh. i told her that her parents are her parents and nothing to do but obey. she did not show any signs of disappointment or trying to convince, we stopped at a food stall where they had some chicken meatballs in soup for breakfast ($1 each). we continued to make circles around the fair grounds, which was actually a kind of convention area with different buildings and a big amphi, but never managed to see any dancing anywhere, and at one point, after having just learned the words for "today" and "tomorrow" in my balinese language course, i noticed them on a big bulletin and thought "aha, now we can see the program hours for today and tomorrow"! and as we stood there with several others, we realized that there were no matinee performances today, even though they had advertised there would be....there was a plus side to all of this; that there were no crowds that we had to push our way through and the stalls were empty too, and so they could linger by the underpants stall and pick out 3 for $1 without any hassle. which is what we did. eventually we passed the ferris wheel again, since we just kept making circles in the area, and this time, maybe planned by her father that wanted to give mitha a treat(?) he agreed that i go on it with her and he will take a photo. mitha excitedly went into the little swinging cage of a seat with me, and i started to understand why her father said it was dangerous....i think"ferris wheel" and know there is nothing dangerous....but i didn't think "ferris wheel in bali" and as we started and i saw the old rusty chain that was keeping the whole thing together, i just laughed to myself and prayed that gods' will be done and lets enjoy it. it was small and simple and we had a few rounds and he let us out and we continued on our way. her little sisters eyes lit up when she saw a man with helium balloons...first time?! but we just walked on. my heart broke for her. i remembered what it is like to want a helium balloon, but, didn't want to interfere with her parents walking by. the father wanted to buy a cap, so we went to that stand, where as i quickly(!) started to follow them to the stand i remembered that when they looked at it earlier they commented that it is important to bargain but when the seller saw me, they put the price up for them so they didn't buy the cap. . so i stopped in mid track and said "uh, should i wait on the side this time?" and they smiled yes. and let the mother go by herself to bargain them down without a tourist next to her. this is typically balinese; they wouldn't think of asking me to wait on the side or to tell me not to go along with the mother. they NEVER interfere with what other people are doing or intending. it is amazing. no trying to control or give advice to anyone else. she came back with a cap for him and he happily put it on his head, (a 40 year old boy at the fair!)

eventually it became clear that we had pretty much seen what there was to see, and now what. when i heard her mother, who until now had been pale and nauseous, happily talking on the cell phone, i asked mitha who she was speaking with? "her sister that lives in denpassar" oh...i told mitha that if she wants to visit her, we can go there. mitha again was excited and told her father who told her mother, who happily called her sister back to make plans to meet now. excitement filled the air as the mother again requested we go back to the stalls for a fourth time, in order to bring them something (which turned out to be some popcorn and salty fried dough things also costing a big $1). as we walked to the stall i asked mitha when the last time she saw her aunt. she counted on her fingers and said "5 years ago". what?! for 5 years you haven't seen her? and you have cousins too? "yes" and have you ever been to their house? "no" . so...this is the big event of the day! it brought back memories from my childhood of the car trips to my uncles house and visiting my cousins that i loved. i was happy that i could enable this family reunion. as we walked to meet our driver, we passed a street vendor selling helium balloons and i asked if i can treat little yuitha with a helium balloon. the father was happy and grateful and when i asked how much to pay the man, he cringed when he told me "10,000 rupias (another $1.20)....for him, it was absurd. for me it was a once in a life time dream of a 5 year old from the village. that helium balloon was soon the main attraction of the rest of our trip, being hugged the entire time other than for a few seconds when she allowed it to touch the ceiling in her aunties house, (my suggestion! what fun is a helium balloon without letting it rise?!) while we waited for gede to show up at our meeting place with the van we witnessed a cremation parade along the main road, which consisted of a single row of some 20 women with tall offerings on their heads, followed by 10 rows 5 wide across of men in sarongs and headbands,followed by a float like 3 tiered colorful material draped casket with a photo of a young woman on it, followed by the marching gamelon orchestra which had men carrying long bamboo poles on their shoulders which the 22 gamelon chimes were hanging from, each with a musician hitting out the melody with the metal hammer as they walked along, followed by another some 100 women, ending the entourage followed by all of the cars that were crawling along the road behind the procession until it arrives eventually to the cremation grounds. all part of the comings and goings of life here in bali.

the joyful excitement of visiting her sister was soon dulled by the car sickness again that followed as we edged our way in the bumper to bumper traffic of the city. we finally made it down a little road the exact (luckily) width of the car with 90 degree turns every 20 metres. insane. and honking now and then so no one would come in the opposite direction! and when we got out of the car we found ourselves with rice fields on the left and a row of houses on the right. i assumed an emotional greeting of family members was to follow, but was surprised that there were no hugs, kisses, excitement, talking, touching...just a smile and continuing with the order of the day, as we kind of made ourselves at home. it was strange for me. to write about the house would be a whole other blog, but the bottom line was, we sat on the floor on the front porch, were served some tea with the salty fried goods we had brought, the bathroom was in use by the still car sick family members, gede made small talk with mithas father, the aunt didn't say a word to me, and was in the kitchen or somewhere the whole time. and a half hour later we said goodbye, again, without any hugs, hand shakes, kisses emotions. and here i had been imagining how exciting it would be for the kids to see where their auntie lives, and to play with their cousins (one arrived, too shy to look at them, another 2 slept, sick in bed) a small bag of hand me down clothes and off we went..on another 4 hour drive home equipped with more plastic bags for the way.

i had suggested to gede that we take different routes going and coming so that they could enjoy the views, but everyone was so wiped out that they just fell asleep in between car sickness bouts. i looked over at mitha, asleep next to me, barefoot, having removed the fancy purple plastic shoes she had worn for the occasion, and just looked at her innocent balinese beautiful face and bare feet and thought how she really belongs back in her little palm shack with the dirt floor, and not out here in the city. i myself was soaking in every single second, and every single sight. i loved it. hours and hours of looking out the windows at the villagers, temples decorated for celebrations, wedding adornments in the entrances to the house of the newlyweds, people carrying things on their heads; wood, food, offerings, huge piles of leaves for the animals, carrying little kids on their backs, all barefoot, or flip flops, old people , young people, always someone carrying a baby in their arms,kids flying kites everywhere, people walking, walking up and down the roads, food vendors with home made soups and rice, a line of women returning with offerings on their heads from a temple ceremony, children playing along the roadside, or people sitting there watching the passerbys, and as dusk came the men and women with the incense and small flower offering were at the altars blessing, dogs and chickens wandering about, in short; one big celebration of life. everyone was poor, everyone was outside living life.

with 30 temples in the village that i live in, and they celebrate at least 2 times a year their own private village ceremony; not a ceremony for the country, or for a 3 month old baby, or for a 6 month old that is now allowed to touch the ground or for the tooth cutting puberty rite or for a wedding or for dying or for cremating, just the bi annual temple celebration means that with 60 celebrations a year for the temple, at least every 6 days you have a celebration just in your own village!.

as our trip was nearing its end, we passed another area where the villagers had some roadside stands selling durian fruits (stinky but with custard like pockets inside it). having heard about the delicious durian from my brother who would eat them all the time in thailand and rave about them, i decided to take advantage of the opportunity and ask gede if he knows how to choose a good durian and can he stop to buy one for us. he said he knows how and stopped the car, which woke up all of our sick passengers for another pit stop, and me to watch how you buy a durian; first, you just go out of the car and ask how much iit costs." they can be extremely expensive, and then you do not buy " said gede. he returned and happily announced that a small one is only 20,000 ($2.50) great, buy it! i followed him over to the woman sitting on the ground with her machete knife and 3 piles of durians arranged by size. she hit the hard brown thick spiked fruit and gave her sign of approval; hollow sound means good. gede took it and smelled it too; sweet smell, turned it around in his hands inspecting that there are no blemishes, and then asked her to open it so we can taste that it really is ripe. she hit it with her knife and it looked a little like a pomela inside. she handed it to me to taste, which i did after saying a short prayer, and sure enough, soft sweet custard taste....great choice. gede suggested i buy another small one so again the whole routine, and when mithas father came he picked out a larger one for them. put them in a bag in the car and hung around some more waiting for the family to feel better before continuing another 2 hours....meanwhile the smell from the open durian began to fill the car....no hotel will let you bring a durian into it because of the stink, as we waited gede suggested we take the other 2 durians back to her and have her open them too, because if they are not ripe, she will take it back and we get to choose another one. (the $5 for the 3 fruits was not a small price to pay if it was not ripe!) so mithas father went back a few metres to the vendor to have them cracked open with her machete knife. gede meanwhile was planning his strategy; from an empty vendors stand he took a few pieces of string, which is usually how the durian is brought home, since the spikes will tear a bag and it cannot be held easily, so you tie a piece of nylon around it and hang it from your motorbike or whatever. he tied up the open durians so they stink less, but when he went to tie up the big one for mithas family, it turned out that it only had a tiny slit on it. mithas father tried to convince gede that it is ripe and no need to open it. gede and he smelled it back and forth a few times, while i animatedly kept saying "go back and have her open it so you will know it is a good one! why take a chance? have her open it now. go back, taste it....!!" no response...eventually after sniffing and looking and sniffing it was placed in the bag and we drove off. i was baffled. why didn't he open it there?

we happily arrived back to our little village, grateful for the trip but even more grateful to be back home! back to their little palm leaf shack, and me to my resort on the sea. i thanked gede for the wonderful tour he gave us (which included taking us on the longest bridge in indonesia over beautiful landscape) and said farewell to mitha and family, and hoped that in spite of being sick for over 8 hours (without complaining! or sympathy) that they enjoyed.

on the ride home, as we went through the magnificent forests and winding narrow mountain roads and villages and the little shacks peeking out here and there amongst it all, i kept asking myself " what is it about bali that is so special? what is it? " the only answer i came up with was that most of the people (excluding those living in the big city) are living a very simple life based on necessity, in the present, with religious ceremony as the focus of their day, smiling, family oriented with several generations living together, and in nature. life is lived for today.

and only this morning as i was journaling, did i suddenly understand why mithas father did not crack open his durian....they do not have a refrigerator. so if his was open, it would have been spoiled by this morning, when they would have been able to eat it, and i was touched by this humble, simple balinese attitude. gede did not try to convince him like i was, to go back and have her open it up so we can know for sure it is ripe. gede went along with what her father had chosen to do. no advice giving, no trying to convince or change his actions. quiet respect for each other trusting that the other has his or her reasons for doing what they are doing, and it is not my business to impose my ego on them. who am i to know better than someone else what is good for them?

if you want to see some photos:

https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/sredir?uname=eileenlev&target=ALBUM&id=5620995624420882673&authkey=Gv1sRgCLO0t9aQr_fXdA&invite=CKPKqMcI&feat=email