Once upon a time

Once upon a time the people of Bali lived from the land. Their homes and food and utensils, and tools all came directly from their surroundings. Amertas' parents still live like this, as do many Balinese that are still farmers. I love spending time with them because they are so simple and authentic. They do end their day by watching a small television, or rather falling asleep next to one, after a long day in the forest working. But no cell phones, or motorbikes or luxuries…just the basics.

I have just spent the last two days helping them prepare for a ceremony tomorrow. Their oldest son, 45, has never really "hit it off" work wise…and doesn't seem to feel empowered. Their other 4 children are happy and can support their families. A while ago they were able to get him to agree to go with them to a balian (healer) to see what it could mean. The balian told them that there is an old spirit that is preventing him from enjoying the natural empowerment that god blesses each of us with in life. If they make a ceremony and offer up their finest offerings, the spirit will be nourished and go on his way and leave their son alone so he may find permanent work and happiness in himself and life. (No psychologists here folks!) So, since among the animals they raise are pigs which they sell for ceremonial offerings, they chose their finest, fattest pig (he really is huge! He has a brother about 1/2 his size, and when I commented on such a difference between the two that are the same age, Amerta said it is like him and his very small and skinny brother!) and decided that this will be for their sons' ceremony. Tomorrow they will slaughter it and the ceremony will begin in the afternoon, after they finish all the cooking and preparations for the sacrifice. Ever since his brother knew that there will be a ceremony for his empowerment, an inner strength has slowly been building up in him, and more lightheartedness too.

Yesterday the neighbor came by to help make the little triangular fried doughnuts. The rice flour necessary for them was ground at a neighboring mill instead of store bought in order to insure the finest quality. The coconut and coconut milk for the recipe are from their trees. The coconut oil that they are fried in is hand made by his mother. And when it came time to flip them over in the oil filled wok, she reached over to the nearest palm tree and cut off a branch, quickly shaped it into a spear form with "her knife" and handed it to her neighbor that was responsible for the frying stage, so that she could spear it through the hole in the middle and lift them out into the palm leaf colander. The "cooking spoon" was placed on a banana leaf, to collect the dripping oil. We shaped the doughnuts as we held an oiled banana leaf in our left hand, as a "plate". Making the triangular shaped doughnuts gave me a chance to think about the meaning of their shape (Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva = Creator, Preserver and Recycler) and just that added touch of "emptiness" in the middle of it all (the hole made with our finger once we had finished achieving a nice triangular shape pointing upwards to god). As I shaped them I thought about the symbolism in the Jewish foods, with the Hamentashen also triangular, but "filled " inside instead of empty! An interesting idea for reflecting on…along with our Chanukah doughnuts that are also filled. The main difference in these customs is that theirs' are all intended for God, while in Judaism it is intended for us. Our seder plate tradition also came to mind, as I saw all the symbolic food items being placed on the palm leaf plates.

Next we made white and brown(palm sugar added) rice "slabs". The three of us sat outside, since that is where everything is done,( other than sleeping, toilet, and cooking on the open fire) and with a big wooden pestle the size of my whole leg, also hand made from a tree in the garden years ago, i mashed the sticky cooked rice into a smooth paste. Hard work. As I was marveling at it, my girlfriend pointed out that in her mother in laws village they look for "easy solutions" and are not interested in the old traditional methods. And here I was marveling at all the old traditional methods! She said that instead of putting a bunch of plastic bags tied on to the end of the pestle to mush with, they would take palm leaves and weave a little "sock" for the pestle and tie it on with a palm leaf stem, and not plastic string. And instead of mushing it in the basket that is lined with plastic rice sacks, they would weave a big circle of palm leaves to place in the basket. I wondered if anyone even thinks about the fact that this rice is so hot from the fire and all the plastic fumes and vibrations.

All of the work is very slow and done with others, laughing, talking, gossiping. There is no sense of trying to get something "done". It is just "doing". No clocks, no agenda, no pressure. I wondered how these traditional food offerings were invented. All they have are their natural resources, and fire and water. No refrigerator. No pantry. No oven. The hearth that the food is cooked on was hand made from earth by her husband 30 some years ago and is fueled by the branches and coconut husks that are a natural daily energy source from the daily activities on the farm. The food can "sit" and nothing happens to it. No ants come, no mold, nothing to get spoiled, apparently because of the slow long cooking process.

Today when I arrived at 7:30,l the 5 sister-in-laws were already busy weaving baskets from palm leaves for the offerings. Another 50 or more had already been prepared by amertas' mother as a pastime in her "free" time. Grandchildren ran around, happy to be barefoot and playing with each other as the older children took care of the younger ones. All there is is dusty earth and a cement pathway from the outdoor faucet past the kitchen to the bale where we all worked. A woman leader was hired to organize each of the offerings according to its purpose. If I hadn't asked who she was I would not have known she was the "leader" since not a word of "leading" came from her mouth. She just silently worked alongside the rest of us. She was creating 5 tiered pedastals with fruits and 3 dimensional rice cones and sweets, etc. Each one was a work of art, for God, and done according to the rules. And then placed in their adjacent bedroom on "the table" used for holy purposes. The rest of the women were busy laughing and asking lots of questions about me, and reminded me of how the women in my community work like this for holidays and celebrations. We worked like this for over 6 hours, taking a lunch break of delicious food made by a daughter in law that was there. We each walked into the walk-in closet style kitchen where each day the food is cooked in the morning and placed on the table and is available for breakfast, lunch and dinner for each family member. There is no dining table or chairs. Each person takes a plate and finds a piece of ground to sit on somewhere, and eats with their right hand the rice, vegetables, and fish. I had to remember that "right hand" all day long….since the left is never used actively. The doughnuts, the rice cones, anything that touches food, can only be touched by the right hand. I realized that meal time is for nourishing their hunger. It has nothing to do with socializing. Even just now I walked into the kitchen of my landlord. She was sitting in a corner on a little stool eating, and her husband in another corner with his back to her, eating. When they are not eating, they are a very communicative and happy couple after 25 years of marriage. When I saw how all 10 of us women that had worked for hours together, were suddenly sitting in our own private space and eating quietly, I realized that all of the communication goes on as people spend their lives with each other. One third of their lives is making offerings! This they do with other family members and neighbors and thus create the strong bonds and mutual guarantee that typifies their lives.

Meanwhile the father, son of honor, and his brother in law, sat on the ground in a separate corner quietly carving and shaving coconuts for the offerings. Each person comes with his knife. When I saw them sitting there like that I realized why there is a special celebration for the blacksmiths each year. Their entire life style revolves around their knife. Each woman has her knife for preparing the offerings each day, another one for the food, and each man has his for cutting the meat, or his scythe for working in the forest. Amerta had picked out a new knife for me the other day from a blacksmith. I would have just chosen whichever one the woman would have handed me. But he went one by one with each of the 10 knives in the basket checking the flexibility of the blade and its' strength. Once we arrived home he said I could come get it the next day after he had sharpened it for me. Who would have thought I have to sharpen a new knife?! But when he handed the hand made knife (and handle) to me, he told me to be careful because it is very sharp. I asked if there is a special blessing for new knives that they will cut well but not my fingers! And today when I used it for the first time it was as if the knife was teaching me how to use it safely.

As I continued to walk on the grounds I found Amerta frying on an open flame in a wok, many young chickens. They were also raised on the farm. Amerta was proud that he had a whole neat pile of the wood scaffolding that had been used for his new house a few meters away, and that he could use it to fuel the fire for his brothers ceremony. His brother had also helped build his house the past two months, and learned new building skills and would hopefully now find work in that area. His father had said the mantra that one says while slaughtering the chickens, in the morning, for the ceremony. He explained to me that the mantra means that when all these chickens are later offered to God, that they have been raised and offered with love and respect for gods' creations and for that we are grateful, but we pray to be healed at a higher level than the animals, and that we will be blessed with brains and capabilities that will flourish.

Each time I passed the dark little open fire room where the food is cooked, I peeked in to see what was happening there. It is about one and half square meters, with cement walls half way up and the rest is slatted bamboo that allows the smoke to exit, and a bit of sunlight to enter. There are two openings on top of the hearth, for cooking; one always has a pot of boiling water going, and the other has a funny shaped pot, that when the bamboo colander for cooking the rice was sitting in it I suddenly realized why it is that shape (flared out on top)! A piece of bamboo leans against the slatted wall and holds a utensil. A few items are hung against the slats. No cupboards, no drawers, no shelves. Just a cement block at waist height to place things on. The chickens are quietly strutting around all day long, pecking at whatever has been thrown on the ground…and everything is thrown on the ground! There is not a "waste basket" mentality here. The dusty earth is swept twice a day, and "watered" several times a day so that the dust is minimal and the place looks "spic and span" clean. Since there were offerings in the makings on the bale, the chickens got to them too while we sat there eating. At one point I started to clap my hands to scare them away. But all the other women were making all kinds of guttural sounds to get them moving. I wondered how an entire island uses this guttural sound instead of just clapping at them which shoos them away in a second. But as I watched the women during the day each time growling at them I realized that they are always carrying someone or something, always at work, and to be able to clap your hands is a luxury…they need something immediate from their throats.

At the end of the two days of preparations I finally understood why all of bali is busy making these woven baskets, and placing coconuts and bananas, and mangos and chickens and eggs, and rice cakes, and palm leaf decorations, and spices and a million little origami kind of palm leaf "containers" for cooked rice, dry rice, sprinkling water, carrying water…because once upon a time, everyone was a farmer and just went out into the garden to collect whatever they could to offer to God in gratitude and in prayer.