too much abundance

One of the "lessons" I am trying to learn here in bali is to recognize and accept the trio of creation-abundance-transformation (Brahma-Vishnu-Shiva). You could also call it Beginning-middle-end. Endings sound so cold and painful and final that I prefer the word transformation. And the truth is that I much prefer to just stay in abundance and not have to deal with transformation at all. And I think this has been my world view until now. I was sure that if I just try hard enough the abundance will continue on forever and I won't have to go through any loss or pain or sorrow or endings. All there will be is tons and tons of light and goodness and beauty. Or so I thought.

And then I find myself everyday observing how the creation-abundance-transformation are intertwined and constantly in a process. There cannot be one without the others. Period. This might possibly be the reason why the Balinese seem so easy going and happy. They know that everything is changing and there is nothing to hold on to. The trio is inevitable and also equal in value. There is nothing better in creation than in transformation. So a building is built, and lived in, and torn down. And the flower offering is created, and used, and then rots away on the sidewalk. We are born, we live, we die. And then we are born again, and live again and die again….

So…each time I pray, I ask to be able to see and accept this trio in all of its' manifestations. And hopefully to let go of my need to just stay in the Light of abundance thinking it is the only good and safe place. Transformation is just as magnificent, and may include some pain, but who cares? And each time that I experience a new understanding of this trio I am so grateful and in awe at the wholeness and necessity of it all and the miracle that this is how the world is, I am willing to go through it all again, just to discover another layer of this amazing reality called life. And I thank god for the lesson and promise that I am willing to go through all the pain and confusion and loneliness again since the process is such a gift.

With that said, whenever I am feeling lonely or confused or in pain, I try and remind myself that I have invited this on myself, and if I can just see what the lesson is that I am being taught, and accept that it's a "package deal", than I can continue breathing, trust the process and be patient. Together with that wise place of awareness, I myself feel quite tiny and lost and overwhelmed when it is actually happening again and again and again. The last time I went through it was a few days ago. I found myself feeling like a victim, betrayed, and a loser with the kids. I had been buying lots of sketch books for all of them so that we could paint and draw (instead of watching television or fighting). The books only cost 30 cents each. And since there were numerous cousins joining in, I bought a large quantity so that each one could have their own sketch book. Going into the city to buy them was not an everyday activity, so I started to buy 15-20 at a time and keep them in a bag and when one of the kids finished their sketch book and wanted a new one, they just asked me for one, and the abundant bag of sketch books would come out and they would joyfully pick out one by the sweet cartoon drawings on the covers.

What started off as a wonderful creative activity soon turned into a hell for me. Instead of enjoying drawing and painting they were now busy having a race who could finish their sketch book faster and get a new one. I wondered where I had gone wrong? My anger and disappointment in them was misdirected. I knew they are just kids, and if I am having a hard time accepting reality, then I have to look at my part in all of this. How could I let go of controlling the new sketch book allocation or make some rules that would be respected? How come a gesture of love from my part had turned sour? What don't I understand here about children and borders and the material world?

When I shared this with a friend, his response was that possibly too much love kills love. I thought about that. Could it be true? Could my theory of never ending abundance be wrong? Does it really backfire? I started to look at things here. How there is no pantry, no big shopping trip. They are living in the present. When you need eggs, you buy eggs. When you need soap, you buy soap. And when you have used up the eggs or the soap, you can go and buy more and not have a stock in the storage room so that you are never lacking anything. This was so different than my western habit of consuming. I always bought at least two of everything (so there would always be abundance). But here, if the kids saw eggs, they wanted to make pancakes. If there were no eggs, they didn't think about making pancakes. They were not all the time demanding a non-stop supply. Sometimes there just wasn't.

When they returned from a two week stay by their (westernized) grandmother, it included a huge bag of candy that was consumed within 24 hours, without any parental intervention. They ate as much as they wanted whenever they wanted to. That was the clue for my question. When showered with abundance, there was a natural desire to consume. As soon as it was consumed, and it ended, no one asked for more. It was over. A place of lack had been created; the natural next step after abundance, which makes room for creation again. Inhale-be there- exhale.

It hit me that my whole way of being was so used to striving to be in a constant state of abundance, including having abundant sketch books so that no child would be without, ever, that I was not allowing for a natural "lack" to exist. That fear of being hungry, or being without, or death, or transformation, or losing what I have, was causing this backfire. If having or not having was one and the same, and the natural order of things was apparent and I truly could comprehend that there is no such thing as something ending, since in the ending was already planted the seed of the new creation, then I could detach with love at each moment.

And together with that understanding and release from the sketch book trauma I was in, everything changed. And I realized that even my thoughts must go through that trio!  That each time I find myself up against a wall or in a corner all dark and lonely, can I laugh and remember it too is part of the trio?

have a dream

The first day I arrived in the village I am living in, a man passed me on the road and stopped his motorbike. He asked me if I speak English. I said yes. And then he told me that he has a 12 year old daughter that asked him if he ever sees a tourist that speaks English, to please ask if they will speak English with her, since she wants to practice. I agreed, and within in a few minutes already met his daughter who was returning from school, and we went together to their house.

On the palm leaf shack there was a simple sign written in English that said "the miracle bamboo resort". This was their house; a simple room made of palm leaves an earth floor with a double bed, a single bed and a desk. No window, no door, just an opening where you can enter. The kitchen was the same but half the size and with some plastic containers with food and an open fire. The bathroom was outside with just a palm leaf wall separating it from the yard, a hole in the ground for a toilet, and a hose with water coming from their neighbors house.

The family of five lived there on a plot of forest that a cousin owned and was willing to let them live there until he sells it to someone one day. The father would help people build or paint houses when the opportunity arose…a position that could earn him about $2 a day. The mother sewed sequins on little straw boxes on commission and received ten cents for each one, requiring a few hours of needle work, in between cooking, cleaning and tending the cow and pig. They were happy simple people. They became my adopted family.

I asked them about the sign on the house. They said that a Canadian woman had befriended them a few years previously and told them about positive affirmations and creating your own reality through visions. So the sign was their vision, along with many others on pieces of wood written with a black magic marker and placed above the childrens' bed saying " Have a dream but do not expect" and "happiness is what you make in your life" along with others. The twelve year old knew English quite well already and she was my connection to the Balinese lifestyle, since she spoke English, and I was her connection to the western world.

One time I remember the neighbor was getting married. I excitedly asked if I could join them at the ceremony. They hesitated and then agreed, and only later did I realize that they did not have the $1 needed to buy the rice and cookies and sugar and glasses for the wedding present, so it was my treat.  As poor as they were, their clothes were always clean and ironed, the grounds were spotless, and they were happy. She was top student in her class, and wanted to become a tour guide or English teacher when she grew up. On my previous visit she told me that she did not have the necessary money to continue her schooling for high school, but hoped to receive a scholarship.  

When I returned to bali this trip, and went to visit here as usual, she was already in high school. I asked her how it was and where it was. It turned out that she was one of 600 applicants that had applied for a scholarship for a relatively new school that had opened and was funded by the government. There were 75 children from all over bali in each of the four grades, and they all lived in dorms on campus. The school was built in order to teach leadership skills to children of low income families, and was entirely in English! She had been one of the 75 accepted, and was now attending. I was so curious how she felt to finally have a bed of her own, without her two younger sisters snuggled up next to her in the single bed, and a place to put her clothes, and three hot meals, and all day long in English, even though everyone was Balinese, and what it is like not to see her family for months, and isn't it difficult to learn Japanese too, and which English novel is she reading in her mandatory free reading time from the library there?

We spoke for a few hours, and she shared how the best book she read so far was by Dale Carnegie called "The Magic of Speaking". She is naturally shy, and although she is smart and speaks excellent English, she wants to be able to feel comfortable standing up in front of an audience and speaking. I was surprised that she had decided this is something she must do. She shared how all 4 years of high school are geared towards making them leaders at an international level, and her dream is to be one of the four children in the graduating class to receive a scholarship to study abroad at an English speaking university. She is interested in economics.

I just sat there in awe. This is a girl that has never had more spending money than a few cents from babysitting by the neighbor that she would save up in order to have a few minutes once a month to go to the local internet café in order to write me and her Canadian friend. She hopes to achieve what the school is aiming towards; educating leaders at an international level for the future of the Balinese government. As we spoke my eyes returned to the sign above the bed that said "have a dream, but do not expect". I told her that I too have put out visions that at the time seemed impossible, but over the past seven years that I have been doing it, they have all manifested, eventually. She knows this. She had a vision to be able to speak English with a tourist, and is now on a full scholarship teaching her the skills she will need for her next vision, of studying abroad. "Have a dream, but do not expect."

ilut

Pronounced  ee-loo. She is eleven years old, and either an angel or a butterfly or a bird…I am not quite sure yet. When I first met her I thought she was just a shy quiet wallflower of a girl, compared to her rambunctious seven year old sister, and the rest of the kids in the extended family of cousins that were hanging out with me here at the house most every day. But then I started to pay more attention to her. I saw that she was just beginning to show little breasts growing on her chest. Her sweet smile and pale face were always calming and pleasant to have as a backdrop to all the other kids. I began to notice that every time the 4 year old cousin was having a small temper tantrum he would scream out her name, so that she would come and save him. And she always did. She would just suddenly appear, without a word, and knew exactly how to be with him so that he felt loved and calm again. Even if it meant him shouting commands at her to bring him water, or to tell someone something, she immediately performed the task without a word, almost blending into him.

A few days after I had started paying attention to her, complimenting her on her drawings, or saying a few words here and there to her, I noticed she looked different. I wondered if she had overnight become a woman, and possibly was beginning her menstruation. Her whole face kind of opened up and she had a glow about her. While all six of us would be sitting on the porch drawing in our drawing books, she would quietly be singing, or be working on a delicate interpretation of what someone else had just drawn. More and more I followed her comings and goings to try and understand what was different about her. There was a lot of "healing" going on with everyone, including me, and I asked some of the cousins if they too noticed that ilut seems suddenly more outgoing, singing more, smiling more, speaking in her almost hushed voice more, laughing more, joking with everyone more. They too agreed. I was happy to see the change. She was blossoming before our very eyes.

She would always be the one that would quietly go and bring whatever was needed from the forest or from her grandmothers' house, in order for us to continue an activity we had started but were now missing something in order to complete it. Never a word spoken, just would quietly rise and go and bring it. She never pushed or demanded attention but seemed to be the glue connecting all of us in whatever we were doing. As I would begin to make the flower offerings in the early afternoon, she would quietly ask if she may pick the flowers from the garden, or do I need a banana leaf, or would I like her to make the little leaf cups. There was always so much going on with all of the kids aged 3-15, that I didn't always pay attention to ilut even though she was the key to many things. But lately she and I would be the only ones still on the porch while the others had run off for ice cream or something. And she would suddenly rise, and as if flap her wings and gracefully and swiftly float off the porch and join the other children. Where did that come from? There was no one she was doing it for since they were all gone, and she was not doing it for me. But there she was with her arms going up and down as her feet quickly ran down the two steps and onto the grass and off to the road. She looked like a bird. How strange.

Then one day she showed up at the house with some long palm leaves that she was swiftly weaving into a little woven rice basket for the offerings. It was something I had been trying to learn unsuccessfully for a few years. I asked her if she was able to teach me how to make one. She smiled and happily agreed. She sat down next to me on the edge of the porch, and so gently and delicately and nimbly began to walk me through the 10 step process. I was lost after the third move, so she unraveled her weaving and smiled and began again, and again, and again. I felt no need to apologize for my slowness and lack of talent. For her it was fine to show me again and again, slower, happily complimenting me if I succeeded in twisting the leaf in the right direction. After over an hour of patience and an inner peace that made it so nice to have her as my teacher, I told her that she can join the kids and I will try and learn from the aunt or grama, that were also now sitting on the porch making them. As each of them sat next to me in turn, I realized how lucky I was that ilut was my guru (teacher in Indonesian). The others were criticizing, worked too fast, didn't unravel when I got lost, were demanding I do it a certain way, or trying to move my hands. Where is ilut my guru? I realized then how important it is that there be the right connection between student and teacher in order for me to truly be able to open up and learn.

The following day I again asked if she would sit with me, since after a few more hours with the other teachers, I had still not figured it out. Again she peacefully repeated over and over the necessary steps to create the woven rice packet. While the others played, she accepted my request for help, just like from the 4 year old with his demands. She never thought of herself, but almost invisibly gave to whoever, whatever was needed. I commented to her uncle about how special I realized she is. He said that her grandfather also noticed that whenever he is feeling a little tired, she is the only one of all the grandchildren that immediately senses it and will quietly come over and start to rub his legs or touch him to comfort him. I wondered if being the special best one, was something important for her. The others proudly shared on the day they received their report cards how they were first or second or third in their class of 35 children. I asked what number ilut was, and they said eighth. I was happy that that was not where her priorities were, in being the best in the class, although the others had a natural nack for it and didn't seem to be doing it for praise.

When the 7 of us had gone for a walk through the forest to get to the shop on the main road, all the children were busy collecting little flower pods that pop when placed in water. She joined in with them, laughing and running and collecting, and then as we stood underneath the roof of a nearby shop while it rained, she quietly opened up her little collection of pods and placed them underneath the drops of rain so that the water would allow them to pop. Never saying a word but allowing all the others to join in the activity. As we returned home through the forest again, the other children had run ahead and I found ilut and I behind and the last ones. I looked as she bent down to gather more greens in her already full hands. I wondered what she was picking now? I asked her what it is, and she quietly and happily said that the pet rabbit likes this and she is bringing him food. No one brings the rabbit, which belongs to one of the other children, weeds, except for ilut, who is always thinking of others and their needs. Next I began to collect the leaves and flowers I would need for the offerings, and she gladly offered to go to the grandmothers to bring the ones I still needed, again gently flapping her "wings" as she glided off the porch. I began to think that maybe she is not a bird, but rather a butterfly. She is there, just beautiful and bringing pleasure to others.  When we both arrived back at the porch to begin making the little flower cup offerings, she had already started to shred the leaves into the "easter basket filler grass".

 As I folded the banana leaves into little cups, I suddenly noticed that her shreds were so thin and perfect, like something I had never seen yet. This was an occasion to sit and watch and learn from her. My thin, delicate, frail ilut, was holding the knife and quickly shredding the pandan leaves with such quiet power and stability. Gentle but firm. I was learning new ways to get the results I dreamed of, from her nimble movements.  Later, at the sea, the other children quickly undressed and jumped into the water with their underwear, and encouraged me to join them. I stood at the shore and looked at the sea and saw that there was a strong tide that had lifted all the bits and pieces into the water and I preferred to forego it, enjoying clear water another time. As I sat on the shore I noticed that ilut was sitting there next to me. I asked her why she doesn't join them. She said it does not suit her. I asked if it is because she doesn't like swimming in the sea. But she said she enjoys it, but that today the sea is not in the right condition for swimming in. She stated it as a fact, without any regret or emotion. When I commented that I too don't like swimming in it when it is full of debris, she smiled a smile of recognition, that someone understands what she means. And there we sat, the two of us looking out at the children playing. And I realized that she is an angel.

a taste of authenticity

I wondered what to title this blog entry. I usually write the title before I begin. It sets the tone for me. Sums up my general impression of what I am trying to get across. This title took me twice as long as the usual half a minute. But I do feel that by the end of the two days I spent at the temple, that this is what touched me most from all of the impressions that entered. As I sat there at the closing of the three day ceremony, I realized that what I am seeing is authentic. These people are doing this for their life, and not as some tourist attraction, or new age invented ceremony. They are doing it as a tradition that is passed on from generation to generation and it still has meaning and value to them and is the center of their lives.

The ceremony was one that is done for a temple once every ten years. There are once a month, once every 6 months (a Balinese year) once every year, once every ten years, once every 50 years, once every 100 years. I didn't know what it was for. I thought it was just a once a month one in honor of the full moon. And since there was going to be a masked dance performance of the mahabarata, I didn't want to miss the opportunity. I was running late, hadn't really prepared an offering to bring with me (usually the women are busy preparing it for a few hours the day before), and thought that probably by the time I walked over there it would already be over. It is so hard for me to pass up on an opportunity to participate in these ceremonies. Whenever I hear there is one at one of the temples I plan to go since I am fascinated by every aspect of it. So as I was busily folding the palm leaves into 17 offerings to place around the family compound, I kept trying to tell myself to let it go, stay focused on what you are doing and not on what you want to do. But something kept urging me to try and get there even if I am late. I mentioned it to ketut, and he said he would drive me over on the motorbike and that it goes on till the middle of the night, so I don't have to rush.

I made a little flower offering with lots of love and good intention, instead of a big basket full of fruits and baked goods and rice and sweets representing the gratitude for the abundance that we have. I already knew the routine, regardless of the occasion, it is always the same ceremony and procedure, more or less. The dancers were wearing their colorful costumes and masks and performing to the crowds while the masses were coming in droves with baskets on their heads. All the women were lighting their three sticks of incense to place on the basket as they enter with it. I lit mine and stood with everyone shoulder to shoulder waiting for the devotees that had already placed their offerings, to finish the fifteen minute ceremony and leave so that we could sit on the ground and do the same. As I fidgeted with the incense to make sure it wouldn't burn anyone, the three lit sticks fell on the ground, leaving me feeling even more inadequate with my little flower offering (but with good intentions) but no longer any  incense sticks….i laughed. How god plays with me. Luckily I had brought one extra one for praying later, so I used that, which quickly left its hot ashes on my chest as the incense stick slowly burned. How do these women do it, so cool and collected and me such a klutz?

After praying I was happy to just sit, listen and watch the men playing the music on the gamelon chimes, gongs, and drums. Again and again and again, the same tune in a round. And another mens' orchestra of thirty men playing in turns. What I was especially hoping to see were the dancers. There were about 21 young teenage girls that would dance, a group of teenage boys with spears, and another six groups of men each with very long spears and swords and shields. They each perform for about ten minutes, doing more of less the same movement. What fascinates me is that they are doing it as a gift to god. It is not for anyones' personal pleasure, or ego or a show. It is an exercise of attention and centering as a gesture of service to a higher purpose. As I watched the eight men each time, quickly focusing on the ones that did it with ease and flow, I tried to understand what the meaning of the movements is. Only by noticing each time one of the men that could not do as well as the rest, did I realize how difficult it must be to be standing on one leg while holding a huge spear in the air, with their stable leg rising and descending, and moving their hand in a gentle flowing gesture all at once. No applause, no names, no individuality, no introduction, and no one really paying much attention to them, even though they are in the middle of everything. These are dancers that inherit the right to dance this specific dance. They range from their twenties to seventies. They pray before they perform, and they pray again when they finish. Many of them have left the village to find their fortune in the big cities far away, but are obliged to return whenever there is a ceremony.

Tow huge gongs were taken out of the holy of holies for the closing ceremony on the third day.  I had never seen this before and realized that even though everything is being done nonchalantly, with no one conducting or giving orders or announcing or directing, we are apparently being exposed to sound therapy. That the sounds that these two gongs vibrate are meant to be heard only at this point. And actually our exposure to them is secondary. It is, just like the dancing, being played for god, and we happen to be there witnessing and supporting this ceremony which the 30 some priests are busy performing. But what continues to impress me each time anew is that there is a seriousness to it all, matched with an ease and lightness of being. Everyone is mulling about, on cellphones, talking, kids playing, lots of laughter, sharing of flowers and incense and a casualness.

I am probably the only one that closes my eyes in order to just feel and hear the multiple layers of sounds and energy going on. Thousands and thousands of villagers have participated in this ceremony during the past three days. The grounds are strewn with plastic bags, flowers, incense sticks, cups of water. And what is clear to me as the priests finish their rituals and everyone gets up to leave for home, including take away bags of food for all of the priests that worked so hard, is that this is for real. This temple is one of my favorites since it is here that the daily chanting and music rings out into the air three times a day on loud speakers and can faintly be heard at my house in the forest, of which I am grateful for. All of the intentions of everyone; musicians, dancers, priests, and devotees, is what gives life to the village. It gives life to the temples. It is the reason for the villagers' existence. A taste of authenticity.