the making of a priest

Each time I see a priest I wonder how he became one. There is something so ordinary about them, and together with that something so special. And I wonder how it all began. Last night I heard the story of the puppeteer priest that was told to my friend by his father.

When he finished junior high school some 35 years ago, he was very poor and unskilled. He lived outside in the forest and would collect dry wood from the forest and sell it in order to make a living. It was a difficult life. He married and decided to try his luck in java as a truck driver. There he lived with his wife and children. After a while he met a muslim leader there that told him he needs to return to bali. He is not meant to be a truck driver in java, but a leader in his village. The muslim had had a vision of him with a straggly white goatee making offerings as an old man. So this is what he is meant to do in this life.

The man returned with his family to bali, and again they lived in the forest, a very poor life. Still unskilled he tried to support his family as a repairman, and fixing torn upholstery. They were not happy, and life was very difficult and his wife decided she is not willing to live like this anymore and so they divorced. She left for the city and supported herself and the young children. His situation continued to be one of despair for the next three years. He knew that he should be listening to the muslim leaders advice and become a priest in the village, but he did not feel confident or capable. Others would be able to recite the mantras and perform the rituals much better than him. He is uneducated and unskilled and not fit to be a priest.

Finally one day he could not continue the struggle anymore and he spoke with the head priest of the village and told him that he is meant to be a priest. They accepted him and he began to study the teachings and also began to carve the leather shadow puppet characters. Slowly his life began to change and his wife and children returned to him, and no longer denying and struggling with his role in this lifetime, he began to prosper.  and at the age of 30 became the official dalam (storyteller/puppeteer) of the area. One day a tourist saw the shadow puppets and recognized the sacred art that it represented and gave him a generous donation in order to build a workshop and keep this ancient skill alive.

Since then he has passed on his skills to two of his sons.  One of his daughters lives in Holland and helps support the family with her large income. He and his wife live in a large house with a lovely garden and a separate sacred meditation room. He has just built a large workshop where visitors are able to watch the making and performing of the shadow puppets.

I laughed to myself how never in my wildest imagination would I have thought that this priest who smokes individually gold wrapped cigarettes, had started off as an uneducated  pauper selling firewood.

the ring

The day I arrived here, I noticed that my friend had a ring with a large irridescent stone on his finger. I had never seen him wear a ring before and I asked him about it. He said that a friend had loaned it to him because it had special powers in order to open ones' heart to love. Since my friend had been suffering from a marriage that had ended after 15 years, he was ready to try anything that could help him feel that life was worth living again. He was told that within 2 weeks he would feel the results.

As we spoke, it was just as the 2 weeks had ended. He removed the ring from his finger and gave it to me to try on. I did. And he said that now I was the one to benefit from the power of the ring. I tried to refuse since he was the one that needed it, not me, but he insisted, saying that he has already felt the effect of the ring. Now it is for me.

The first few days I would "hear" lessons from the ring about love. That first one must have love of self before you are able to feel love towards someone else. That the other person you love is a mirror for you. That love must be in the Light, otherwise it is dark and cannot be felt. That love is intangible and changing all of the time. Love can reach fathomless depths. Love cannot be grasped or held on to. One must constantly be aware that there can be a dark side to love, and to be careful.

Other than the lessons, I didn't feel anything special, but enjoyed wearing the ring and looking at it now and then. As we sat by the priest, my friend told him about the ring and asked his opinion. The priest asked me to give him the ring. He placed it on his finger, but didn't say anything. After a while he entered into the special meditation room he has, and returned in a short time, returning the ring to me. I didn't know what it was all about, but just put it back on my finger.

In the evening I asked my friend what the priest had said about the ring and why he went into the room with it.
"He told me that the ring is not suitable for me. But it is necessary for you. It has the power to protect. It is as if it creates a golden ring around your body so that people can see you but they cannot touch or harm you. You need that now so that no dark forces will harm you. I naturally have that ring within me, so It is not suitable for me. He went into the meditation room with it in order to understand the power of the ring. If the stone was evil, then he would have been pushed out of the meditation room since that stone would not be allowed inside. But the stone has a good vibration and can help you in your life now."

I laughed and thought what a coincidence that it. I had been speaking with a girlfriend about some issues I had in my life a few weeks ago, and she suggested I imagine a gold bar that surround my so that I will not allow harmful influences to enter me anymore.  When I reflected on her advice I realized that that is the lesson I need to learn now at this point of my life. That my sensitivity and vulnerability are no longer serving my best interests, and that I must protect myself from forces that can harm me. So here I am, in bali, with a ring that is intended to provide just that power to me now.

the contract

While we were riding on the motorbike to the ceremony a few days ago, there was suddenly a crowd of people gathered on the sides of the narrow main road, and the street was scattered with palm leaf ornaments along with rice and food stuffs…a few moments later I realized that there had been an accident. But we continued as planned and went to the temple.

Then today while visiting the priest, he mentioned that his young son who is an outstanding puppeteer too, cannot join us since he is busy playing the gamelon at the cremation. I was surprised to hear there was a cremation today, and asked who had died. My friend said it was the young mother that was in the accident a few days ago that we passed on the way to the temple. I let out a groan of aching pain to think that a young mother died on the way to the ceremony, with her offerings scattered there. The priest and my friend did not say anything more about it and continued to talk of other subjects.

When we came back home I asked my friend how the Balinese feel about a young mother dying on the way to the ceremony. He said that it is looked on as something very special.

"She has finished her contract. This life is just a debt she owes and when she is done paying it, the contract is ended and she does not need to be here anymore. It does not matter that she was young and healthy and that it happened in a moment, or whether she is old and sick and it is taking a long time. Each of us has a contract that is kept until it is fulfilled."

I asked if he knows how the accident happened.

"Yes, she was holding onto her nephew that was driving the motorbike, and in her other hand she was holding a very large offering she had made. A motorbike driving very fast passed them in the opposite direction without touching them, but she was worried that her large offering would fall, so she let go of holding onto her nephew in order to hold the offering with two hands, and then fell head down onto the street and died of a concussion a few hours later."

I asked how the nephew feels?  How the husband and children feel? How the family relates to it all?

"It is a trauma. But they must all go through the 5 stages of mourning now. First denial, then anger, then bartering, then resignation, and only afterwards will they be able to accept this."

"Who will help all of them go through this process?"

"We are very lucky here in bali to have large clans and family that come and support us. We do not need to cope alone. They will come, bring something small to eat, just say hello, make a joke, keep them company. In time everything will pass."

the gift of children

After having spent the last 3 days among thousands of villagers, because of the ceremonies, I couldn't help but notice the different way they seem to treat their children, then in the west. It is as though they are there to serve them. That they are a gift they have received and are very caring and careful to respond and treat them with love and attention. Oftentimes it even seems as though the child is the adult and the adult has been put there to serve the child. Anytime even the slightest sound of sadness or crying is heard, several adults will rush over to see if they can satisfy the childs' needs.

Yesterday while I was watching the gamelon players at the dance ceremony, I saw that one of my favorite gamelon players was sitting on the mat, with a little 2 year old daughter on his lap. It is as if an honor to have a child with you while you are playing, rather than a hindrance. Before I knew it, the music had begun and when I looked over at him playing the gong, I realized that his little niece was not only sitting on his lap while he played, but her tiny petite hand was being gently held by him as he kept a constant beat on the gong along with her. I realized that this is only one snippet of a kind of meditative peacefulness along with a good sense of rhythm that the Balinese have. It was so sweet seeing how without a word spoken they sat there and beat the gong together.

Another young 5 year old who I had seen playing the repetitive beat every few seconds on the  gong by himself for the entire 2 hour dance, came to sit with the orchestra but had tears in his eyes. One of the priests, possibly his father, was trying to console him and get him to forget his sorrows and play the gong as planned, but he was sad and uninterested. I continued to watch their interaction and slowly understood that possibly he had been scorched with hot water on his chest or been hurt there a few minutes ago, and was in pain. I wondered how I could possibly explain to them that I can do a healing on him. But no idea came to me. I just kept looking at the sad child remembering how usually his eyes are afire and he is so cute. Suddenly the idea arose that I don't have to be right next to him to heal him. I can do it from where I am sitting. So I sent him a healing for a few minutes, hoping it would work. Even though he had refused to play the gong and had been teary and sad already for 10 minutes, a few minutes after I finished sending the healing, I looked back at him and saw he was smiling and watching the dancers, and a few moments later was already back beating the gong as planned.

What is interesting is that in spite of this royal attitude towards the children, there is really no singling them out or making them into stars. They re just kind of like wise old folk that have been given as a gift to be cherished and respected by their new parents.

hooping with the locals

When I go over to the sea to hoop, I will often bring a few more hoola hoops with me, in case some of the locals walk by and want to try. I am used to their usual resistance together with fascination. I know that by approaching them directly I will not get them hooping. So I just kind of let them oogle from afar, and invite them with a hand pantomime, and they nod their heads no. then take a few more steps closer, and again I offer them the hoops, and they refuse. And then I see them starting to mimic my hip movements as if they too are hooping, and again I invite them, and again no.

But a few moments later one of the gang is daring to touch one of the ones on the ground, and they tease each other a bit, and I invite them again, and there usually is one brave one that will play the clown and try and hoop and purposely fail. That's my chance to start to encourage them. And sure enough, slowly slowly they are hooping and pros within minutes. ןi begin to show them a few more advanced moves too and we are all busy giggling and having fun. Once they know the basics, they themselves usually start inventing all kinds of new movements that I don't even think of.

Next, usually one of their parents will show up and I then tell the kids that they are now the "guru" (teacher) and they go through the same back and forth game of their parents saying no but actually dying to try it, and soon we are all hooping and laughing. It's fun hooping with them, since they are really all like a bunch of kids, parents and child alike, just enjoying a good time and playing in life.