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.