This morning I set off to go to nyomans again so that I could go with her husband to the temple. Just as I neared her house, her father appeared on his motorbike opposite me by his house. I said hello, and he quickly entered his house and came out holding an offering box (that I had decorated and given to nyoman as a gift) and some incense sticks and gently opened the box to show me that there are also matches inside, along with all of the fruits and cakes of the offering. We continued to sign language each other, since I don't speak Indonesian, and he doesn't speak English, and I understood that he would be driving me on his motorbike to the temple. So I hopped on, and before he took off he showed me how to hold the offering on my lap with my right hand, while holding on to the back of the bike with my left, as I sat side saddle. Now I felt like a real Balinese woman going off to a ceremony! Dressed with my white brocade blouse, and offering on my lap, and a man driving the bike! It made me laugh.
He made his way uphill through the forest path, and I enjoyed every second of watching village life unfold in the early morning hours; men cleaning the freshly slaughtered pig or chicken for the offerings, using the rain water that flowed thru the narrow canal at the side of the road, for running water. The lush forest had little tin roofed shacks with palm leaves for the walls, unimposingly situated here and there among the tall trees, leaving the forest with a natural feeling, untouched by human occupation.
By 7:15 I was at the temple grounds and already the men were in the middle of cooking a meal and the priests were organizing their things. A few women were standing on the side with their offerings, so I joined them. After a few minutes one of them approached me and I was happy to converse with her in English, since most of the villagers do not speak it. Her name is kedek, 30 years old, and she is married with two children 10 and 4. They live with her in-laws in the village, since her and her husband both work down south all week, she as a massagist, and her husband as a chef. She comes back to the village (4 hours away) once a week on her day off to see her children, and whenever there is a ceremony. She gives her in-laws money for rice for the kids, and has been able to buy a piece of land in the village, with the money they have saved, and one day, when she is older, she hopes to be able to build a house there. She will give me a free massage. Her questions were; "How many children do you have? How old are you? You look younger than your age .Is your husband here with you? How long have you been in Bali? Where do you live? Who do you know from the temple? ".
Meanwhile the gamelon band players arrived, carrying their instruments on their shoulders, and set up on the bale. The music began, along with the chanters who had been singing from the start already. She accompanied me through the ritual of placing the offering by the altar, and sat me down next to her so that we could "ask permission" from God, to climb into the forest to another temple. When we finished that short prayer, she, along with some other 6 women, each placed on their heads huge tall pedestals with offerings on them, formed a line and I realized that we were going to go in a procession to the other temple.
Some men, who held banners with dragons on them, lead the way, followed by the women with offerings, followed by some 10 priests and priestess' and next, select musicians with instruments that could be carried along with them; drums, cymbals, gong, and a chime. The rest of us devotees followed and we left the temple grounds and began to hike up a narrow path into the mountain through the jungle, accompanied by the musicians. It was very touching seeing us hundred people participating in a ceremony in the forest. I realized that the music that was ringing out was alive among the trees and plants and that it too nourished the lush Balinese landscape. We walked, quickly, single file, up the narrow and steep path as it wound its way in the shade of the forest. I wondered whether I would be able to make it to the end, without having to stop, or even just have a break….I had no idea how far we were going. A few people dropped out along the sides in order to rest, and I tried to sense the energy of the group to keep me going. As usual, much laughter, especially when they saw the priests stopping along the side to pee. They teased them, but only later did I remember that "emptying "themselves is necessary before performing the ceremony at our destination.
Little paths led off from the one we climbed, going to small shacks hidden here and there in the forest. I began to search for a way to energize myself in order to continue the quick pace up the steep mountain, and realized that breathing deep and slowly exhaling allowed me to relax as I walked. And just like when a woman is about to give birth and thinks that she just can't continue another minute, I suddenly realized we were going downhill some 50 meters and had reached our destination.
The band had changed the music and was now seated in a small makeshift amphitheatre, where all those who had arrived were already sitting huddled on the ground next to each other. When I arrived I was surprised to see a huge black rock jutting out of the mountainside, in the forest, some 2 stories high. So this was the sacred place we had all marched to in order to "invite the spirit of God to come down into the temple below" for the ceremony. A small altar had been built in a crevice near the rock, and we all sat on the ground facing it; priests first, devotees next, and the band in the back. My new found friend quickly motioned to me to sit next to her, and I was grateful. Nyomans mother in law, aka my guardian angel, quickly passed me a cup of water. Next to me was a frail thin old woman, practically toothless and with only one eye. As we sat there waiting for the priests to finish their own ritual, a beautiful voice began to sing a chant, and I realized it was the old one eyed woman next to me. Soon a chorus of a few other chanters began too from another direction, with a different melody, and the band also played, and the priest was ringing his bell, nonstop, which is a form of focusing ones' mind. What a symphony of sounds and impressions.
Many times I felt a wave of gratitude that I was alive and experiencing this moment; in such a place, in such a way, with all of these people. The magnificence of the power of nature, the simplicity of the barefoot priests as they climbed around the mud path blessing the seated devotees, the priestess that stuck her incense stick in the half filled cup of water since there was no other way to have it be upright and burning with stone surrounding her, the devotee whose cell phone was ringing while we were all praying, the priests and priestess' all dressed in white, sitting on their dirt marked bare feet, the young eight year old boy sitting in front of me, praying devoutly, the multiple layers and layers of realities all happening at the same time.
After having been anointed with the holy water and praying, we all began the path back down to the temple, again laughing at those peeing along the wayside, others overtaking the slower ones, and laughing, and the music from the gamelon was now joined with the chanting and music coming from down below at the original temple. I decided to stick with the old lady and watch her climb down and just follow her steps. Coming uphill I noticed that all the women carrying pedestals or offerings on their heads, just kept their heads upright! I couldn't figure out how they knew where to put their feet each time?! I began to hear the gamelon band getting closer and closer and also the priest ringing his hand held bell at a constant beat, so I stood on the side a moment to let them pass. Suddenly I was again with my new found friend. I asked her if she knew how old this old woman in front of us was. She asked her. And the answer…."beyond 60". It made me laugh for two reasons; one, because it reminded me of western women that don't want anyone to know their age, but these people just have no idea how old they are….since they don't celebrate birthdays…they just know they were born when the Dutch were still ruling here (the country is now 63 years of independence I think….) and secondly because I will be 60 in September….and I still have all of my teeth and feel young and strong!
After about half an hour we had arrived back at the original temple in the forest, and there we waited outside the temple entrance while the priests inside were busy performing their fire ritual for the receiving of the "spirit" of God that we were bringing back to the temple after having received it in the mountain. An additional sound was added to the cacophony as two men held huge wooden mallets and were hitting a hollowed out tree trunk about 1 metre tall, in order to accompany the heightened energy of the occasion. They took turns hitting the bell, keeping a steady rhythm. They always do things together, instead of one man just beating out a rhythm…there is always an interaction with someone else, a communal effort of working together, listening, two making one sound. Once they were finished, we again entered in a long procession, each person placing their special offerings in their place, and the band returning to their bale. All that was left for this morning ritual was to again take a moment to ask permission from God, to go home now, and return at 3 in the afternoon for the official yearly temple ceremony, after having prepared everything for it until now. I was grateful for being able to participate with these lovely simple people, in their ritual.
When I returned to the resort, I emptied out my offering, so that Nyoman could take the box back and I could eat what had been blessed; an apple, some baby bananas, a mangesteen, a salty hardboiled egg, a snake fruit, a little 3 pointed cupcake, and a cellophane bag with 6 mobiles strip fried cookies in it! The cookies were the surprise for me…..even when making the cookies, they echo the layers of meaning hidden in this Hindu religion of balance between the inner and the outer, the dark and the light, the good and the bad, the creation and the destruction, and the little cookies were in the shape of infinity…..
The ceremony at three was a gathering of over one thousand members of the temple. It consisted of the usual bringing of offerings and then sitting down crosslegged on the ground, one next to the other in semi rows, and just being….it was over two hours of this, accompanied by the gamelon band, and a slow but continuous flow of people bringing offerings. I asked nyoman why it hasn't started yet? She said that certain people are supposed to bring certain offerings for certain places in the temple (north, south, east west) and until all of the "parts" come, they cannot begin. She said that everyone just waits, until everyone arrives….there is no pressure to come on time. Maybe something happened at home and someone arrives late, or they haven't finished preparing the offering yet….all is well….they are just sitting, some small talk, no one is looking at their watches, no one is upset, no one seems the least concerned….and then by 5 the ceremony begins, with the usual ritual of the priests purifying everything and everyone, and all of us praying together, a financial report by the head of the temple, and an explanation of future plans….while the smiling priest is speaking into the microphone, most of the thousand people are conversing with their neighbor, but that's fine too…no one is "shooshing" anyone to be quiet, and the priest is not the least bit offended that people are speaking and not listening….this is a typical scene here in bali, just letting everyone be who he is, and a relaxed feeling of togetherness, and a very unstructured approach to prayer and life….just letting everyone do their own thing, and together with that, a tremendous feeling of community and oneness. And when it is all over, and all the women need to get to the altar in order to retrieve their offerings to take back home, the gamelon band plays a rousing and speeded up version, in order to add to the excitement and finale of it all….leaving everyone happy, the grounds covered in rubbish….which will be collected later by 5 volunteers that dedicate their time and energy to the upkeep of the temple, in return for not having to pay the $20 yearly dues.
I have noticed that this constant ritual of communal prayer at ceremonies, adds another layer to the day to day reality. And to think that what I just experienced, is happening all over Bali, everyday, in some village temple! No wonder the energy feels different here.
