thePlace

Under the faint velvety light that stretches beyond the Java Island, the sea shimmers far below. That arched moon that has been hanging in the dim sky has slowly turned itself and now smiles brightly to the sea below. It gleams silver and gold in the swell; soon joining the moving sea. The tide pushes the fluttering swells beyond the horizon, beckoning the moon to stay. Nearer to shore, clusters of lights from the fishing boats quiver in unison.

It’s another enchanting night up in the Space. Somehow this time there’s an irrepressible urge to share the beauty, the tranquility, and … perhaps the sting too. Maybe in not sharing, I fear I would become immune to the beauty and the pleasure. Or perhaps in sharing, I hope to escape the subtle malaise that has settled herself permanently in the air after the conversation with Made this afternoon.

Even in this sylvan splendor, I wonder if I could become inured to unpredictable moments of helplessness.

The contractor, Made, told me finally that he is loosing money in building the 2 cottages and that he is short at least Rp 70 million – about US$7000 to complete them! Although I have suspected it and have urged him to open up to me, it’s still a shock. I am almost done paying for them – the price we agreed on which is what he quoted me from the beginning . Where did the money go? He cited the increase of transport fees and hence the increase prices for all the building materials, unexpected carrying cost because of the location, etc. Lately, the delay of materials, the absence of workers, the onset of his peculiar sickness (he has been complaining of high blood pressure, a slight stroke and inexplicable general weakness that debilitate him) – all these, not a dreadful concatenation of random events. And now, the truth.

He also told me that he couldn’t secure a loan although he has tried. I fear the project will be half-finished and there’s no way to make the sustainable amount to keep it operational.

There’s no dramatic sense of doom. Nonetheless a general sense of subtle malaise that gives rise to a sense of boredom settles in – something that I have to deal with. The issue is to find a win-win solution – but how???

Now I have found peace with the soil but I am not finding peace above ground – will I ever? Need I? Is hard to see that it’s always just in my mind – my perceptions, that everything is unreal, the essence is all emptiness. In the mist of a disaster, how can I see that everything is pure in reality, non-dualism – no judgment, no object, subject and action….

This is the way it is. Indeed there’s no way to hide and meditation means having to work with my fears, frustrations, disappointments and irritations, the painful aspects of life.

Am I still grateful? Yes - the situation is still very spacious, beautiful and workable.

It’s the night of Nyepi, except for the sporadic far-off dogs’ howls and the insects, all is quiet. The air is still, only a few lambent light glow hesitantly far below, the villages are completely hidden in the darkness of the new moon night.  No human noises - it’s like the whole island is indeed deserted, a fact the Balinese tries to simulate to fool the devils that have awakened the night before. Nyepi is the Balinese new year that falls on the spring equinox. It is a day of silence – supposedly a day of retreat, prayer, and meditation. For 24 hours all roads are completely devoid of transport; all activities cease – no work is done, no lamps may burn, and I have read that no sexual or others sensory pleasures indulged in. It is hoped that all the demons and evil spirits aroused will be deluded into thinking that the island is complete devoid of life. Hopefully this will prompt them to leave the island.

My first Nyepi in Bali, my favorite day so far – in silence there’s a special kind of energy pervades in the island. It was a cool and windy day. Absence of the usual smoke and fume, there was a special lucidity and freshness; an emptiness that gave such clarity to the greens, to the blues, to the grays – a splendid mélange of colors. But by nightfall, after I joined the party briefly, in dimly candle lit room, I see and feel the dregs of the Nyepi indulgence instead of abstention. Along with the stertorous duet from Made and his brother, there are half-filled glasses, hot chilies cold chicken, fried rice, and my crapulous stomach from overly spiced food. I feel burdensome now - for with a whole kitchen of food and 13 people (Made and his brother’s family are here for Nyepi) in the house downstairs, the sense of meditation retreat and silence have gone astrayed!

And Blackie, he had his dog day on Nyepi. Everyone just loved him and all took pictures with him. He had so much attention and was fed continuously. He flaunted, jumped on the dinner benches, ran around excitedly, and he went around and begged for food – no one could have resisted his begging cute puppy look, and he knows it. I didn’t spoil his day – so he indulged and is boasting an even fuller stomach than mine!

I should have fasted, maybe Blackie too. The next Nyepi, I should definitely be alone with Blackie only.

Few days ago it was Melasti, a day during which the Balinese purify images of their deified ancestors and gods with water. In the village, gaily dressed villages gathered at the Desa temple early in the morning. On their heads, women skillfully balanced offering towers of flowers, fruits and cakes while men carried all the effigies of the gods and kids skipped and ran about on throng. The procession meandered their way down the hills for about 5 kms to the Lovina black sand beach for the symbolic wash at the sea. All over, the streets were clogged and traffic hardly moved.

The festivities continued till today, Nyepi. Yesterday, the last day of the old year, Ogoh-Ogoh (gigantic evil spirits of all forms) were paraded in every village and burned to exorcize them. The villagers spent days and weeks to make these gigantic images of evil spirits, complete with claws, fangs and bloody heads – some took after the ghosts and heroes of Hollywood. All day, chants are vigilantly broadcasted on the loud speakers to cast out the hordes of the evil spirits (bhutas and kalas) of the old year. Purification sacrifices and offerings are made at crossroads to nourish and appease the demons. Toward the last evening of the old year the whole island starts making as much noise as is humanly possible to arouse all the malingering evil spirits. From up here I heard the noise resonated – drums, yells and all possible noise makers that the villagers could lay their hands on.

I have stopped following the Balinese festivals - there are complex and too many of them. After about 4 ½ months here I have the impression that the Balinese are always either preparing for a ceremony or taking part in one. There’s an unending chain of celebrations. Added to the over 60 major religious holidays, Islamic holy days and Christmas are celebrated. The Balinese devote most of their waking hours to an endless series of offerings, purifications, ceremonies, processions, dances, and hundreds of other religious rites. Besides the mandatory purification rite for every activity, there are family temple festivals, dusun (hamlet) and desa (village) temples festivals, holiday festivals for the gods, harvest festivals, moving feasts for the dwelling spirits, blood sacrifices…. Then there is a special day dedicated to the planting season, to wood carving, to the birth of a goddess, to the deads, to the newborns, to the machines, to the animals, to the playing of a new Gamelan, etc. My friend had a cleansing ceremony for a meditation chair that he received as a gift; it is deified and offerings are presented daily.

And of course there are endless parades/processions of all kinds; and blocked roads and traffic-detour nightmares that are part of the parcel for living in Bali.

Up here I know there is a festival when workers disappear and another day of blocked and jammed roads in town. So this is another week of no work up in the Space. The deadline for the completion of the two cottages is postponed till end of April, and hopefully no longer. Now I understand why Sunday is usually not a rest day for most laborers and I also begin to understand why Javanese workers are preferred.

I have moved – at 13 hour February 8. It was a perfect day, the bluest and driest day since returning to Bali last November. The date and time were picked by Pak Sri, the paranormal I met at Titik’s house. The foretelling of such precision is hard to ignore – I rushed to reach the House with a borrowed car loaded to the brim – I was late by 10 minutes. Ayu and her entourage prepared all the necessary offerings. They lead me around, uttered prayers and asked permissions for the move-in from various spirits and gods. I murmured my gratitude to mother earth, the trees and everything that makes the Place livable for all.

The House is finally done now – almost 3 weeks after moving in. I have decided to pull up stakes, moved in to see it completed. I have to take charge or the House will remain in the twilight zone of an ongoing state of uncompletedness. The mysterious leaky pipes and pool, the bleeding wall, flooded gutters, the spraying alang-alang roof, the failed water pump, the unworkable water heater…. I was stuck in a time warp, trapped in a fury of righting the wrongs. It was a blur of chaos - I had neither the time to sink my roots nor think of anything else. I lived through the past 3 weeks as bravely and as patiently. No time to whine and swaddle in self-pity. It didn’t matter that I have paid the contractor to take care of everything – in Bali there’s no where to file a complaint. I have heard - the first time most of the payment goes to learning money

Frustration at the paltriness of words prevented me from writing. More than once I broke into tears in sheer helplessness – I felt utterly alone. Blackie was my only solace.

Ah, but how different I feel now. It’s magical to watch the sea dances with the sky while listening to the sound of the running water on the two huge rocks into the bath pond behind the wall. All the frustrations that I have gone through have long been evaporated into the Space. I am thankful for all the tribulations – for through them I have met great people. Wayan, the painter who ‘coincidentally’ painting the 5 Balinese Angels that bring me mindfulness, compassion, beauty, simplicity and adventure – stuff I seek in life. Wayan’s 2 former students are painting the view at the end of the steps. Ahwei, he has all the solutions and makes all the construction problems seem trivial. Titik, someone I can always count on and through her, I’m now teaching a class in a language school….

Tonight – the air is unruffled. The body, exhausted from a day of gardening (there still so much to do), the mind eager. I watch the sky fades into darkness against bright red sky with the silhouette of mountain peaks in Java across the sea. Sitting on the Javanese Bale on my veranda perched high on a hill, I’m suspended in space, the Bali Sea, villages and Singaraja span below me. Unhurriedly, the sea merges into the sky, the surrounding hills withdraw into its resoluteness; my body dissolves into the space under the vigil of distant lights.

There’s no point trying to etch into this journal the gratitude I feel, to convey the sense of belong that floods through my being…. I am here, like these rocks and sky and sea, we just are. There’s nothing to do.