Bali: One morning in time
A gentle offering from the Island of the Gods
Listen to this post (read by me, with soundtrack by the pre-dawn birds)
Dear NE-One
When the world goes crazy, which it so often does these days, I find myself questioning my life as a travel writer. I sit with immense discomfort – often in a beautiful place – and feel guilty and helpless and ashamed that I didn’t train as an emergency doctor or first responder or war reporter or Someone Who Could Do Something To Save The World.
What I can do, though, is share glimpses of the world, and hope that my words contribute to a better understanding of how we all fit together on this planet; to honour our differences with tenderness, and to take delight in celebrating all that connects us.
And so with this in mind I wanted to share something gentle today; something I wrote for Getaway magazine a few months back, and I hope it gives you a sense of connection to, and some understanding of, Bali – a place so often called the Island of the Gods.
One morning in time
It’s mid-morning and the sun is trawling its rays through the palm leaves that canopy over our West Bali garden. I’m working upstairs – where my is head deep in research and the house is surrounded by the branches of an old mango tree – when a soft, spicy trail of incense weaves through the wooden floorboards. Through the window I see Ketut, my Balinese “aunt”, walking away from the house as tendrils of incense smoke twist elegantly around her shoulders. She is wearing the traditional clothing of the island’s women: a sarong wrapped left over right, a lace kebaya top (white, because today is purnama, full moon) and a wide sash tied around her waist. As she reaches the shrine in the northern corner of the garden she startles a chicken that’s been scratching in the fallen leaves, and it squawks and rushes off between the banana trees. Our resident waterhen protests with a loud kirkwaaak, its typical retort when it considers the peace of the garden to have been shattered.
Ketut doesn’t seem to have noticed the small commotion that’s just flustered around her feet and as she stands serenely at the shrine – a simple bamboo plinth that will one day be replaced by one carved from stone – she places on it a canang sari, a small tray made from palm leaves and laden with petals. Beneath that she wedges a few sticks of dupa (incense) and then gracefully wafts her right hand in circles through the smoke. Her back is to me, but I have observed this ritual often enough to know that Ketut’s eyes are closed as the dupa carries her prayer to the gods.
I reach the garden to say hello, and Ketut is placing another offering on the ground – this one intended for the demons, and she sprinkles arak (palm wine) over petals and a cluster of rice to appease the darkest of spirits, who the Balinese people always acknowledge. Balance is as integral to life on this island as rice and religion.
While Indonesia is the world’s most populous Muslim country, around 90 percent of Bali’s people are Hindu. Theirs is a unique union between Hinduism and the beliefs that predate the arrival of both Islam and Hinduism on the island; it is the backbone of a fascinating culture that is interwoven with ancient myths and legends, and marked by the intricate ceremonies that punctuate time.
Every day countless offerings are made to the gods, spirits and ancestors that shape life on this tropical island. As well as rituals to acknowledge full moon, new moon and the obvious occasions of birth, marriage and death, there’s an astounding array of others – like Magedong-gedongan (performed to protect an unborn baby from evil) and Mepandes, the tooth-filing ceremony that marks a person’s transition into adulthood. There are ceremonies and offerings associated with everything from meals to harvests to auspicious days on which to honour metal objects, and the complex layers to all the occasions – the preparations, rituals, beliefs – is absolutely astonishing. As foreigners, what we witness is usually only the very surface of a culture that influences almost every aspect of Balinese life.
“Om swastiastu,” Ketut acknowledges my arrival in the garden with the traditional greeting that is also a blessing. Om swastiastu I reply, and this time it is me who startles a chicken – the one pecking at the rice placed for the low spirits. The significance is in the act of offering, not the offering itself, and so the fact that it has become chicken fodder is of little concern to Ketut, nor the demons.
At a superficial level, I have come to know Bali well during the 10 intermittent years it has been my home – but I am well aware that I could live 10 lifetimes on the island and still learn something new every day. As a foreigner, life here is a humbling journey of discovery; it’s an island best travelled slowly, and with senses wide, wide open.
Until next weekend
In a reading kinda mood? Put the kettle on…
Ordinary Women, Extraordinary Lives: Shale Biggs – adventure racer and mother of three girls
Simple solutions for a stress-free flight
Luang Prabang – in 5 photos
Author interview: Mark Eveleigh on his novel Driftwood Chandeliers
The memory of dust – travels through Kenya in a Land Cruiser
Packing up and moving on: The one thing that’s changed the way I travel
A rhythm of daze: the intriguing mathematical labyrinth of Bali’s calendar
