What do Dylan Thomas and pigs have in common?

25 Jul 2012 2 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

I awakened about 4 a.m. to an ungodly racket. Not frogs this time. What on earth??? Struggling up through layers of sleep I tried to make sense of the sounds. Then it hit me. Pigs. They are slaughtering pigs for the huge cremation ceremony scheduled for Saturday. A prince died and the preparations have been ongoing for weeks. Hundreds of people will have to be fed. I am reminded of a poem by Dylan Thomas:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The pigs do not go gently…

So, here I am, awake, sitting on my balcony, drinking coffee in the soft pink of sunrise when my dove alights in the potted bougainvillea that sits on the southeast corner of my balcony, the corner nearest The Naked Tree. A moment later, his faithful partner flutters in beside him. I’m only seven feet away and I freeze, my cup midway to my mouth. I observe in awe as they coo and examine the bush, it’s delicate white and salmon-colored blooms, and it’s very sparse leaf cover. As quickly as she came, Mrs. Dove leaves. Unsatisfactory home, dear, it simply won’t do…her message is clear to me, but Mr. Dove remains.

Potted Bougainvillea

The next moment he flies up to the pendant lamp hanging just above my head. Oh my! No place to perch there, so he flits down to the railing of the balcony. My heart stops. To what do I owe this blessed visitation? Then to the arm of the chair. Now he is within three feet of my still frozen cup. I watch him and observe the extraordinary feather collar of black with white polka-dots at his neck, the intelligent eye trained on my face, the dove-gray body and shocking pink feet. Oh sweet and beautiful friend! I wish I could help. There are many lovely trees in this garden. Surely one will make a suitable home?

The railing, the arm of the chair, the coffee…

We assess each other for some time then, with several gallant bobs in my direction, he takes his leave. I sit, stunned, unmoving. Coffee, cool now, still has not reached my lips.

Would I have had this enchantment had I not been up at dawn? Had the pigs not been slaughtered and their cries wakened me would I have missed this holy communion? I owe a debt of gratitude to the pigs. I won’t be partaking of their flesh, but this morning they bestowed the gift of a timely awakening so I could keep a sacred appointment with the doves.

Tadpoles, Caterpillars, and a Naked Tree

22 Jul 2012 Leave a comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

There is a lesson here. I’m sure of it. The Tree, rounded and lush, was home to a pair of cooing doves. Many times daily they sought cover in  her protective branches and rustled around copiously completely hidden from prying eyes. Mine.

The Tree

That morning I spied a ladder propped against the trunk. Look closely…it’s there. Being unfamiliar with the species of Tree or the possible nature of her fruit, my first guess assumed harvest. The Tree had produced something delectable that Ketut would gather. I parked myself on the balcony in a position affording the most advantageous view and waited. My patience was rewarded. Ketut climbed the ladder with a wicked-looking curved knife in hand. On his way up he chopped at a few stray branches and sent them crashing through the vegetation below. Next thing I knew, the ladder was below him. He was scaling the trunk and hoisting himself into the thick crown of leaves above him.

Ketut in The Tree

In the next instant he was hacking off branches at an alarming rate. Well, I mused, maybe this is a pruning rather than a harvest. What if the doves have a nest in there? What if he upsets it and they can’t go home? Anxiety was setting in. At the onset I had feigned nonchalance, observing but trying not to be obvious about it. Now I was fully engaged, horrified, not wanting to believe my eyes. Hack, hack, hack. More and more branches crashed through the palms and frangipani below. I had to bite my tongue to keep from shouting Stop! Please stop! Ketut, after all, is the gardener and the garden, after all, is not mine. With each loud whack of the knife and each crashing fall of a branch my heart sank a little deeper into grief. I turned away and busied myself with distractions not wanting to see what I feared.

Later, after all had been silent in the garden for some time, curiosity compelled me. I had to look. Mon Dieu! Butchered! Denuded! The Tree stood naked and grotesque against the sky. This was abominable! I needed an explanation. My thoughts were stormy…Where is he? Where is that Ketut…that butcher! He’d better have a good story because I an not happy.

Naked Tree

I found him, of course. Summoning as much composure as possible I inquired, politely, about the tree. It was for safety, he said. Too much wind, tree fall on house. What about the birds? I needed to know. Was there a nest? Many nest, Ketut smiled, but no egg. He further explained that he was not finished. The whole top of the tree would be cut off but his knife had broken. The whole top of the tree. Then what? I asked. He smiled that angelic smile…Then, one month maybe, new tree!

I’m sensing a theme here…first the frog, now the tree. Death and rebirth. Transformation. For my last visit to Bali I lived at the edge of a rice paddy. I arrived when the new shoots were tender green rows against the muddy earth. I left just before harvest. The paddy was a golden field, ripe, mature, and I had grown as well. This time I live at eye-level with the treetops. My neighbors are the birds. I am in mid-heaven, halfway between the sacred and the mundane. And I know why I’m here. Yes, to rewrite the manuscript…yes, to hold a workshop…but the greater purpose, wrapped all around in this beautiful cocoon of my home, is to liquefy. I’ve already felt the beginning of it. I could be terrified, or I could yield into acceptance. What choice does the caterpillar have? What choice do I?

A lone dove sits on a naked branch of The Tree. One month, little friend, I tell her, one month.

A Storm, a Flood, or an Optimist?

23 May 2012 1 Comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

I’m waiting for the storm. We may get 3 inches of rain tonight. For my friends in Indonesia who read this blog I know that sounds like a non-event. Trust me, in the midwest it means flooding. Unlike Bali, our ground isn’t equipped to absorb all that moisture so quickly. On the other hand, we may not get a drop. The sky can brood and bluster all it wants, but in Minnesota that doesn’t guarantee anything.

So I’m watching the lead-colored bottoms of the clouds with anticipation. It’s a cozy feeling. Intimate. And it can turn to abject terror in moments if the wind begins to rage and trees topple over. I felt inspired to write a quick Haiku:

Clouds form gray mountains

The air waits breathless and still

Nothing else happens.

The storm that never comes is a lot like expecting the worst. I’m a shameless optimist. I always (yes always) anticipate the best to the point of neglecting to prepare for less agreeable alternatives. I have a friend who is the opposite. He always imagines every conceivable disaster and prepares for it, just in case! I tell him he frets enough for both of us. I have another friend who worries but does nothing. I neither worry, nor prepare, just go blissfully on my merry way oblivious to dire circumstances lurking at every turn. As a result I never get sick, never have accidents, never seriously hurt myself, and have an average happiness factor of 9.9 on a scale of 10.

Personality differences are of great interest to me. I didn’t one day decide that I would be an optimist. I just am. I’m sure my friends didn’t set out to behave as they do. They just do. My three daughters are unique and wonderful and very happy, but unlike each other as they could possibly be. Why is that?

Thousands of words have been written about this subject and there are many self-help “how to be happy” books. But if you’re like my worrying friends, its a difficult task. Happiness doesn’t come naturally to them. It’s probably possible only in flashes, like lightening, then quickly followed by an ominous roll of thunder, which I haven’t heard yet tonight but the wind is picking up. I’m going to find a spot on the porch and settle in to watch what may, or may not, happen.

Summer storm approaches

Yoga Makes Love Space

20 May 2012 2 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

In my yoga practice I enjoy the heart opening poses. There are many benefits to drawing the shoulders toward the spine and down. Anyone who uses a computer for any length of time each day can see the value in reversing the hunched back and concave chest. This opposite action gives the lungs more room. The body can breathe deeply adding a higher measure of oxygen to the blood which in turn increases brain function.

There’s another benefit. One of the things I found delightful about yoga in Bali was the opportunity to experience teachers from all over the world. Sitara, my petite yogini from India whose manipulation of English was always entertaining, insisted that the heart opening poses create more ‘love space.’ Sometimes it’s a stretch for my Midwestern mind to embrace the less tangible aspects of the discipline. To imagine that by thrusting my sternum forward and breathing deeply I will invite more love and compassion into my heart is an idea I would like to simply accept without the skeptic in me saying, “Seriously?!”

The thing is, the longer I devote myself to a regular practice of yoga the more I notice subtle changes that have nothing at all to do with the physical and everything to do with attitudes and perceptions. While my body becomes strong and flexible, my mind and heart are getting an unexpected overhaul. I find myself thinking more clearly. I am seldom worried. Instead I feel intense joy just being alive. Emotions touch me more deeply and I have a new tenderness toward myself and others.

Shortly after Sitara made her comment about the results of heart opening poses, I was wandering Ubud streets that I hadn’t previously explored. I came upon this two-story hut and the unique sign advertising its function. The whole concept was so incongruous I stopped dead in my tracks and stared. I’m sure I had the open-mouthed, glazed eyeball look going on as I tried to assign some appropriate meaning to the sight before me.  Failing that, laughter came bubbling to the surface and I laughed and laughed and laughed until my face was wetter from tears than the usual rivers of sweat.

I eventually pulled myself together and continued on my way contemplating the strangeness of life. What are the chances I would stumble upon this landmark and have Sitara’s lesson so humorously  reinforced. For me it was an affirmation, a synchronistic sign that creating more love space is a vital piece in my continuing evolution.

My Wife is Fat

16 May 2012 3 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I strolled through the neighborhood this morning with a shadowy intention of ending up at Lake Harriet.  The sky was a powder-blue dome, seamless, the sun its only adornment. I’ve driven or biked the route many times but walking yields sights and sounds that are otherwise lost.

There are huge, peach colored irises in a garden right by the sidewalk. They are the size of coconuts, or cantaloupes, utterly breathtaking. One block has a row of maple trees including the showy Crimson King with the dark purple leaves. There was no traffic.  It was so quiet I could hear bugs skittering through the grass. I could also hear my own thoughts.

I’ve learned a lot about thoughts. Thoughts are the root of everything. No matter what situation I find myself in, how I choose to think about it becomes my reality. That nugget of truth was brought home to me time and again when I talked with my Balinese friends. One conversation in particular comes to mind. We were discussing nutrition, the abundance of healthy eating choices available to the native residents and foreigners alike in Bali. In spite of that, I had noticed that some Balinese women and children are overweight. My friend told me that the Balinese can earn more money now and it is easier to buy rich food or prepackaged cookies, candy, and snacks. He flashed a huge smile and said, “My wife is fat.” It was one of those moments, there were many, when I didn’t know whether to congratulate him, scold him for saying something unkind, or commiserate. I have a terrible tendency to sit with my mouth half open and a glazed look in my eyes while experiencing inner turmoil. Still mentally trying to sort through the etiquette of an answer, he rescued me. “I like it!” he exclaimed.

So, to my point, he thinks fat is beautiful. He THINKS fat is beautiful. Therefore his chubby wife makes him happy. This is what was floating about in my mind as I meandered the streets this morning. I dallied through the rose gardens, across the biking and walking paths that circle the lake, and out onto a wide, plank dock. As I sat down at the end I realized I had been noticed. The fish were gathering. I counted 21 then stopped. They formed a semi-circle at the end of the dock with their pointed noses all headed in my direction, watching, waiting. We eyed each other for about three minutes, then they tired of me and swished away. I took off my sandals and bared my shoulders to the warm rays. Ahhhh. I slowly gave in to gravity and reclined full-length.

Creating my own reality is a big responsibility. Choosing how I will think about everything makes me have to think about thinking. It requires that I become aware of my tendencies toward negative or positive viewpoints. It is the process of mind watching mind. As a child I was taught how to moderate my physical actions. I remember mom saying, “Sit like a lady,” and I knew that meant I should keep my knees together. But there was no instruction regarding how to think in order to create my own happiness.

I have neither a fat wife nor a fat husband. That’s a plus. However, I do have to organize my thinking around wrinkles, retirement, and what matters most as I enter the ‘golden years.’ What surprises me is the feeling of empowerment. Knowing that I can stop at any time, review my thoughts and change them, puts me in charge of my own happiness. Senility may eventually put a wrench in the works, but until then I’m choosing NOT to think about that.

We Wash Their Brains

01 Apr 2012 1 Comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Mr. Jati has been making art for 50 years. He is passionate about his work. But I didn’t know that until the other morning I notice the door to his studio is open. Dewa, Mr. Jati’s son, had told me I could go in any time, that his father would show me the paintings. Still, climbing the 8 or so steps to his door and announcing myself up to that moment hadn’t seemed appropriate. But on this day, with the open door issuing an invitation, I make the climb and peek in. “Hello? Mr. Jati, Hello?” I don’t know what I had expected, but a man shorter than my 5’2″ in a sarong and short-sleeved shirt buttoned haphazardly was not it. “Mr. Jati?” I ask. “Yes, yes, come in, please.” He is beaming and I immediately feel at ease. “Would it be alright to look at your paintings?” I ask politely. “Yes, yes, please,” he says again.

In very good English, he describes his work, the techniques he uses, the books he has read about art, the countries where he has held exhibitions, and the man’s love for his craft radiates from every pore of his being. There are three huge (I mean 5 x 8 foot) canvases with sketches lining one wall. There are easels with somewhat smaller canvases that have some shading applied to them on the other side of the room. And there are several canvases with the figures and vegetation already showing the colors that Mr. Jati had chosen in another area. His depiction of traditional Balinese life rendered in rich pastels holds me enthralled. I ask him why he is painting so many at once. “They come in my head!” he says, going on to explain that he is also preparing for an exhibition in Jakarta in 2013. “I need 30 to 45 paintings at least,” he tells me.

Picture compliments of website cited below:

http://www.agungraigallery.com/artist-detail/dewa-nyoman-jati/

I stare at his creations so beautifully and expertly rendered from a memory of what Bali used to be. After thoroughly absorbing the art I thank him and give him my best hands-together-incline-the-head gesture of gratitude. He beams again and says, “Come back tomorrow, I will have more.” The next day I don’t have to search for him. He greets me as I come out my door and says, “I will interrupt your day to show you again my art!” I have to chuckle as I follow him up the stairs. Sure enough! The man is prolific! He has several more semi-completed canvases. I am amazed and I tell him so. He beams.

The next morning I visit with Dewa over breakfast. We talk about his father’s art and the beautiful and complex traditions of the Balinese people. I ask Dewa if he thinks the next generation will continue to follow Hinduism and preserve the culture. He nods with an emphatic “Yes!” “Really?” I reply, “You seem quite sure.” He flashes one of those brilliant smiles and says,”From very little we take the babies to the temple every day,” then with that mischievous grin of his he continues, “we wash their brains!” After the initial shock and a good laugh I think to myself, in the U.S. we have a similar system. It’s called television.

The Seduction of the Immediate

18 Mar 2012 1 Comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I realized this morning that I have succumbed to the seduction of the immediate. I have allowed myself to be completely engrossed in blogging because I love the comments, the interaction, the intimacy of it.

But today it’s time to get busy and make some serious headway on my novel. That was my excuse for spending two months in Bali, right? So here I am, on my balcony, computer ready, not to be distracted by all the wonderful sights and sounds I could share with you! And I figured out how to set the timer on my camera. Major accomplishment!

Notice “Bali hair!” No amount of styling of any kind works here…just FYI.

Revisiting

10 Mar 2012 Leave a comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Last night while I unpacked and re-packed my bags AGAIN, I opened a folder marked “Bali” that I had pulled out of the file drawer about a month ago. I thumbed through the miscellaneous brochures and receipts I had collected on my first trip two years ago. Pertenin Spa where Wayan gave me the most amazing massages was in there, and the jewelry shop where I had a special ring made to commemorate the rite of passage that trip represented for me was also there. I vaguely remembered having seen some pages of writing at the back of the file. Sure enough. There were my entries from the morning I left, snow so heavy you couldn’t even see the lanes on the freeway, to my return twelve days later. After the sensory delights of the tropics, Minnesota from the air might as well have been Siberia.

Scooping up the papers I stretched out on my bed and began to read. By the end I was laughing and crying joyfully. The first few pages were worthy of a travel magazine intent upon selling the wonders of Bali and it took me right back to the magic of that place. But then I began to wax philosophical as I always do, wondering why I didn’t know what I wanted for myself. I had a firm grip on what I did not want and it had manifested abundantly in my life so far. But why, at 60, didn’t I know what I wanted? As I explored that thought utilizing discovery writing techniques over the next few days the tone began to change. “What if I sold my furniture?” I asked myself at one point. “I think I could part with…” and there followed a list of just about everything I own and the reasons why I could let it go. At another juncture I asked myself, “What if I gave myself permission to write?” What if indeed!

As I finished reading the last page I realized that every possibility I had entertained as I wrote in Bali two years ago, had come to pass in my life. Far away from the appearances of the life I had created for myself I was able to engage with a much deeper and more honest place of knowing. As Wayan’s healing hands kneaded away the fear so tightly held in my body, and the slow-paced ritual ways of the Balinese unwound my driven type-A craziness, I saw that what I wanted was simply what I had always wanted.

I returned to Minnesota and tucked my “pages” in a file and forgot about them. But something infinitely powerful had been set in motion. I began to write. I began to sell furniture, a piece at a time. And I began to imagine a life of simplicity and freedom that centered around writing. I had no memory of those pages. I have never re-read them until last night. The power that resides in discovery writing astounds me! My “What if’s” of two years ago are now my reality and I am filled with joy like nothing I have ever felt before. It is as though all the scattered edges have been drawn in, stitched up, and made whole and I have come home, home to myself.

Countdown

01 Mar 2012 Leave a comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

I think it was October when I started surfing the net for plane tickets to Bali. In December I began shopping for my tropical wardrobe. Now it’s March first and I leave in 13 days! I’m so ready! The thick, wet, slippery snowfall yesterday cinched it. This has been a mild winter so far, really quite tolerable. But the inconvenience that accompanies a heavy snowfall in the city triggered my impatience. As I skidded into the side of my car, unable to find stable footing, and caught myself just in time to avoid sliding underneath it, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud…only two more weeks!  I’m so ready!

 

Last winter

A call from the Consulate

18 Feb 2012 Leave a comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized

It was a normal morning at work. I was re-arranging furniture, refreshing displays, doing my daily thing when a co-worker approached me with eyes big as poached eggs holding the phone at arm’s length. “Sherry, it’s for you…” her eyes got bigger…”It’s the INDONESIAN CONSULATE!”  I took the receiver and, sure enough, it was the Indonesian Consulate calling to tell me they had approved my request for a 60 day Visa. However…don’t you love it?! However, I had not included my passport in the paperwork. I didn’t mention that a request for my passport was not included on the website list of information they required. Instead, I assured them that I would UPS it to them immediately with the return envelope and postage included.

UPS is great. I can follow my passport online and see the dates and times of every transition it made on its journey to the Consulate. It is currently “In Transit” on its way back to me. Ahh, what peace of mind when that lovely document is in my possession granting my welcome to remain in Bali for two uninterrupted months. The butterflies are multiplying in my solar plexus and my face wears a perpetual grin.

Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries