Crazy Hot

28 Jun 2012 2 Comments

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

It’s hot in the Midwest. People do crazy things when it’s hot. Like my artist friend, Carol, for instance. We had a nice chat while she watched butter melt in a frying pan on her 104 degree deck. Her plan? Cook an omelet right there on the sweltering deck. That’s right, an omelet with mushrooms, peppers, onions…the whole shebang. She e-mailed me later. It didn’t work. The whole project was relocated to the kitchen stove. But hey! I give her credit for trying.

Then there’s my other friend Gina. She’s into yoga. Now some people like hot yoga and this weather doesn’t even register as warm in their book. Gina, however, decided it was too stuffy in the house for her personal practice so she took it out on the patio. Nothing wrong with that, right? But she felt that clothing was also a hindrance in the triple digit heat. She was upside-down when, through the splayed legs of a perfectly executed downward facing dog, she caught sight of the UPS man coming around the corner of the house. She had forgotten the note she taped to the front door specifying that, in her absence, the package should be left on the back patio. You don’t want to hear the end of that story. It wasn’t pretty.

For me, however, the weather is a perfect conditioner for my return to Bali in a few weeks. I’ve been shivering ever since I came back to Minnesota. Now summer has finally gotten her act together and other than an insatiable craving for DQ Blizzards which must be indulged, I’m as happy as a (steamed) clam.

Gifts of the North Node

15 Jun 2012 2 Comments

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

I am a brilliant creation of the universe formed from the cosmic protoplasm sailing into eternity. I have two hands, two feet, a couple of great ears, and I’m clipping through life at a moderate pace; minding my p’s and q’s, crossing my t’s, dotting every i.   By jm Raging Universe

Illustration by Michael Forman

That quote caught my attention today because it describes the south node in the sixth house. Everyone has a north node and a south node specific to their date and place of birth, and each node is in one of the twelve houses of the zodiac. If I’ve lost you I’m not surprised. Astrologers know exactly what I just said! And no, I’m not one of them, but I have had readings done once a year for the past three years by an incredibly gifted astrologer, Anita Doyle, whom I’ve never met. My south node is in the sixth house, and the south node in the sixth house is about minding the p’s and q’s, crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s. My existence has been defined by should’s and should not’s, Norwegian Lutheran guilt, and perfection. Responsibility was my middle name. Until now…

So what changed? I don’t worry much anymore about p’s and q’s. The t’s and i’s have gone missing. Responsibility? I’ve removed as much of it from my sphere as is humanly possible. And guilt? I’m working on it. The glorious thing about my south node is that there is a north node sitting directly opposite in the twelfth house of Pisces. The south node represents natural tendencies, the ones we automatically fall into without thinking. The north node holds those qualities we need to develop to bring us into balance.

Yesterday I was fretting about something I’d been asked to do that would put me in front of the public for several days at a time. I was voicing my distaste for the kind of energy I would be required to expend. It all felt wrong. My daughter was listening patiently. When I finished my rant she matter-of-factly said, “Mom, your north node.” I looked at her blankly, then in a flash I remembered. According to Anita’s assessment a year ago, my opportunity had come to embrace the north node, learn to let go of logic, perfection and performance, and get on with my evolutionary development. It was about honoring my intuition and leaving behind the habitual patterns of striving to meet everyone’s needs while neglecting my own. It was time, Anita said, to move away from my past modus into a meditative place removed from the dictates of duty and responsibility. She called it a more monastic life. Monastic!?! The word terrified me and I summarily dismissed everything she said thinking she had really missed the mark with this one.

Looking back at the choices I’ve made since then I marvel that they have systematically brought me to this place, this life that looks exactly like the north node in the twelfth house. There was no conscious plan, but something within me was so compelling that ignoring it was not an option. When gently nudged by, “Mom…your north node,” I knew I had to listen to my feelings, not my logical mind. If something feels wrong, if pushing feels distasteful, the lesson is NOT TO DO IT! So I won’t. Instead I will trust the unfolding, a state that was utterly impossible for the old south node me. With that decision I feel my gut unclench, my shoulders relax, my breath go deep and soft.

I Googled north node in the twelfth house earlier today and found this passage by Elizabeth Spring. Tears streamed. How liberating. How affirming. How grateful I am to be traveling this path.

“We are called to “the monastery” here in the sense that it is a non-verbal, solitary, spiritual call towards Self awareness. The 12th house has sometimes been called the house of troubles, because it can’t be dealt with logically and pragmatically, and to do so doesn’t benefit the person with a North Node in this house. However, the key to this house placement is that there is no longer any need for troubles, duties, obligations, humility and service! All those are embodied in the opposite 6th house. As a 12th house North Node person you have earned the right to take the deep pleasures of the unconscious: gifts of magic, insight and deep peace.”

Painting Outside the Lines

14 Jun 2012 4 Comments

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

3800 people from 37 different countries have read my blog. Amazing. And the fact that somewhere behind the scenes that information can be gathered and available to me is even more incredible. But better than all of that is the technology that makes it possible for me to find Rita Golden Gelman, send her an e-mail, and have a response within twenty-four hours from her laptop in Turkey.

So who is Rita Gelman? Backing up just a bit, I met a woman from Iceland who had read Tales of a Female Nomad. She highly recommended the book so I ordered it and began reading immediately. Rita Golden Gelman, the author, lived in Bali for eight years. As I read about her experiences there I began to understand and appreciate more fully my own journey. So I emailed to let her know how profoundly her book had touched me. She answered immediately and included in her response the name and e-mail address of a person who lives in the seaside village of Kerambitan, Bali. She encouraged me to contact her friend if I wanted to see that area, and of course I will.

Rita is now 75 and has been traveling the globe and living with indigenous people all over the world since 1986. She’s had no permanent address.

The thing that becomes clearer day by day is that there are many ways to do this life. The roadblocks to pursuing dreams, finding peace, experiencing joy, are often our own limiting assumptions. The stories we tell ourselves determine how we live. Often they are just stories with no basis in truth, they are perceptions of how we think we should be.

Last night I got together with a group of friends. One of them said that she had been reading my blog and her favorite post was the one called My Wife is Fat. The Balinese man who said that also told me that he likes it. Fat, to him, means something far different than it does to us in the U.S. He tells himself a story about his wife that allows him to appreciate her ample girth.

When I utilized discovery writing techniques, I found new ways of perceiving my reality. The tagline on my website says, “Creating a life that fits like skin.” It’s trial and error. I’ve let go of the need to get it right the first time. I’ve given myself permission to paint outside the lines. Have you ever seen the view from there? From outside the lines? It takes my breath away. That’s where I’m finding my skin. That’s where I seem to fit. But I still have to fight the ‘stories’ that play in my head. They are full of shoulds and shouldn’ts. They want to keep me small and sad and caged. I see them for what they are, old fears, old old stuff. So I give my head a shake to clear the cobwebs and click the BUY button. A confirmation number for my return flight to Bali appears on the screen and my soul sprouts wings.

Returning

09 Jun 2012 3 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Poetry Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Longing
 
It haunts me,
calls gently.
Return, it says.
I don’t have to ask
the knowing is written
in my bones…
the longing
speaks more loudly
than love
or anger
or pain.
Return, it says,
to my green arms
to my heat
to my fragrance
to joy.
Return.
And I will…
soon.
 
This poem needed to be written. It was tight around my heart. I couldn’t put words to it because I didn’t know when. I didn’t know if soon meant weeks, months, or unbearably longer. Today I know. Weeks. I will return to Bali in July, in four weeks. That is just long enough to get a new visa. Just long enough to see friends one more time…just long enough.
 
I have never loved a place before. I’m trying to understand the improbability of it. Why this place? Why half-way around the world from everything I know?
 
 
Of course I explored the question in my discovery writing and the answer rang like truth when the words of it appeared on the page. With truth comes freedom. Freedom allows. And it is all about allowing ‘havingness.’ Havingness is about worthiness. Worthiness is about self-love.
 
There! Did you follow that process? Discovery writing unlocks truth. I love it! I created it and I believe in it. It has informed and transformed my life. And for those of you who have faithfully followed my blog, I am returning. Please come along!
 
 


Balinese Feast and the Invisible Bee

31 May 2012 1 Comment

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

I’ve been recuperating for two days. How do they do it? Chefs, cooks, women with large families? I spent one day cooking a Balinese meal for 13 and I am fortunate to be alive to tell about it.

Look at all those steaming pots! And the countertops are littered with other dishes all awaiting the finishing touches, a sauce here, a garnish there. I had a sneaking suspicion that there would be some strategic planning involved in an undertaking of this magnitude. So I spent several hours making a schedule of exactly when to do what. It saved my life. The plan was to prepare my very favorite Balinese dishes so that I could enjoy the flavors and share them with others. There was one small problem: I had too many favorites.

There are many things I am not, but stubborn isn’t on that list. I am doggedly persistent when I have a plan, and even though at about 2 p.m. when I realized I had not stopped for lunch and would not be able to if my time-line was going to work out, I refused to adjust my agenda. I was going to pull this thing off if it killed me! Diners were scheduled to arrive at 5:30. At 5:00 I left the messy array of food groups for 15 minutes to pull on a clean dress, jewelry, run a comb through my hair and dash back to my stove. I knew when people began to arrive there would be offers of help. There would be no delegating. My regimented schedule would not flex to that extent. If I paused to figure out how to tell someone else what to do it would throw me off my game. Guests had to stay out of the kitchen.

The sweet aroma of sauteed vegetables for curried tempeh wafted through the window to greet the arriving participants. I could hear muffled compliments as their voices floated into the kitchen from the open windows to the deck. I checked the clock…on time…good. I could hear happy chatter and the clink of wine glasses.

Then, suddenly, everything was done. How do you serve a plated meal to 13 people simultaneously? Hmmm. You don’t, at least not without help. At that precise moment Dan, Jessa, and Nancy walked in. They took one look at my panic stricken face and said, “Tell us what to do!” For the next five minutes my support team packed rice into cup size molds and turned it out onto plates, scooped green beans with gado-gado sauce and sprinkled peanut garnish adding a plop of carmelized onion to the rice mound. After strategically placing two perfectly browned tofu satays next to the rice, a scoop of curried tempeh was added and the finished product was rushed out to the drooling guests while the assembly line prepared the next two plates.

There was a moment when I paused to look at the results, to actually see what was leaving the kitchen. You know what? It looked like what it was, Nasi Campur, red rice surrounded by Balinese delights.

It was an adventure and now I can say, “Been there, done that.” I won’t be applying for a job cooking. I may not want to chop, dice, mince, or slice anything for a very, very long time. And when I return to Bali I will have a profound reverence for the wonderful people who feed me.

Now I have to double up on my yoga routine. I see how quickly and habitually I fall into old patterns of performance, striving, perfection. The beautiful tranquility that permeated my being when I first arrived home from Bali disappears in a flash.

So I’m off this morning to the Invisible Bee yoga studio to return to my centered self and recapture peace of mind.

“Look how desire has changed in you, how light and colorless it is, with the world growing new marvels because of your changing. Your soul has become an invisible bee”…Rumi

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.

Do You Dare to Dream?

14 May 2012 1 Comment

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

It’s getting better. I resisted my middle-of-the-day nap today. Went instead to Costco for a few groceries. BIG mistake! I was quickly overwhelmed by the abundance of people, products, everything. But I did manage to walk out with the vegetables and rice I needed to make Indonesian food, and that was the goal.

So this afternoon I boiled the rice, chopped the veggies, opened one of the precious packets of Gado-Gado sauce I brought home with me, and sat down to pure delight. The flavor was exactly as I remembered it and I savored every delicious mouthful. Then I pulled up my e-mail and found a note from Brigitte, my German friend. She told me how much she misses Bali, how she had started crying and hugged the guide who had taken her all over the island when he dropped her at the airport. She said she is planning to return in October. Her confession made me feel more normal.  I am not the only one experiencing separation anxiety!

I love the Amalfi Coast of Italy. The fiords of Norway struck a chord deep in my cells. Luxumborg inspired one of the best poems I’ve ever written. At Unmunsa in South Korea I simply wept from a too-full heart. In London, Paris, Lucerne, Budapest, Simrishamn, I embraced the cultures and the people with intensity and joy. There are wondrous places all over the world where I have been inspired and delighted. But Bali feeds something much deeper. Bali is the perfect lover and I have been seduced. Voluptuous and warm, it generously gives with no thought for itself.

Where is it in the world that speaks so eloquently to you, dear friend? Do you dare to wonder? Do you dare to dream?

Solving the World’s Problems at Murni’s Warung

10 May 2012 3 Comments

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

MY LOVES

Leaving beauty, warmth, friends.

Returning to beauty, warmth, friends.

My heart has two homes,

both equally dear.

It is an emotional day. My last day here in Bali where I have been so utterly happy, is a tough one. Half of my heart breaks while half eagerly anticipates reuniting with family and friends. I had to write the little poem, above, to remind myself that here is not so different from anywhere else, and it is okay for a piece of my heart to reside on an island half way round the world no matter where the rest of it chooses to be.

This will be my last blog from Bali. Blogging has become a lovely piece of my life and I am not sure what kind of a metamorphosis it will make to continue once I return home. But I’m not going to dwell on that just now because the end of my amazing day yesterday was worth some photos and a blog post as well.

After the sacred cleansing pools, the batik factory, the fishing village with the mouth-watering shore lunch, Karin, Halle, and I decided that you can’t have too many farewell dinners. Our destination last night was Murni’s Warung. Murni’s was the first real restaurant in Bali. It has been in operation since 1974 and is a must-see landmark in Ubud. Murni’s occupies four levels on the cliff overlooking the Campuan River.

We were on the very lowest level with the most spectacular views.

Whereas our table at Indus had us perched at the top of a plunging river gorge, at Murni’s we were deep in the valley with the rushing sound of beautiful water music just below.

We again had our table at the edge. Often the first to arrive for dinner, we have the undivided attention of the staff who are always eager to please.

There are statues everywhere, some are old and some just look old which everything does in Bali after a short time because the humidity creates ideal conditions for moss to grow! The Warung houses many antiques from Java and Bali.

I love the flowers in this bowl in front of the giant Ganesha statue. Ganesha, the elephant, is called The Remover of Obstacles and is a beloved Hindu deity. How appropriate, don’t you think? If anything can remove obstacles blocking your path certainly an elephant can!

Here is another one of the cozy rooms for dining at Murni’s.

The three of us had such a wonderful time talking that I completely forgot to take food photos. You’ll just have to forgive me!  Halle and I had the vegetable curry with red rice and a rum soaked chocolate cake with coconut ice cream for dessert. Karin had the traditional Balinese duck and banana fritters. I will admit that the food played second to the fun of being with friends and enjoying lively conversation. Eating was a bit of an afterthought, although the three of us walked out stuffed to the gills and chose Murni’s complimentary driver over any thought of getting home on our own feet!

You will be relieved to know that between an Icelander, a New Yorker, and a liberal Minnesotan, we have solved the world’s problems. It only took three hours.

Goodbye, Bali. I’m shedding a few tears for the precious people and the beautiful memories here.

Meet Dewa, #1 Guide, Host, and Friend

09 May 2012 1 Comment

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

Dewa says I must bathe in the sacred waters of Tirta Empul before I leave Bali. It will purify my mind and body. So this morning at 9 o’clock sharp I do as I have been instructed, don my sarong and sash then off we go. “Why the sash?” I ask Dewa as he weaves through the maze of motorbikes in early morning traffic. My Balinese walking Wikipedia thoughtfully asks a question in return, “There is the mind, and there is the body…what is a better English word for the desire of the body?” Now it’s my turn to ask a question. “Do you mean all the desires? The desire of the body for food, for sleep, for sex?” (It’s okay. We’ve had these conversations!) “Yes, for sex,” he replies. “Well, that depends,” I say. “If desire is accompanied by caring and deep feeling it is a good word. If it is purely desire with no emotional attachment you could call it lust.” By now I think I have an idea where this is going. Dewa confirms my suspicions. “The sash is to separate the mind from the sexual desires of the body when you enter the temple,” he tells me. In this culture there’s a purpose for every item of clothing, every ritual, every ceremony.

We arrive at Tirta Empul and walk through the serenity of the the gardens.

The statue is Saraswati, a female Hindu water deity.

There isn’t really grass anywhere. It’s a tiny, round leaf plant that is used for ground cover.

And here is Dewa. Always happy, always patient. The plastic bag contains offerings for our time in the sacred waters.

Before we enter the cleansing pool, Dewa takes out the three offerings made by his mother, and lights the incense.

He places the offerings on the altar along with many others. Now it is okay to enter the water.

He says I should go first. I sit down on the edge and notice there are a great many fish that are sharing this experience with me. Some are medium, some are an edible size. I decide it isn’t much different than swimming in a Minnesota lake. As I put my feet and legs in the water I detect another similarity. It’s COLD! This is fresh spring water and as such it is deep-earth cooled. I slip into the chest high water with a little gasp. There are 12 gushing spouts and I am to bow under each one of these and make a prayer.

That’s me about half way through. By this time I’ve got it down and I’m totally into the experience.

Dewa follows. It’s quite a lengthy process, this cleansing of the body!

The second pool is for the mind. There are six spouts but you only use one. I wait patiently for the privilege of cleansing my mind.

The ritual cleansing completed, we go back to the locker room, change into dry sarongs, and depart for the next leg of the journey. Our second stop is the home of a famous batik designer. Following a narrow walkway from the street, we come to a large room. Thirteen women sit at makeshift drafting tables, each with a length of fabric and a bowl of hot wax. Using a paintbrush they painstakingly apply wax to the fabric in all the areas where the dye is not wanted. The wax is a deep amber color and the waxed pieces are beautiful before they are even dyed.

The next room holds the huge vats of dye. The fabric is soaked in the color then hung to dry.

Once dry, the pieces are moved into the next room to await wax removal. In this factory the batik is done on cotton, linen and silk. They are limited edition fabrics. Only a few of each of the designs are made. The quality is magnificent. You won’t find these in the market!

The contents of the two huge, black cauldrons in the center of the room is heated with a wood fire. The dyed material is placed in a cauldron and the wax melts leaving the raw white fabric showing through creating the design. If more pattern and color is desired the piece is returned to the wax room to have a new application placed over the dyed areas. Now when it is dipped in a different color the already treated portions will not be disturbed.

Here is a block of the amber wax. Pieces are sliced off and melted for the women to use in the fabric waxing room.

I so appreciate the opportunity to see the Balinese people doing what they have done for hundreds of years for the most part unchanged. It can be a severe shock for those of us coming from the industrialized West. Most tour guides take you to the showrooms. There you will find a few pretty vignettes where Balinese people demonstrate how jewelry is made, or batik fabrics are created. Then you are ushered into the main area with row upon row of glittering jewelry cases or racks of fabrics for sale. The average tourist doesn’t have a clue that these staged presentations are light years removed from the reality of how the products are created.

We thank the batik workers for allowing us a peek into their world then head for the ocean. The last stop today is a fishing village where we will have lunch. The roads get narrower and narrower. Dewa reminds me that this is not a place where tourists go. This is a village of Balinese fisherman and our ‘shore lunch’ will consist of today’s catch, whatever it is.

The road ends at the beach and the black volcanic sand begins.

Dewa poses beside one of the colorful fishing boats, still smiling!

Our mystery fish is being grilled over a coconut husk fire while we watch. As it sizzles, it is basted with a mixture of garlic paste mixed in coconut oil then flipped and basted again. The skin is scored with several diagonal cuts before it goes on the grill so the garlic mixture can penetrate into the meat. The end result is yet another gastronomical delight!

Here it is, grilled fish, water spinach, and rice mixed with sweet potato. Notice the candle. We had a good laugh about our candlelight lunch on the beach!

Last but not least, fish satays. These are wickedly hot little globs of fish mixed with various chilies and spices then grilled. I ate one. Dewa polished off the rest.

The shoreline gracefully curves, embracing the incoming waves. Mountains at the horizon are hazy blue.

This one almost got me!

Time to go, but as we leave we stop to watch this woman make short work of a fish. It is round and flat, I’m guessing flounder. Squatting by the side of the road she has it gutted, the fins chopped off, flesh scored and ready for the grill in a few swift flicks of that knife. Even dressing a fish, in the skillful hands of a master, is poetry!

What an amazing day. I think I have said that about every single day for the past two months. I also think, no matter how long I might stay, there would be no end to amazing days.  I love this place, my new friends here, and the ancient ways that anchor me to something more permanent than my life.

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