16 Apr 2012 Leave a comment
in Bali Tags: Bali, bamboo, children, earth consciousness, ecology, garden, green, green architecture, green school, school, teach, Ubud
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Today I am sending you to a link for the Green School here in Bali. There are conscious efforts in many U.S. cities to teach children to be more self-sufficient and ecology minded. In Bali they have taken it to another level. Please check out the website and see a school that was built ‘green’ and teaches ‘green.’
14 Apr 2012 Leave a comment
in Bali Tags: Bali, Cafe Angsa, marching bandl, mayoral election, Nasi Campur, practice, rice paddies, rice paddy, tempeh, tofu, tropical, Ubud
I’ve tried the Indonesian dish, Nasi Campur in three Warungs now. There are different ways of serving it and I love it in all its forms. But the pleasant ambiance of Cafe Angsa definitely enhanced their rendition of the local favorite.
It is right beside a rice paddy and, of course wide open to the fresh air and vegetation.
That’s a glass of watermelon juice. I’m afraid I had to taste it before I took the photo! I was parched and there is nothing as refreshing as the cool sweetness of watermelon to quench a ravenous thirst.
Here’s a better shot of the delicious meal. At the back of the plate is the steamed vegetable, in this case cabbage, some carrots, bean sprouts and peppers. Next to the veggies in the little dish is the tomato sambal, spicy and just a little bit sweet, and tomato, cucumber and shredded raw cabbage next to the half hard boiled egg with a dollop of sambal on top. Next to the egg is tempeh, a soy product that has a nutty flavor and a firmer texture than tofu. Next to the tempeh is fried tofu. It’s the seasonings in the tempeh and tofu that make them unforgettably delicious. The famous prawn chips complete the presentation. Oh yummy!
As a very special treat on this particular day a grade school band was practicing in the pavilion literally right next to the restaurant and oh! how they love percussion. It wasn’t a peaceful lunch, nor would it have been romantic even if I’d been there with someone special. But it was scrumptious and wonderfully entertaining.
When I finished my meal I strolled next door to the open pavilion and took a quick shot of the kids. Later I found out that there’s a competition coming up in a few weeks where all the schools perform for the mayoral election. They are working so hard! I’m not sure what the plan is for the flags. There wasn’t a lot of synchronization there, but what do I know! I played flute in marching band and that was hard enough!
12 Apr 2012 1 Comment
in Bali Tags: Bali, change, coming of age, crop, cultivate, falling in love, growth, harvest, Indonesia, maturity, personal growth, reap, rice paddy, self discovery, self love, self realization, sow, truth, Ubud
I took a photo from my balcony that first morning in Bali. The tender young shoots of rice plants in the paddy below spoke of new beginnings, possibility, unlimited potential. They were like pre-schoolers marching in obedient rows, drinking deep of the nourishing mud at their roots.
Every morning since then I have eaten breakfast overlooking that same paddy, observing the subtle changes, drinking in the green of it, the succulence. I have seen it tended by barefoot women, bent all day over their task, mindfully pulling away what doesn’t nurture, what doesn’t belong.
And this morning when I sat down to breakfast and drank in the view it was like looking in a mirror I could so clearly see my reflection there. The seed of self planted here in the healing climate of Ubud has taken root. Things that do not belong to my truth, that do not nurture my growth, are being pulled away. I have met someone that I vaguely remember from a long, long time ago, a simple girl with poetry and passion in her soul. She got left behind when she didn’t fit the image I created for myself, the person I thought I ‘should’ be. We’re getting reacquainted. She’s a grown-up version with life-grit in her pores, not very pretty but very, very real. I am falling in love for the first time…with myself.
The rice paddy, too, has matured. She is a vibrant maiden now, full-grown but not quite ripe. I may not be here for the harvest of the rice. It’s not a plant whose growth I can predict with familiarity like tomatoes or corn. I’ve heard it has to turn golden before its time. I don’t need to know. It has fulfilled its purpose for me. Others will enjoy the fruits of its yield. My job is to show up for the reaping of my own late-sown crop.
12 Apr 2012 1 Comment
in Bali, Poetry Tags: answers, Bali, curry, discovery writing, past lives, poetry, questions, reincarnation, restaurant, Ubud, warung, writing, writingforselfdiscovery
Dewa and I had a long conversation about reincarnation yesterday. I was carrying those thoughts with me as I went about my day and suddenly one line appeared on a mental blank page. “Tell me about past lives,” it said. I was near a familiar Warung (local restaurant) so I removed my sandals, stepped up to the spotlessly clean white tiled floor, took a seat on a bamboo stool by a bamboo table, pulled my notebook out of my backpack, requested a pineapple juice, and began. Half an hour and a chicken curry dish later I closed my notebook, returned it to my backpack, paid for my $3.00 lunch, retrieved my sandals, and strolled slowly home. Back in my sweet little room I took myself, my laptop, and my notebook to the balcony and translated the scribbles. The result is this poem.
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Was I here before? I want to know.
Tell me about past lives.
Was I a temple prostitute
Or one of the sultans’ wives?
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Did my cries ring out on a battlefield?
Did I dance to pagan drums?
Was I burned at the stake for my witching ways?
Sometimes a memory comes…
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Not clear like a snapshot photograph
But wrapped in a cloudy haze
Hinting at something long ago
Reminiscent of ancient days.
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I seek to know myself, and yet
Can I plumb the depths of these wells
When my soul spans ages of lifetimes
And old knowledge resides in my cells?
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When the sound of a Celtic fiddle
Makes my feet do an unknown dance
And I already know the Sanskrit words
That the kirtan leader chants.
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I am trapped in Scandinavian skin
With a penchant for curries and heat.
A crucifix haunts me from behind
While I kneel at Shakti’s feet.
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The teacher smiled with a knowing
And quietly said, “My friend…
The questions are the journey
The answers are journey’s end.”
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Sherry Bronson
10 Apr 2012 2 Comments
in Bali Tags: architecture, art, balance, Bali, body, Ceremonies, Hafiz, healing, healing for body mind and sprit, incense, love, Medicine, mind, Offerings, prayers, Rituals, spirit, truth, Ubud
Isn’t it beautiful that love is the friend that freed Hafiz from every concept and image his mind had ever known? As I sat with that thought it became clear that love is the only thing that will ever free us. To love others is to accept them in all the ways they are different freeing ourselves from judgement. To love the earth is to protect and care for her freeing ourselves from the consequences of her demise. To love oneself is the ultimate freedom for out of that love comes the capacity for all other love.
The past few days my journey has been inward. The name of this village is Ubud. It means medicine. The essence of Ubud is fundamentally healing to the body, the mind, and the spirit. I have asked myself, why is this so? Is it about the thousands of offerings made daily? The scent of incense ever-present in the air? The constant rituals and ceremonies performed specifically to maintain balance in the spiritual realm? Every day hundreds of tourists parade the streets of Ubud. Every day another rice paddy is drained to make way for a new resort or villa funded by money from the West. But inside the walled compounds of Balinese family homes, life goes on as it has for two thousand years. These people have a way of accepting the new, adjusting to accommodate change, but remaining virtually unchanged themselves. They do this with a self-possessed dignity that defies explanation.
I don’t know the answer to my question. All my life I have believed that everywhere was basically the same as everywhere else. I have traveled and visited amazing countries. I have seen works of art and architecture that left me breathless. I have met wonderful people who genuinely cared for me. Yet nowhere else has a place whispered to my heart entreating me to stay, to learn, to just be.
08 Apr 2012 2 Comments
in Bali Tags: abundance, animal sanctuary, Bali, beach, black sand, breakers, elephant, Indonesia, parrot, privilege, tiger, Ubud, waterfall, wealth
Every day…riches!
Whether it’s the wisdom of 2000 years of ancient tradition or the breathtaking landscape, there is an endless supply.
A trip to the beach, a waterfall, and an animal sanctuary is almost an overload of abundance for one day!
Black sand and crashing breakers
and nobody here but me.
It’s only 171 steps down to this waterfall. The killer is that it’s 171 steps back up again!
Some places just drip with green deliciousness!
Then superimpose brilliant colors…
and interesting patterns (nice kitties!)
and a bathing beauty…or two…and it adds up to immeasurable wealth.
Again today I feel the gratitude and the privilege of this journey.
I have been allowed to touch something that is unreachable in places where the din of progress drowns out the softer voice of soul.
06 Apr 2012 Leave a comment
in Bali Tags: Bali, costumes, culture, Fire, Hanoman, Indonesia, Kekak Fire Dance, masks, Ramayana, Trance Dance, Ubud
I talk a lot about the fabulous days and very little about the night life in Bali. That’s because I hadn’t ventured out to find it. But the past two nights I’ve been part of the after-dark-action and I’m lovin’ it!
No trip to Bali would be complete without seeing a Kekak Fire Dance. It is a colorful theatrical production of Ramayana, a Hindu epic story. The orchestra is composed of a male chorus of 100 men called the gamelan suara. They sit in a circle are bare chested and wear checked sarongs. Their sing-chant continues throughout the entire hour and a half performance and adds considerably to the drama.
The only lighting is the flaming tiered device in the center. The performance takes place inside the circle of men. The women move slowly, hands and fingers doing things that most hands and fingers were never made to do. Their feet, too, are moved carefully, deliberately, at odd angles.
The story is high drama with love, jealousy, deceit, heartbreak, battle and a stunning rescue scene when Hanoman, the white monkey, shows up.
Following the Fire Dance is the Sanghyang, or Trance Dance. The function of this dance is to protect society against evil forces and epidemics. The hobby horse is associated with trance in Balinese culture so in this Trance Dance the man performing the dance is symbolically riding a hobby horse through a bed of burning coconut husks. He has been lulled into trance by the repetitive sounds of the gamelan suara.
Men with rake type brooms, wearing tennis shoes, push the burning hulls back into the center after each firey pass-through made by the man with the horse who, you can see, was barefoot.
How does he do that??? He is obviously in an altered state because he kept running back into the fire, over and over again, until two men from the gamelan pulled him away.
The dancers posed on the staircase for photographs after the show. The costuming is spectacular.
The female dancers are simply exquisite and dance brilliantly. The performance is of a calibre that could command the stage at Orchestra Hall or the new Cowles Center for the Arts.
Tonight is quite a different scene. It is the full moon festival and grand opening of the new facility at the Yoga Barn.
The moon is glowing just to the right of the roof of the new building. Notice the gentle curve to the staircase. I can’t help think about commercial building codes when I look at structures in Bali. Hundreds of people went up and down that stair tonight and the first step down off the top platform was definitely a bigger drop than any of the others. I guess uniformity is nice if the math works out, but unnecessary if it doesn’t. Wish that’s how my high school algebra teacher thought!
In the yoga pavilion at the top of the spiral staircase hundreds of mats are spread on the floor in readiness for the evening. But before the festivities begin, a Balinese Holy Man walks through the crowd of seated yogis sprinkling holy water on each one of us. Nothing in Bali happens without the blessing of the Holy Man and he has pronounced this an auspicious night for a grand opening.
The grounds flicker with luminaries everywhere. A group of Balinese men sit by a mound of coconuts all night, chopping off the tops and making them available to anyone who wants fresh coconut milk. On the other side of the platform there are little food packets of rice, chilis, green beans, fried tempe, and tofu available. Everything is free on this special evening.
But the high point of the evening for me was meeting Andrea, from Oslo, Norway. She’s here for five weeks getting yoga certification training. I told her I have relatives in Oslo. We had a deep philosophical discussion about the meaning of uff-dah. It was magical.
05 Apr 2012 Leave a comment
in Bali Tags: Bali, chanting, Dave Stringer, gamelan, kirtan, Mt. Agung, Palace, Puri Saren, Sanskrit, sunrise, Ubud
I have been MIA on my blog for a few days but certainly not missing any of the action in here ! So let me bring you up-to-date.
I love this sunrise walk to yoga. There is Mt. Agung, all pastels in the morning stillness. The path is embellished with intricate stone mosaics and colorful flags mark the approach. What a privilege to be able to do a yoga practice in such meditative surroundings.
This morning I was the first to arrive. It is incredibly peaceful at this hour, but someone has already been here to place offerings. An hour and a half of breath and poses later, I’m energized and ready for the day.
Today its a trip to Ubud Palace. There are many palaces in Ubud. The families who ruled in the past now have no political power but their social status is still recognized by the Balinese people.
Puri Saren Palace
These intriguing moss covered doorways are everywhere and lead from one tranquil garden to the next.
Carved figures abound, big breasted beasts with horrid teeth, winged serpents…
and just plain scary monster types like this one!
This stage on the palace grounds is ready and waiting. The gongs and xylophone type instruments are used for the gamelan music heard everywhere in Bali.
The ceilings of the buildings are intricately carved.
The most important ones are painted gold.
And there is always another pair of beautiful doors.
Walking home I pass a school where the children are outside in their sweet uniforms.
My evening is a much different experience from the day’s activities. A kirtan performance led by world famous composer and kirtan leader, Dave Stringer is happening at the Yoga Barn. The group consists of musicians and instruments from all over the world. At least 100 of us walk the candlelight path through glades of bamboo and frangipani. Entering the open-air structure we climb the stairs. Yoga bolsters are spread in circular rows throughout the space and I choose one in the front toward the edge. For the next three hours we participate in call and response chanting in Sanskrit lead by Dave and accompanied by 10 incredible musicians. These things have to be experienced. A written account doesn’t do it. The sights, the sounds, the energy, the night, the fragrant air…come to Bali…just do it!
02 Apr 2012 2 Comments
in Bali Tags: Bali, black bull, burial, cemetery, cremation, Hindu, Hindu ceremony, holy man, holy water, incense, Offerings, pyre, trandition, Ubud, white bull
Dewa knocks on my door at 10 a.m. “Do you want to see cremation?” he asks. “Of course!” I am instructed to be ready at 12:30. At 12:15 I’m waiting with a lovely couple from France who have also been invited. Dewa’s uncle, his mother’s brother, passed away over a week ago. The holy man has designated today as an auspicious day for cremation and there will be three of them. We are hurried into the car and make our way toward the cemetery. Suddenly Dewa says, “Get out here!” We scramble onto the street and there it is. The procession begins literally in front of me with the women and their offerings.
We are in a part of town where the tourists don’t come. The energy is much more like a wedding than a funeral. I am entranced. The bamboo platform holding the black bull is coming directly toward me.
I asked Dewa earlier if it was okay to photograph the ceremony. “Take pictures of everything. It’s okay,” he told me. So I did.
There he is. The black bull. Only holy men are cremated in a white bull. For everyone else the bull is black. When there is an intersection the bull circles three times around the intersection before going in a new direction. At one point a young man climbs on the back of the bull and the carriers make the bull buck and whirl but the rider keeps his seat.
It’s very hot and the men stop to rest while police clear the traffic in front of the procession.
They’re up again and on their way. The next to appear is an ornate, pagoda type tower. Three men cling to the sides. At this point I don’t know if the deceased is inside the bull or inside the tower or somewhere else entirely. It turns out the coffin is being transported in the tower.
As the procession continues on its way, men on the sides of the street spray water on those carrying the heavy platforms. It is a welcomed dousing on this hot hot day.
At one point the tower is too tall for the electrical wire spanning the street. The offending wire is ripped down and left hanging so the parade can pass.
Then comes the band of cymbals, gongs and drums played by young men and boys. The percussion continues from beginning to end, rising and falling in volume and intensity. When the band finally stops they are vigorously applauded.
As the pagoda passes I notice the picture of the departed mounted on the back of the conveyance.
The bull is carefully moved to this platform and the men cut a chunk out of its back. I am transfixed by the elaborate ceremony. A white coffin is removed from the tower and a procession of women carrying offerings and men carrying the coffin circle the bull three time. The coffin is lifted and held up while the body, wrapped in white, is removed and placed in a hollowed out area in the bull.
The men around the body receive gifts and offerings from the people. They place them on the body. More and more gifts are brought. Finally the holy man sprinkles the contents of several different containers on the body and a white sheet is placed over all.
The back of the bull is once more set in place. Large bamboo logs are put under the bull and a motor pumps fuel onto the base of the pyre.
Incense is lighted and the bull begins to burn. Nobody is crying.
At this point the entire crowd moves into the street and words are spoken (in Balinese) over a battery operated megaphone. The crowd of us begins to exit the cemetery and as we pass we are sprinkled liberally with holy water. In this photo people are beginning to fill the street.
After that the crowd disperses fairly quickly. It has been an unforgettable two hours. I feel incredibly privileged to have been allowed a glimpse into this aspect of Balinese tradition that few visitors ever witness.
Dewa provides me with a map so that I can find my way to Ubud center since he has family matters to attend to. I only have to ask directions twice before I am back on familiar turf. Parched and dripping I seek refuge in Warung Laba Laba.
Here, in a shady perch above the street I sip watermelon juice (my current favorite) and order papaya chicken salad. It arrives, light and refreshing.
I opt to pass on Thousand Island Dressing…one just never knows about Thousand Island Dressing! But I can’t resist a sweet finish: one scoop of the creamiest vanilla ice cream this side of a Wisconsin dairy sitting atop one scoop of Balinese mocha.
I would return to Warung Laba Laba just for the ice cream!
Back in my room I can hardly wait to see the photos. I only wish I could include the sounds and smells that made this day one of the highlights of my life. Suksama, Dewa.Thank you.
01 Apr 2012 1 Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: acrylics, Agung Rai Gallery, artist, babies, Bali, Balinese art, brainwash, canvases, children, Dewa Jati, sarong, techniques, traditional, traditions, Ubud
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.
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