Bali & the Place I Sleep

Every morning, if I can remember, I try and pick up a freshly fallen plumeria flower and place it in my hair like the Balinese do. Hibiscus, roses, heliconia, oleander & torch ginger grow virtually without any maintenance in my yard. Sometimes, monkeys wake me up on the balcony wondering if we left any food out. They clean each other, have sex and move on. The rice field that expands about an acre is my front yard. Every morning, I open my hand-carved, heavy, double-wooded doors I see the green tips of the rice plants dancing in the breeze. I think they should be ready for harvesting before I leave. The birds sing to me, our helper Dewi makes new offerings to Ganesh our home protector. I make breakfast and tea and wonder what this new day will bring.
There are so many things that make me spontaneously smile in Bali. I love if I leave at the right time in the morning, I can just be cruising down a beat up road and smell incense everywhere from the morning offerings. In Bali, the unseen such as the gods, ancestors, spirits and such are treated as guests of honor. In typical Balinese fashion, these guests of honor require certain hospitality in the form of offerings. The morning offerings usually consist of sweet cakes, rice, fresh flowers & incense so not to disturb the normal rhythm and harmony of life here in Bali. On ceremony days, the offerings are much more elaborate. At home, every morning, Dewi (our helper) comes and does the offerings to Ganesh and our other prayer box. If Dewi isn’t here, somehow the neighborhood knows and a Balinese woman shows up dressed in her traditional lace top, sarong (patterns and colors need not match here), stomach tie and flower in her ear to make sure the harmony of the house isn’t interrupted by the unsettled gods. This morning, the last day of Galungan, called Kuningan, 4 people have already showed up giving offerings in various places on the property.

My temporary home looks pretty creepy from afar. At the end of a road, a sharp turn is made and suddenly you see this small, yet expansive rice field with a house sitting all alone on the other end. It kind of looks like the Munsters house. The roof is medieval looking and the only window to jet out from the array of bushes & flowering trees looks like giant eyes watching over the rice field. I live downstairs with my own marble bathtub & bathroom, a hand-carved Balinesian princess day bed and the kitchen is attached. There is another “guest house” steps away that is used for the Acupuncturists’ clinic who lives here. The upstairs of the clinic is an open-air yoga/meditation room that overlooks the rice field.

There are so many sounds that I’m trying to identify living back here on the rice paddy. In the morning, there’s the grunting sound of a crazy man. It sounds like he’s exorcising some sort of demon every morning. I learned while sipping a Bintang from the gorgeous pool I go to every day that the crazy man is actually the rice keeper using some sort of instrument (like a duck calling whistle, but a crazy man calling whistle) to scare the birds away from the rice. THANK YOU! I still haven’t figured out what the slapping noise is…but that will come with time. Aside from the enormous geckos the size of small volkswagons yelling, “Fuck You! Fuck You! Fuck You!” at random times of the day (this morning at 4am was not cool), I can pretty much put off the noises of the beetles, the birds, the roosters, the mosquitos buzzing my ears quite easily. At night, around sunset, it’s nice to hear the whole village come alive at the temples with Balinese gamelan (orchestras) composed of bronze metallophones, various gongs, flutes, drums and other percussions.

The Balinese believe in karma so there is virtually no crime here. When driving around on my red motorbike with my rockin’ bright yellow helmet, people cut each other off and wisp around without traffic flow or organization. But somehow, no one has any road rage. Even the horns are made to sound friendly. There are several reasons why the Balinese beep. They beep to say, “hey I’m coming through” or “move over a little bit” they beep to say “hello” and even beep to warn someone of another hazard not related to themselves. Everyone helps each other out here. Particularly in the village. The village is literally owned by the people, so everyone grows up as a family. I think people in the states could learn a lot from the Balinese, their traditions, their family values, their respect for the unseen, their culture and overall genuine joy to be pleasant to everyone.

I love Bali. Every day I’m surprised by the pleasantries here. Wouldn’t you know, just as I wrote this sentence, a woman walked into my room with a tiny, hand woven gift basket made up of fruits, pastries and fried bananas. She was the fourth person to come today for offerings on the property. She had rice grains pasted to her forehead and neck, flower pedals over her ears (an indication they have been to prayer this morning). I guess this is her offering of hospitality, to the white girl, a seen guest sitting in her room blogging on Kuningan Day. I’m closing now to the sounds of the gamelan (temple orchestras) and chants being heard from across the rice field. Oh Bali!