With Ganesh the bus driver, we glide beneath penjors, past pi-dogs searching for the last remnants of yesterday’s offerings. Up winding hill roads, over volcanic pot holes, slowly, steadily, we navigate a path to gluten-free enlightenment sometimes succumbing to the lure of cosmic shopping.
White flowers, colored flowers, silent yearning for connection to the feminine force in water, desirous to wash away our grief and heartache and re-nourish a planet dissipating from misuse. We laugh, cry, argue, and exclaim
“What goes on here?”
A whisper comes
“Only the God knows.”
I see my baby now all grown, share knowledge and supportive love with elders. What came of 30 years slipped by so fast through time?
White flowers, colored flowers, silent meditations circle up with the smoke of incense around images dancing in their fresh white and gold, ready for ceremony amidst radiant children and the trance-inducing rhythms of the gamelan.
Outriggers return on sparkling sea from visiting dolphins eager to share enchanted delight. Fishermen laugh, I don’t doubt, at our age and enormity — while we celebrate a new way to grow old and hold the intent to be part of all that heals and wholes.
WIth gratitude and Ganesh we push through obstacles accumulated by the energies of life, and wonder at a world so exquisitely and precariously balanced between life and death.
My eyes spring open to the light — now there is the smell of Bali Kopi. .. .
Om swasti astu.