I’ve learned a lot of new words since my return to Bali two weeks ago.
Over the past couple of years my vocabulary has grown slowly and as the situation required. When there was a snake in the garden, I figured out how to say so. When I was building my house, I learned about walls and doors and negotiating with contractors. When the rains came, I learned leaks and drainage ditches and erosion. Now that I’m making a garden, there’s a whole new world of words like and mulch composting and retaining walls.
Lately my vocabulary has stretched into another dimension. On hot afternoons Wayan and I lean on the kitchen counter leafing through dictionaries as we try to share our feelings. I’ve learned the words for sad and afraid and adversary. I’ve learned the word peace. Without intellectually understanding a word of it, I absorbed her tearful explanation of ‘adil’ and its context, and knew whereof she spoke.
In North America, we tend to dwell in the past. If we had an unhappy childhood or survived a trauma, our culture encourages us to keep revisiting and re-examining the issues that distress us. The Balinese acknowledge the existence and balance between good and evil. Then they step into the next moment, away from the distress. Those of us who watched them struggle for and find that balance after the bombing have learned a lot about healing.
The villages councils of Kuta, Legian and Seminyak recently issued a joint message which many of you will have seen. Excerpts:
" Do not bring malice to our world. What has happened has happened. Stop talking about the theories of who did this and why. It does not serve the spirit of our people. Words of hate will not rebuild our shops and houses. They will not heal damaged skin. They will not bring back our dead. Help us to create beauty out of this tragedy."
There has been beauty in the spontaneous support of Indonesians and expats for all those in need. The crisis unearthed many people of rare skill and ability who pitched in together and formed warm new relationships across ethnic and religious borders. Several Indonesians with good organizational skills were recognized for the valuable human resources they were and offered jobs. In the early days at Sanglah, one fine young lady emptied her bank account to buy food and medicines when the hospital ran out. There are still plenty of people working 14 hour days gathering and disseminating information, building databases and strategizing a sustainable future for Bali. And I would guess that very few people on Bali these days don’t embrace their children a little more closely at bedtime.
There was beauty in the dozens of emails I received from the four corners of the world, voicing concern and offering assistance. There is beauty in the many stories I’ve been hearing about the essential goodness of ordinary people under intense pressure, and the lengths they will go to help a stranger.
And there is still the great beauty of Bali itself — the land which mesmerizes us, the people who so engage us.
There’s a sense of waiting in Bali these days, of being between breaths. Of regaining the balance of Ruwa Bhineda, between good and bad and Sekala and Nisikala, the underworld of darkness merging with the world of light. There is indeed a celestial balance. The more people who choose to live kindly and skilfully, the more light will be cast on those who are still in darkness.
The streets are empty in Ubud these days, the shops deserted. When I walk into town now, shopkeepers stop me on the sidewalk to talk. "Still here, Ibu? Tidak takut? Not afraid?" Well, no. I’ve gotten over my fear of spiders and noises in the night. If I let myself become immobilized at the thought of a few cowards with bombs, I’ll never get my garden finished.
" The overwhelming scenes of love and compassion at Sanglah Hospital show us the way forward into the future. If we hate our brothers and sisters we are lost in Kali Yuga. If we can love all of our brothers and sisters, we have already begun to move into Kertha Yuga. We have already won ‘The War Against Terrorism."
The Bali we love and respect is still as it was. It’s just in clearer focus somehow. Under the thin veneer of Westernization the Balinese are living their faith every day, moment to moment, stepping away from the darkness and moving into Kertha Yuga.
A temple bell peals nearby. Across the river there is chanting. In the warm night, fallen frangipani blossoms gleam like fragrant stars in the grass. This is indeed a magical place, and the power of its magic shall overcome this terrible event and we will all be the stronger for it. "Our spirit can never be broken."Terrorists want us to live in fear. We can refuse to do that. There really is nothing to fear but fear itself.
