The gift that keeps on giving.

So these past couple of days I have had the pleasure of being in the company of friends that have given me the gift of new experiences. Some new friends and some not so new...like my neighbor Joe. Joe and I recently became neighbors when I moved to the Avenue. He looks like a weathered rancher with his cowboy hat, and denim shirt. One night I came home to his family playing Icelandic Crockett on their 10ft by 20ft lawn. Not a big space for a game, but they were all dressed up and enjoying themselves with their creative spin on the game. Right away Joe is welcoming, warm, groovy, and on another plane. He loves gardening, and talks about his garden with such love and childlike curiosity. You can tell that he's in touch with another vibration. Mother nature and a love for life with all it's little creatures. Something I like to channel myself. It was such a pleasure to take a moment on my easy Saturday morning and get to know my new neighbor a little more. The sun was warm on my face, the sea breeze was running through my hair, I was barefoot, and had not a care in the world. Sure I had places I needed to be and to go, but talking to Joe seemed to put me at ease even more. There was plenty of time for it all. I was enjoying this moment. Taking time to just do something different. Reach out to my neighbor and just shoot the shit. Talk about things...simple things. About all the bee's in his garden,the flowers, the birds, and his family. Upon my leaving Joe insisted that I listen to a CD he loved. That he thought I would love too. Cascada de Flores. Joe described it as the Andrew sisters, but with a Spanish upbringing. I was delighted and moved by his generosity. We had just gotten to know each other and he was already wanting to share something that he enjoyed. Right away I was sucked in, my ears automatically falling in love with the harmonious voices coming out of my car speakers. This was a gift that keeps on giving. Hitting my core. I love it when music just speaks to you. Everything seems that much more delightful. It's like putting on rose colored sunglasses for the day and noticing all the colors around you being so much more visually stunning. The gift of new music, new experiences, new sounds. Opening my senses up to receive a heartfelt Spanish serenade accompanied by guitars, and a harmonica.

This new gift, which was shared, not purchased made me think of all the beautiful things we can share with others. The gifts that keep on giving. I'm not talking about a new cashmere sweater. I'm talking about life experiences that entice our senses, fill our hearts and make us smile. Sharing something new with someone that isn't likely to encounter it on there own. My friend Maryah took me to a play at the Ensemble theatre Friday evening. I had not known such a theatre existed. It was such a wonderful evening and we laughed alot. Later this afternoon I went for a walk with a friend on the very outskirts of Goleta. They had never been in the area before and was amazed by the beauty of the landscape. It was something new for them and I could tell that it left an impression on them. I was happy to show them something that I thought was beautiful. It's been in their back yard this whole time, but they never got a chance or took the time to explore it on their own. Even later this evening I attended a holiday party with some Save Naples volunteers. My friend Reeve gave a slide show of images he had taken of the Gaviota Coast. Images I had never seen before, places I had never been before. It was so moving and yet inspiring again. The gift that keeps on giving. Sharing experiences with our friends and families...even strangers. The gift that keeps on giving. So perhaps this holiday season. Share a beautiful experience with others that will add to their life. That will add a new perspective. Take them to your favorite surf spot, take them to collect mistle toe in the forest, take them to your favorite theatre, make them your favorite martini, show them some of your most treasured photographs and tell them why they are so special. The gift of new experiences keeps on giving. Think about it and ask yourself what you can share with someone that will touch their hearts forever that cannot be bought in a store this holiday season. This is what I hope to give to you. I hope you have a wonderful holiday everyday.

Spreading yourself thin

Spreading yourself thin, is something I should do with the cream cheese and jelly on my bagel, not something I should encourage to do in my life. There are times to push through with hard work and determination, then there are times to just surrender. Being here, being there, doing this, doing that. Time going by so quickly. I am in the process of moving into my first studio. Yes, the shoe box, but a glorified shoe box. My own space. Something that makes most free spirits feel like a caged animal. At least I have a garage space and a yard. Plus my landlord is really easy going, so it's not that bad. This week has been a marathon. I just had to re-finish my grandmothers armoire before I put one more thing into my studio. This ambition left me exhausted by Sunday evening. Visual people have a hard time with things being left undone. We are greatly affected by our surroundings. It's really hard to simply walk away and leave it for another day. Not on my watch. My pure determination left me drained. It was wasn't until I was putting the hardware back on the armoire that pushed me over the edge. I just couldn't simply do it. I had run out of patience. Before I stripped one more tiny screw from this nostalgic antique and ripped it out with rage, I walked away. I put down the screw driver and walked away. I was so proud of myself. The turning point to my obsession with needing life to be visually perfect and completed before I could move onto one more thing. It just simply doesn't work that way. I surrender. I'm leaving my visual mess for all to see.

A bowl of rice

A month has passed since returning home from my adventure in Bali. Bali, Bali, Bali. It's latched onto my heart and it just won't let go. The roots of this experience have planted themselves forever. I didn't realize the extent of it all until a recent escapade to Las Vegas and ordering Chinese food at Bills' Casino. We were in Vegas for a friends birthday party. Yes, Las Vegas. The complete opposite spectrum of the peacefulness and serenity of Bali. Crazy. What was I thinking? It's so not me. This painted picture of my identity to others as a tree hugger. In sin city? I don't know, but I still just wanted to be on the move and be amongst friends. Roll with the chaos, just as you would in Bali. Once you're on the move, it's hard to stop. Once you've up rooted, it's hard to stop. Go, go, go.

Vegas was a hoot. I had such a great time with friends, and laughed so hard, I had perma grin when I got home. My trip to Vegas gave me the realization of how much Bali had implanted in me. It all came in the form of a bowl of rice. At brunch one morning at Bill's Casino I ordered Chinese food. I don't know why, but it just sounded good. When the waiter brought me my meal, there was a bowl of white steamed rice. Purely plain white steamed rice. It hit me really hard. How the hell was I supposed to eat my rice? It's like I was eating rice for the very first time. A tug of war went on in my mind. Something like this.....
"Just use your damn spoon.....but I can't it seems so weird to use a spoon...I just want to use my hand...but I don't want all my friends to think I'm weird...or that I am trying to get attention.....just use the damn spoon....then none of this will cause any wanted attention".
For the life of me....two minutes seemed like an eternity....just to simply decide how I was going to eat my rice. My hand wanted to pick it up, pop it into my mouth and be done with it. I was starving!!
In the end I apologized to everyone at the table and ate my damn rice with my right hand. I didn't care. It seemed so absurd to eat my rice with a utensil.
It's funny how a bowl of rice can hit you like a brick wall.
And, it's happened twice now. Last week my friend Kevin and I went out for Thai food. The woman at the restuarant looked at me really weird, and urged to get me a spoon or a fork for my rice. I told her that I had a spoon and I had a fork, but that it seemed really weird to eat rice with it. So again, I ate my rice with my right hand. The waitress came over again, still surprised, but this time she gave in. She was smiling. She explained that her grandmother eats her meals with her right hand and it all seemed to bring back a feeling of nostalgia to see this American woman (me) eating my meal with my right hand.

I don't know what it is...but white rice reminds me of Bali. I never really ate much rice either, but now I crave it. It symbolizes so much more. Rice means so much. It is used in so many ceremonies. It's like gold. It's pure. It's a life force. All of this from a bowl of white rice.

My heart lives in two places. Here and there. Finding a middle ground somewhere in between is hard. I may struggle with this my entire life and I'm not prepaired for that. I'm already ready to go back....it's just a matter of time. For now, I'll just take it one day at a time.

A Roxy moment

On the last full day in Bali, I managed to get in a surf session with a couple of the local boys, Blackie Montana, and old man Lorenti. It was alot of fun. Cheering each other on and laughing at all the waves missed because some of us were really out of shape. I went after everything I could get my little fingers into and it felt so good to glide down the face. This time around I attempted to surf without my booties and my neoprene vest. It was all bikini baby. If the bottoms fall off, then so be it. This was my Roxy moment. I hardly get the chance to surf in just my kini. I wear the vest to protect my ribs, and for sun protection. I wear the booties for protection against the sharp reef....but it just isn't the same. The booties still get in the way and feel so awkward. If I was going to go home with cuts on my feet....I didn't care. It was my Roxy moment. When I say Roxy moment, I am referring to all the surf ad's that show some cute surfer girl in her kini on a tropical wave. All tan, smiling, and looking cute. Surfing doesn't always allow you to look nor feel cute. Sunblock all over your face, hidden under a thick full suit, hairs a mess, and maybe you forgot you weren't wearing waterproof mascara. Good ol racoon eyes. So this last session was my Roxy moment, with all my boys and fun surf. The hot sun on my skin, the cool tropical water, the blue waves, the back drop of palm trees and rice fields. Yes, yes...it was a very memorable day.

Besakih

The oldest palace in all of Bali. The mother temple. An hour away from Amlapura by scooter. My friend Made Nanag offered to take me there. Funny story, but I first met Nanag three years ago on the beach here at the local fishing village. He is a driver for one of the local businesses. Three years ago, one afternoon I was meditating on the black sand beach. I had my eyes closed at the time, just taking in everything and trying to just be in the moment. I could feel someone around me...it's funny how you notice that energy. You just know that someone is there. I opened my eyes and there were two little children in front of me. Like two deer in the headlights. They were only 3-5 years old. But they were so curious. As soon as we made eye contact, they ran away to there father...Nanag. So we started talking about meditation and where I was from. Three years later he catches me on the same beach meditating. He just came out of nowhere. He immediately remembered me, and we talked again about meditation. I told him I wanted to go to Besakih, and with an hour we were on the road.

Getting to Besakih by scooter is alittle rough..but it's cheaper than hiring a driver. I love the feeling of being on the back of a scooter. It's so freeing. I am definetly going to purchase a scooter when I get home. On the way to the temple you get to see less touristy villages, tons of rice fields saturated in green, and the weather drastically changes. It's cooler, wetter, and the sun is not out all the time. It likes to play peek-abo. When we arrive to the temple we purchase some offerings for prayer and I immediately put on my sarong. There is a proper way to put on a sarong, but I always let a local show me how. It's really sweet. It's like being 5 again and your mom has to help you put on your sneakers.

This temple is big. It's the oldest. Every descendent on the island belongs to a clan, which has a smaller temple within the mother temple. Whenever there is cremation, the family of the clan comes to the mother temple to get holy water for the ceremony. No matter where you live on the island, you still come to the mother temple to get holy water for this ceremony. As we walk up the temple steps, each layer of the temple is designated to a god...shiva, then the highest...Brahman. Inside the temple we pray, then sprinkled with holy water, and annointed with rice at the temple and throat. I pray for everyone I can think of. All of you. My friends and my family. After that we headed to the very top of the temple. Brahman. Where I got a chance to meditate with Nanag, and pray again. This time, it felt much more from the core. We were blanketed by a nice layer of mist, being watched by a holy man, and had the audience of dogs and chickens. It's funny how the chickens and dogs are allowed in such a holy place....but then again, it is the order of nature. Animals, land and man must all somewhat co-exist.

After being haggled by some sad faced girl for a post card...(Besakih is after all a big tourist destination and the locals know this)we headed home. I was exhausted. The extreme change in temperatures and all the wind, made me exhausted. I was ready for a nap. Said goodbye to my friend, and then passed out in my nice warm bed under my mosquito net. It was a good day. I love Bali.

Tirta Ganga

The old water palace of Karagasem of Bali. Blackie Montana and I went on an adventure. I've known Blackie for three years now. Time flies. I like to tease him and call him Casanova, because he let his hair grow out since the last time I saw him, which was in February.

Before we hit up the water palace, I was on a misson to try to find a really cool ring for my grandmother at Budhakeling. The old jewelry district of Bali. Apparently the tour guide book is wrong. There is no abundance of jewels. Apparently I need to go to Gianyar, which is too far. Oh, well. Next time. So, then we hit the road to Tirta Ganga. The last Rajan of Karangasem built the elaborate water palace as his weekend retreat. Complete with views of Mount Agung, and the ocean. Tucked away amongst all the rice fields. It is beautiful. The pools of cool fresh water are rejuvenating against the intense tropical heat. Did I mention that there are little fish swimming with you. Apparently they clean the water and filter all the moss that grows in there. The water tastes really fresh. Blackie and I played cards, went for a swim, and just bull shitted around. It was fun. As good as his english is, we still have a good laugh at the language barrier. He's a good friend, great surfer, and always has a smile on his face. He's always encouraging me to push myself out in the line up and is happy to watch me catch waves. Secretly though...sometimes, I think he just likes to watch me eat shit on a big wave and come up with big gogglie eyes.

Ceremony

Ceremony. Ahhhhhhh……what to expect. Not sure when Taman invited me to the ceremony at the local temple, here in the village. I have known Taman for three years….we met at the Homestay here, the very first time I arrived in Bali. Taman and I are like two little kids. Every time I see Taman I give her the biggest hug I can muster up. She is my Balinese sister. Her smile is very big and very warm. She is a like a mother to many people here. She is 37, never married, and no kids. She takes such good care of her family, and is very much needed. Her english is very good, although we have a good chuckle every now about our language barriers. I think you can tell the life she leads, by looking at her face. The stress, long working hours and family responsibility has aged her faster than the natural cycle of time. You can tell a person’s life sometimes by simply looking at there face. A person’s face says a lot. The complexion, the color, and the eyes. The eyes say a lot.

Life is hard here. There is a pecking order. It is known and accepted. The Balinese accept there social status with grace. Last night Made asked me if I ever get sad. They see me as a very happy person. I told them that I am very happy….what good does it do me to be sad. Life is very short. But on the other side of that, he was looking for a way for us to relate….for me to seem more real, perhaps and as equals. I told him that I do get sad, and I do get lonely. That sometimes the stress can make me sad, very tired and depressed. I meditate when I have my dark times and I pray when I do not know the answer to a situation. I wanted him to understand that money does not ensure you never get sad, that you never feel the stress of life. Right now Made is going through a tough time. His wife fainted the other day, and no one seems to know why. It has never happened before, although she does struggle with health issues. I will have to say a prayer for her when I go to Besakih; the mother temple of Bali, one of the oldest and original temples on the island. If there is anyone you want me to say a prayer for, please let me know and I will when I get to the temple.

Back to ceremony with Taman. So, Taman (which means garden) arrived at 5:30pm, and we needed to be at the temple at 6pm. You have to bathe before going to ceremony. She brought with her a lace top, a sarong, a sash and a corset..or girdle. Yes, a girdle. We had a good laugh trying to squeeze me into her girdle. It was the first time in my life I have ever felt FAT! That word does not exist in my vocab. Bloated does, but never fat. The hidden secret of the Balinese women, to have that perfect coca cola bottle figure is a girdle or corset. Yes, people, they wear sophisticated lingerie under all that traditional garb. First you put on the sarong, then the girdle, then the lace top and then the sash to hide the girdle. I did mention that the top was lace right. I didn’t mention that my bra was black. You could see right through my top! I was so embarrassed. There was no time to color coordinate my bra. I was mortified that I had to go to ceremony in front of the entire village in my lacey green see through top with my black bra. I hid behind Taman every chance I got. Had I had just five more minutes of time, I could have thrown on a more subtle selection. Of course she assured me that she goes in her bra all the time, and that it was okay to see my bra….yeah, but she also mentioned that she wears a more natural option. So of course she wouldn’t feel like some scandelous tourist. There was no way in hell I was going to go to the front of the audience to take a picture of all the women dancing. No way!

The women were amazing. All ages, making two rows into the temple, dancing there way towards the front to make an offering or say a prayer. Even the little ones ages 11 had a corset on…the becoming of age. Even the 8 year old participated in this dance. The precision and movement of there hands suggested that this knowledge was implanted at birth. After then women are finished, then men dance. A different dance, men of all ages, young and old. Everyone is sitting on the dirt floor cramped together. Children, and seniors…watching and waiting. Even during ceremony at the temple, you can tell who has more money. The traditional attire is the same, long sleeve top with sarong and sash for the women….button down collared shirt with sarong and sash for the men. They also wear a hat. If you look closer at the sarong, it says a lot. You have batik, ikat and songkit (I think this is what it is called, could be mistaken). Silk, cotton, and polyester. The sarong with gold thread woven into the pattern is very expensive (songkit), so you know that this person may come from money. Silk alone is also very expensive. Just to give you an idea of the income levels here, many people only make $80/ month, and that is with a really good job. My friend Komang is a dive master and makes about $80/month. I would say that everyone else makes a lot less. Maybe only $2/ day. I think a songkit sarong costs about 350,000 Rupia, which is $35/ USD.

After the dancing there is prayer. We pray 5 or six times. I pray for everyone and everything. The feeling you have being surrounded by so much love is amazing. It’s very special. It’s a soft gentle love. Not strong and over powering. It’s very nurturing to be here in Bali. Bali has an even tighter grasp of my heart. After a while the language starts to feel very comforting, familiar and not so foreign. I think the reason why I love Bali so much, is the connection to family and to spirit. The two most important things in my life. The things that make me whole, without them, I do not know my place in the world and that is the same for the Balinese.

I wanted to hang onto this moment forever. I wanted to savor everything around me; the dirt floor, the old brick temple with the contrast of gold and saturated color of the people. The quiet night sky. Inside the temple the sound of scooters disappears. Everyone is here. There is nowhere else to be. At the end of the ceremony we are blessed with holy water and rice. You are sprinkled with water and then you must put rice on your throat and your forehead. Rice is sacred. In a single grain of rice you hold life and all this is holy. This was my first ceremony, and I recon…not my last.