Unveiling rituals in Bali
Even though we are driving through busy narrow streets with chaotic traffic, I can see pockets of peace every step of the way. Motorbikes are speeding by, tangled with occasional pedestrians, and yet most of them manage to gracefully avoid stepping on or running over the handmade offerings. These tiny trays woven from palm leaves cover the surface of sculptures in the temples, the entrance of almost every home, spilling out into the streets and into the routine of Balinese people. Elements of nature as the intrinsic part of the spiritual ritual, seeping into beliefs, and forming the fabric of the culture.
It is said that in Bali, the world consists of three key parts - the higher realms of the mountains, the middle space of the human world, and the underworld of seas.
We were told to approach the mountains respectfully, because the spirits of the ancestors dwell in the higher realms of the mountain tops. When hiking, we could find temples sitting quietly at a foot of a mountain. Some improvised mountain temples were surrounded by decorated trees, their trunks wrapped in checkered scarves, symbolising the balance of light and darkness, the opposing forces. In fact, this balance of spiritual world was central in many ceremonies we witnessed. We observed a play of a traditional story transmitted through dance and an orchestra of clattering instruments. The story embodies the ritual of offerings to the gods, which attracts the king of spirits, who later has to face the evil spirits to bring peace - with no clear winner, showing the unavoidable presence of both light and dark, in fact, peace defined as a balance, rather than the absence of darkness.
The human realm, being human, is a vast one. Starting with offerings. I soon learned that these offerings to gods were not there for special occasions. They were a part of a daily life, people cutting palm leaves and stapling them into a small tray, adding the blooms of marigold and fangipani, the bits of rice, coconut cake or fruit, and anything else of meaning and value. In fact, Indra, our Balinese offering-making guide, mentioned that the food that lands on the offering tray is often eaten later with the family, as a blessing. It reminded me of the catholic holy bread, blessed and then shared around the Christmas Eve dinner table with family. Shapes and colours differ, the essence transcends borders. Even the colours of the coconut cake have significance, with pink, green and white layers representing the balance of fire, earth and air, as well as South and North and East. Intentionality and balance, ever present.
I got so used to spotting daily offerings that soon I could see them everywhere, lining the steps to hotels and roadside of a rainforest. I saw these physical expressions of devotion and intentionality so often, that I started noticing less tangible versions of them. Like smiles as offerings. Every time we would go hiking towards the village, or towards the rainforest, every motorcyclist zooming by would nod or smile, those smiles stretching wide and making me feel like I won something that is so good it cannot be put into words. Those people were moving by, with nothing to sell, nothing to gain, and yet they would bloom into genuine smiles, one after the other, one day after another. I started to anticipate them and as soon as a motorbiker would appear on the horizon I would offer my most gracious nod and my warmest smile, and would almost jump out of a joy at the reciprocity of the interaction, looking back at Marco to see if he witnessed the magic repeating itself once again. Offerings that are so simple, so accessible. And just as special.
It seemed that nature and culture in Bali intermingled in every perspective. Our rainforest guide explained that even the architecture of the houses was affected by this symbiotic connection. Traditionally, the houses are built in a highly structured order resembling a human body - where a head would be, there is a temple, followed by bedrooms, where the stomach would be - a kitchen, with bathrooms, gardens and farming land at the feet. And yes, many Balinese homes have their own temples. The attendance of temples require special white robes, but also, our guide mentioned that the wardrobe has to have more special outfits, including red or pink ceremonial clothes for attending weddings, and outfits for funerals, or, as he called, cremation (which may involve actual cremation or burial into the ground without literal cremation - according to him, it is more of a broad concept encompassing the passing away ceremony).
When people pass away, their ashes are scattered into the see, allowing the particles of the body to return to nature, however, the soul continues its journey up, ending up in the higher realms. As a result, ocean can be seen as dirty due to ashes, and somewhat dangerous as the home of the underworld spirits. There is unpredictability to water. There is sacredness to it.
There is unpredictability to it all. And that is why, there is sacredness to it. There is sacredness in taking time to make an offering - picking up plants, focusing one's mind, going through the ritual in an unrushed way. In fact, there is sacredness in the act of a ritual itself. The intentionality, the respect, the sacrifice, the faith. The conviction, on the one hand. And the utter surrender of any conviction on the other. The balance. The balance as a form of peace.
