It feels as if I have been procrastinating about this trip. Every morning Dewa comes and asks what I would like for breakfast, and I give him one or two slices of spelt bread, and he returns with nice scrambled eggs with tomatoes and onions, and my spelt toast, and a tall glass of fresh tropical fruit juice, and a dish of fresh sliced papayas, bananas and pineapples. Then he sits and watches me eat while we chat about various things. Often I will stash the fruit and the juice in my little refrigerator and have them later.

Dewa tells me that Balinese name their children by numbers, from one to ten, regardless of their sex. But nowadays the government discourages people from having more than two children, because most people cannot afford to support a larger family. The Balinese word for first is Wayan, which is why it is such a popular name. Second is Made. Third is Neoman. Fourth is Katut. When you add an “I” it indicates a man; like my friend, I Made. “Ne” indicates a woman. Wayantaka means “older sister of Wayan.” And Wayanadik means “younger sister of Wayan.” And (if I got it right) Butuwayan means “sister of Wayan,” and Ebuwayan means “wife of Wayan.” Ebu means aunt or sister, or simply a term of respect. So Dewa and the others addressed me as Ebujoy.

Every morning I tell Dewa, “Tomorrow I will take the bike.”

In my room there is a nice yellow laminated flyer that tells about a great trip that you can take up to Mt. Batur. The bike trip is not very expensive; just about $35 US, and that includes meals.

But since I learned that I didn’t get the royalties that I hoped to receive (sad to say, the sales on my new book, Vibrational Healing through the Chakras, have not been doing well, and the old book, Color and Crystals, has been out-of-print, waiting for the new edition) I’ve had to be quite frugal, and besides, I’ve been awfully busy. But it turns out that Dewa can provide me with a bicycle for my trip to find Ketut Liyer, for just $2 for the day.

“I’m really going to do it today, Dewa. I’m going to rent the bike.”

“You’re going to see Ketut Liyer?” he asks knowingly. We’ve talked about his daughter who was born with a hole in her heart, and how the doctors say that she needs an operation. But that would put him into major debt, probably for the rest of his life. Right now he just makes about 500,000 rupiah a month (which is pretty good in
Bali, especially since the bombings), and that is just barely enough to support his family with two kids. So we’ve both wondered if possibly one of the traditional healers could do anything about a hole in the heart?

“Yes,” I say with determination, “today is the day,” as I finish up my breakfast, mentally going over the list of things I need to do before I leave, so that I can get off by 9:30 at the latest, before it starts getting hot.

He puts out the bike for me; the one with the basket in front, and I buzz over to the internet cafe. There is some important business that needs to be taken care of right away, so by the time I get back, it’s after ten. The Balinese tend to take a long lunch break and nap from around 11 until about 2 or 3, but if you walk into their home or business during these times, they will politely get up and take care of you.

I wish I had gotten an early start. But I didn’t, and I’m afraid that if I put off this trip again, I may not make it. I may want to leave Ubud in a couple days, and I have plans for tomorrow and the next day, so I need to go today—even though I am feeling kind of depleted after yesterday’s bout with diarrhea.

“Maybe this isn’t such a great idea,” I think to myself as I pack a little lunch with sliced apple (the pectin is good for diarrhea) and a spelt bread sandwich with tahini and honey) and a bottle of water.

I am intimidated. I rarely get intimidated, but I am intimidated. This is twice as far as I’ve gone, in a whole different direction, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to find people out there who speak English, and I don’t know what the roads are like. I consider hiring a driver, but that would be a bit pricey, and I need the exercise, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable having the driver hang out while I’m taking as much time as I want, to be with this person. I don’t know if he will even be there, or have time to be with me, or want to be with me.

I do have a strong impulse to take my crystals. I have the feeling that he will enjoy looking at them. That means taking a heavy pack (not the heavy one I take on the plane, but still, a pretty heavy one). When I go out to the bike, I’m relieved to find that the pack fits into the basket. I guide the bike down the narrow lane, past the children shrieking as they chase after the white chicken that has been dyed bright pink, and out to Monkey Forest Road, a one-way road with bikes and motorbikes that go in both directions.

I wait patiently until the traffic thins, and then I try to get the bike going with one foot on the outer pedal and hop on with the other, but with the heavy bag in the basket, the bike weaves wildly from side to side until I finally get it fairy under control. When I look up I see a group of Balinese smiling and laughing as one heavy guy imitates me, weaving the top of his body back and forth, pretending he’s holding onto handlebars. I think it’s pretty funny, and we all laugh as I weave on by.

Although it takes me considerably out of my way, I try to stay with the predominant one-way flow of traffic. So I feel pretty flustered when I find myself on an even narrower street, going the wrong way. I try to hug to the right side and stay along the curb, and I have to powerfully will everyone who passes me on a motorbike going in the opposite direction to pass me along my left side so I can feel safe hugging the right curb.

After awhile I smarten up and remind myself that even if I am going the wrong way on this street, I would do better to be on the LEFT side of the street (on the jagged side, next to where the cars jut out because they’re all parked at an angle) because people in this country DO drive on the left side of the road.

I come to a mysterious juncture that wasn’t on the map as I recalled, and I want to ask somebody but there is no one to ask, so I take a leap of faith and just follow my instinct, going straight and hoping for the best. By now I’m in the proper flow of traffic.

Soon the road plummets downhill into a dark jungle. I don’t mind going down, but I’m terrified of having to come back up on this one-speed bicycle. So I get off and walk the bike down so I can scope it out and change my mind if necessary, though there’s hardly any place to walk. Soon I see that the road does flatten out after awhile, so I take my chances and ride the bike down the hill while seriously questioning my sanity. I do not have a helmet. I wish I had that Lloyd’s of London Traveler’s Insurance for $600 a year. CANCEL! (That’s what I say when I have negative thoughts and I want to avoid programming them into my subconscious.)

Now it’s time to ride the bike up another hill, and I try to get some speed but the gears are too loose, and as I rise up out of my seat to pump, reminding myself of how well that worked when I was with my monk friend in Japan, somehow the bike just doesn’t have enough traction, and I’m working very hard and accomplishing little.

Finally I just get off the bike, huffing and puffing, and walk the rest of the way up the hill. It is now 11:30 and the sun is at its zenith, and the sweat is pouring down my face, making it difficult for me to see. My chest feels tender and I am totally wiped out.

I find a grassy place to sit down. I’m grateful that I brought along some food. I nibble on the apple and tahini-and-honey sandwich, willing myself to find strength from the honey.

I’m not even sure I’m on the right road. It was really dumb to have gone out in the middle of the day. It’s so hot! I haven’t seen any of the landmarks on the map (though I’ve been too preoccupied to look for them). I definitely need to ask someone for help.

I study the map carefully and determine that I need to find a major intersection with a road that crosses on the right and the left. It takes awhile, but finally I do come to such a road. At first I cavalierly pass the road, confident that I know where I’m going. (I can’t read the street signs.) But then I realize that I should have turned left at that intersection.

So I double back, and make the turn, and I don’t see anybody to ask, so I just resolutely head off in that direction.

After a fairly long time, I get really really convinced that I need to ask someone, so I stop my bike. There’s a big car repair place. I go inside and ask, and show them the map. No one speaks English, and they don’t seem very good at reading maps, and they don’t know who Ketut Liyer is, and the only thing that everybody is sure about (because several people have gathered by now) is that I should go back. I’ve gone too far, or too much in the wrong direction. “Go back.”

But I’m too tired to go anywhere. There’s a beauty parlor with a big bench in front of it. I sit down on the bench and close my eyes and pretend that people aren’t staring at me. I’m quite exhausted. I’m kind of ready to give up the whole idea. I wonder if my bike would fit into one of those cabs? (They’re really just big vans.) Honestly, I just want to go back to my room.

Then I get a brilliant idea. This is an emergency, right? And in an emergencies, you resort to emergency tactics. I need something to make myself strong. I will drink a Coke! (It is much too hot for a coffee.)

A nice cold Coke sounds like a great idea. It always blows my mind that I can walk into any restaurant or convenience store in the world and purchase what, for me, is pure amphetamine. So, with this hopeful thought in mind, I go back to the intersection where I made that left turn, and again I look for someone to ask. There’s a place where a young guy is selling cell phones. He’s sitting on a stool, smoking a cigarette. He takes one look at me and says, in English, “Park your bike here. Sit down,” He gestures toward another stool.

I gratefully accept his invitation, and then I open my map. He looks at it with me, and decides that I passed my intersection a long time ago (probably when I was obsessing about going up and down those hills). Then I ask him about Ketut Liyer and he says (Thank God!) “Yes — back,” he gestures back toward Ubud. “Banyon tree. Sign. Want buy paintings?”

“No,” I say, knowing that Liyer also is an artist. Then I try the word I learned from Dewa: “Fo-man-ku.” That means healer.

“You sick?”

“No, I’m a healer too. And I want him to read my palm.”

“Oh!”

“Where can I get a Coke?”

“There!” he points to the store next door. “My Mother.”

I go into the store through the back door. It looks more like his sister. I can’t see a cooler, but I ask and she points to a little refrigerator. I get out a cold can of Coke, and gratefully hold it up against my hot face. I pay and make my way back to my new friend.

I sit on the stool next to this young Balinesian guy and we don’t talk much but local people keep going by on motorbikes and waving at him and gossiping a little and laughing. He seems to know at least half the people in this neighborhood. One guy parks his bike and walks over to join us. Another guy comes over to check out a cell phone.

I can’t finish the Coke, but I leave the can with him, thank him for his help, and ride back toward Ubud. A little bit of caffeine goes a long way. It’s still awfully hot, but then I remember that I have a little green hat in my pack that Chisan gave me. I fish it out and put it on and say to myself, “This is my lucky hat!”

Now I’m riding along, looking for an intersection with a road that goes in both directions, when I notice a sign for Café Arma. Wasn’t that one of the landmarks I was looking for? I hastily pull off the road and start going through my pack to look for my map when I hear a friendly voice say in good English, “You look tired. Come sit over here.”

I look up to see a young swarthy Balinese man, dressed in traditional costume with an elegantly folded scarf on his head. “Come!” he gestures, “sit down next to me.” He leads me over to a couch in an outdoor receiving area for an art gallery. “Would you like a cold drink?” he asks. “It’s free.”

I love when these Guardian Angels appear out of nowhere, just when you need them!

I politely decline the drink, but I ask if he knows Ketut Liyer. “Oh yes! He lives down there,” he responds. Then he looks at the map with me, and tells me exactly where I must go. We settle in and talk about all kinds of things. He tells me what towns I should go to if I’m interested in woodcarvings, or in paintings, or in silver or gold. I kind of perk up about silver and gold, since I make jewelry, and he offers to take me there sometime on his motorcycle. What a kind man! He gives me his card, and urges me to come back.

Fortified and reassured, I set out to find Ketut Liyer. I am thinking to myself that yes, it would have been easier to have taken a taxi (or to get a ride on a motorbike, as someone pointed out later), but just think of all the nice encounters I would have missed!

I find the street and it feels just like walking through Hopiland. I see someone and ask, “Ketut Liyer?” He points to the right. I go for awhile then ask someone else; a little Chinese-looking man with a gray moustache and a traditional cap. He can’t speak a word of English, but he gestures with enthusiasm. When I make a wrong turn, he runs after me, talking and gesturing.

Finally I am standing in front of a compound that has a sign: “Ketut Liyer, Paintings.” I congratulate myself. It is now about 2:30. I’m glad I got an early start on this trip instead of waiting until afternoon. But I wonder if he’ll be asleep, or with patients? Elizabeth wrote that sometimes he had many many patients.

I walk into the compound. It always amazes me, in Bali, how elegant these buildings can be, even in the midst of such poverty. A woman greets me. I ask for him by name. She gestures for me to sit on the couch in a kind of waiting area. I sit down and try to recuperate. But I am definitely exhausted.

I sit with my eyes closed and try to gather my strength. Finally the door of the building on the left opens and he comes out. He is a barefoot little Balinese man with a huge toothless grin, wearing a sarong and a white T-shirt. The energy just radiates off of him. I feel welcomed at once.

He sits down on the floor of the lanai and leans against a post, and gestures for me to sit down in front of him and lean against another post. It feels like we’ve known each other forever. We talk about this and that, and he tells me that he has a bad headache. Then I remember that I brought my crystals, and I go into my bag and take out the large bag of crystals and spread them out on the floor.

He loves them! He goes right up to the Chinese bluegreen obsidian and asks if he can touch it, and then he holds it up to his head. He also has a bad cough, so he holds it up to his chest. Then he tries some other stones, and we talk about the stones and how I use them, and he’s quite delighted, like a little child.

This man reminds me so much of Grandfather David Monogye in Hopiland. I knew David when he was 83, just before he went blind. I was with my friend Paul, and my son Kalon was six months old. I just knew I had to go to Hopiland, and we ended up staying there for a month. It was so good to be with David; nothing in particular that I needed to learn from him; it was just about BEING. It changed my life. It is such an honor to be in the presence of these elders.

I offer to do a Vibrational Alignment for Ketut, but he’s not into it. However, after awhile, when I offer to do something about that headache, he accepts. I sit up close to him, our knees touching, and I close my eyes and put both my hands on his head. I’m not sure this will work, but I can feel the energy moving in his head, and it feels confused and all over the place. I’m pleased when I feel the impulse to make sounds.

It’s a little intimidating to be making shamanic sounds for a Balinese shaman. I’ve never done anything like this before. Although I did once make aboriginal sounds for a man who had lived with the aborigines, and he said they were absolutely familiar to him. But I’ve learned to put my ego aside when doing this work, so I make an effort to put those thoughts out of my head.

“Do you mind if I make some sounds?” I ask, opening my eyes, and seeing his big smile. He nods his approval and I close my eyes, feeling for the sounds that want to come out; the sounds that somehow describe the pain, the misalignment of energy, the pressure and confusion that I feel in his head.

The sounds are not dramatic (as they often are!), but they are powerful. There’s some grumbing. Then some sounds of confusion. Then some high-pitched squeaking sounds that make us both giggle. I feel my hands making gestures, as if to let off steam from his head. I keep all this up for awhile, then suddenly I feel it is done. I remove my hands.

He gives me a huge smile and he says, “You ARE a healer! A VERY GOOD healer!”

His headache was gone and so was his cough. Now that he felt better, I asked him to read my palm. He reached out with his long Balinese hand with the long fingernails, and oh so gently stroked the side of my face as he brushed my hair behind my ear. Then he took my left palm and gently squeezed my hand a little from side to side so that the lines became deeper and easier to read, and then he said I’d live to be 104. He said I had a Very Big Heart, and a very healthy heart, and that I am strong. He saw the four marriages and the two children on the side of my left hand, and he said I would not marry again.

Then he looked at the back of my neck, and he told me that the Rice God was watching over me.

Then he went and brought me three of his beautiful Balinese magical drawings. He urged me to photograph them, so I could show them to you. They are extraordinary and they hold a definite power. It is a great sadness for me that when I got back to the mainland, the shelf that held my laptop had been improperly inserted, and it fell out, carrying the laptop with it, and it went crashing to the ground, wiping out my hard drive. All my photos for the rest of the trip were on the hard drive and had not been backed up.

The first drawing was the Goddess Saraswati. She holds the lotus flower and the lute and if I had $200, and space in my suitcase, I would have bought that drawing.

The second drawing shows a figure with double eyes, no head, and double legs. This one is about strength.

The third is about sexual magic. It shows two partners, completely entwined as one. He said, “I blessed this one for Liz (Elizabeth Gilbert). She married now. Happy.”

I think the idea is that if you buy a drawing, and if he prays over it for you, then the magic becomes yours.

I asked if I could take his photo. He was shy because “I used to be very handsome before I lost my teeth.” I told him how beautiful he is because his spirit shines through. But still, he was a little self-conscious, so I couldn’t capture his spirit quite as much as I would have liked.

Then we said goodbye, and he urged me to come back and to bring people.

The bike ride back took about twenty minutes, and it was amazingly easy. Dewa was sitting out front, as he often does, trying to drum up business for the bungalow. “How did it go?” he asks.

“It was good,” I say, “but I’m exhausted. Next time I should get a bike with gears!”

“It does have gears,” he says, and shows me how to twist the handle to activate the three gears. No wonder I couldn’t get any traction going uphill! It was in high gear.

IT IS FINALLY TIME TO FINISH MY STORIES!

The next day when he came to get me on his motorbike, I was wearing pants, and I asked for a helmet. “Why?” he asked. I just shrugged my shoulders. He let me wear his helmet.

This time the ride felt much less traumatic, and definitely shorter.

On our second visit we settled in at the temple, and he asked me to write my name on a piece of paper (just as Wayan had done). Then he asked the names of my mother and father and wrote those above and below my name. Then he lit some incense and passed it over the paper.

I learned the importance of the placement of chakras on the hand. This time Made diagnosed my chakras by touching his index finger to the chakra points on my left and right hands. He explained that we would both feel a slight electric shock at each point if the energy was open.

As he touched the points on my right hand, they were all open except for the third eye. When he touched the points on my left hand, they were all open except for the second and the fifth. The heart chakra, the fourth, was very strong, and the aura overall was very strong. This all made sense to me, given what I know about myself. The partial closure at my third eye probably relates to my inability to see auras.

In fact, Made was quite surprised that the chakras did not light up for me. As I thought about it, I realized that while I inherited my mother’s psychic sensitivity, I also probably took on some her fear about her clairvoyance. She could see into the future, and this sometimes frightened her. If she saw, for example, that someone was going to have an accident, then she didn’t know whether to tell them or not. She was afraid that if she told them, they would think she was crazy; but if she didn’t tell them, and the accident happened, then she was feel responsible because perhaps she could have prevented it.

My mother’s way of coping with this dilemma was to pray for her “gift” to be taken away. And it was. Except on rare occasions, when it involved members of her immediate family.

For example, in between my two sons I gave birth to a little girl. She was born with the cord wrapped round her neck, and she died. My mother, who was not invited to the birth, came anyway, because she “knew” that I would lose the baby, and she wanted to be there to help. Of course, she didn’t tell me this until later.

I have a very powerful technique for working on Reprogramming Core Beliefs, and I saw that it would be valuable for me to do this. Meanwhile, however, I thought I would take this opportunity to see what Made would suggest. He told me that normally he would give a person a mudra and a mantra and a chant and some yoga postures to work on for a month, and sometimes that would make a difference. Now I knew why Lumena was doing so much chanting next door! She’d been working with Made for a month, and she was indeed beginning to see auras.

I felt a bit torn about all this. First, I still wanted to see Ketut Liyer, and my funds were very limited. Second, both Made and I were a bit skeptical about whether having just one more session was going to make any significant difference. Nonetheless, I was quite curious about learning the mudra and the mantra, so I did make one more appointment.

Also we were talking about doing a bit of collaborating if I would bring a group of students to Bali. So I felt that I also wanted to experience more of his energy. So the next time we got together, in my room at Jati3, I suggested that I could feel his chakras. He was so cute! He put his hands together like a little child and said, “You heal me? Oh good! Everybody needs healing! Should I take off my shirt? What do you want me to do?”

The total absence of macho energy in Balinese men never fails to amaze and delight me. They are so willing to be vulnerable and soft. What a difference from most American men. This is truly a culture where the men where skirts (sarongs), and I honestly think that does make a difference!

So I did feel his chakras, and there was really only one small problem that I addressed with the crystals. And then I offered to do some shamanic sounding for him. He said that would be fine. So as usual, I just put my mind aside and allowed the sounds to come through. And they were quite powerful.

When I was done he sat up and looked into my eyes. “You have everything you need. Don’t mess with it.”

That was what I thought all along. Maybe I just came to Bali to hear someone else say that to me. I was grateful for this acknowledgement.

The Balinese Traditional Healer, Wayan Nuriyashih (a woman) is a long walk North, by the post office, and the Balinese Traditional Healer, Katuk Liyer is a long bike ride South. So it takes me a few days to get motivated, to get caught up with my email and my writing and to get some sleep. Finally I go in search of Wayan.

I had a feeling that it would be smart to arrive late in the day, when she might be there, but not too busy. So I arrived at 5, and the young woman serving food said to come back in an hour.

So I went to Bali Buddha, the health food store and restaurant across the street, and ordered a Greek salad, and they brought me a very welcome big bowl of fresh organic garden greens. What a relief to get some real fresh food! [Note: that big Balinesian painting in the center of the wall is not a painting; it’s just the view right outside of the big open-air window.]

I stopped in at the little health food store downstairs, and there was the middle-aged woman with the long red hair, so I introduced myself and said, “I have a feeling that we should get to know each other.”

She handed me her card and it turned out that she lives in Ubud and she does bodywork. I handed her my card and she saw that I do Vibrational Healing, and she said, “Oh! You’re right! I’m sure we have a lot in common!” So we make an appointment to meet at Bali Spirit Kafe, and she tells me how to get there.

When I went back to Wayan’s at 6, there she was, with her daughter Tutti, and she was very welcoming and jolly. I mentioned that I read about her in Elizabeth’s book and she laughed and said, “She tells all, doesn’t she?” with a slightly embarrassed laugh. (You’ve got to read the book to appreciate this.)

“Yes,” I agreed, “she doesn’t doesn’t keep anything private!” and we both laughed.

There were a couple of tables and some shelves with books, and there on the top of the shelves was a photo of a white woman. “Is that Elizabeth?” I asked, feeling quite sure that the woman who looks like an impish nature spirit must be Elizabeth Gilbert. Surely she deserved a place of honor, because she single-handedly raised enough money for Wayan to buy a house! But that’s a long story that she tells quite well herself.

We hung out and talked for an hour or two. Wayan’s daughter, Tutti, and two other girls (whom I assumed were the two homeless waifs that Wayan adopted several years ago) went upstairs. Did I hear a television? “Yes,” Wayan smiled. Not many people in Bali can afford to have a television.

While we were talking, Wayan looked at my hand and said casually, “You have arthritis, you need more water, and you like sweets.” All of which are true. My mother had arthritis, and one of the reasons I avoid wheat and dairy is because they make my joints hurt. I was pretty impressed that she picked up on that so quickly, so I said I would come back the next day for a massage and some herbs and her special Vitamin Lunch.

In her book, Liz talks about two healers that she encountered during her stay here. I’ve asked a couple of locals about them, and they didn’t recognize their names. But this morning, before I leave the Ubud Bungalows, I feel that I should ask Wayan, the manager. Sure enough, he knows exactly where I can find both of them. “How did you know about them?” he asks, and I mention the book and he smiles and says “Many people ask about them who have read the book.” It is, by the way, a New York Times Bestseller.

“And how did you know about this place?” he asks, and I mention Robert Frutos and he smiles and says, “Yes, the big man. He stayed here two years ago. He stayed for two weeks.”

I have become so slow inside. My need to achieve anything whatsoever is about down to zero, yet my ability to take care of whatever needs to be done is smooth and efficient.

While I was at the temple, a visitor asked a monk, “Why do we do everything so fast?” The monk responded, “The Roshi wants us to function effectively in the outside world. If we get too slowed down, then when we go into the outside world we’ll be totally out of synch with what everyone else is doing.”

I can see the wisdom in that. I am reaping the benefits of the long meditations combined with fast and disciplined activity.

I am so grateful that my travels have brought me to Bali at this point. This feels like the closest I have come to living like I did on my mountain in Big Sur, where I had no commitments, no responsibilities, and I could just live a very simple life and devote myself to loving God and loving Nature.

I’ve always thought of those three months in Big Sur, when I was barely 17, as the happiest time in my life (along with the time I performed a double wedding for my two sons—when they each married women who had been my students—and along with the year that I spent with the love of my life—until we both knew that he had to go back and be a Daddy for his two boys, and then there was the time I spent three months on Molokai with Raphael. . . .).

I meditated for an hour last night and an hour this morning. It feels so good. I have a new goal: to create a lifestyle where I have plenty of time for loving God and Nature every day. That’s the first priority. THEN I will be happy to spend about three days a week seeing clients, and spend hunks of time teaching and writing. If I happen to fall in love with someone who is on the same wavelength, who wants to share this lifestyle with me, that would be lovely. I just need to be very clear about the order of my priorities. I knew all this when I was 17; I just lost sight of it while I got caught up in raising my kids and earning money and negotiating relationships.

As if to punctuate this new resolution, a lovely young Balinese woman passed by my lanai with a basketful of incense and flowers and offerings of food. It’s lunchtime, so the gods must be fed. Like in the Buddhist temple, the first morsel of food is always for the gods. The Balinese seem to be feeding a whole army of gods with every meal. Offerings are placed on the altar of every home and business, as well as on the ground. [Later I am told that the offering on the ground is for the Mother Earth.]

At the Ubud Bungalows, they had a big altar for the whole place, and little tiny offerings at each room, but here they seem to have an altar for every single dwelling, with four tiny offerings on separate squares of palm or ti leaves for both the altar and the ground. The young woman dips a flower in a bowl of water and lovingly and gracefully sprinkles each altar three times, then she places several sticks of lit incense at the altar above and the one below.

I went out tonight with the Australian woman, Anna, whom I met at the Internet Café on my first day here. We were trying to find the famous “Coffee House” in Ubud that everyone said was so easy to find, where all the expatriates hang out. Anna had been here a few days longer than me, and she had some ideas about it. We walked all the way to the end of Monkey Forest Road, to the Rendezvous Coffee Shop with the used bookstore. The French owner was friendly, but the place was empty and he said, “It’s better to come in the afternoon—I’m off to a party now,” as he left us in the charge of a Balinese girl, who picked up the phone as soon as he was out of sight.

From there we went to the Bali Buddha Health Food Store and Restaurant, and that was a huge relief. They actually have spelt cookies and rye bread and rice and soymilk, and unsweetened fruit juice, and a nice-looking muesli, and the restaurant serves free range eggs and fresh sunflower seed milk. Yes, it’s relatively expensive, but I already have a swollen lymph node under my arm and sores in my mouth from eating dairy and wheat (oh, I do so love green tea ice cream, and the wonderful homemade bread they serve with scrambled eggs in the morning!), so it felt like a real blessing to find the kind of food that sustains me.

As I’m walking through the health food store, I see a middle-aged woman with long red hair talking to a small group of people in the restaurant. I think to myself that I ought to meet this woman, but I don’t feel like interrupting her.

Normally I carry a backpack, but tonight I dressed up for a night on the town. So now here I am, carrying a heavy bag of groceries, and then I stop to buy a big bottle of water. It’s almost my bedtime and I’m beginning to feel weary, especially since I’m wearing my contacts, which dry out my eyes, which makes me feel tired and irritable. And I’m wearing a bra, which I try not to do very often, because it constricts my breathing and makes me feel uptight. (How come it’s fashionable now for girls with little titties not to wear bras?)

So now we’ve arrived at Anna’s bungalow and she invites me in, but I am much too tired. I keep looking for the lane where Jati 3 is, but I don’t recognize my usual landmarks in the dark. Passing a restaurant with people sitting outside, they say, “Good evening! How are you?” as many people do around here, and I mutter, “I’m lost!” as I stagger past them.

Then both the Balinese waitress and the German couple stand up and call out, “You’re lost! Come back and we’ll help you!”

Ah, music to my tired ears. I walk back to look into their kind eyes, and then I remember that I cleverly stuck a couple business cards from Jati 3 in my bag, and as I pull them out, I see that each one has a map on the back. I give one to the German couple and the other to the waitress, and within a couple minutes they figure out where I should be. “It’s just before Café Wayan,“ says the waitress, and I know she is right.

“It’s before the football field,” says the German man, and I know it’s way before the football field. “Now if you can’t find it,” says the man with the clear blue eyes “you come back here and we’ll take you there!”

My mother once gave me a beautiful card with an old Irish saying:

“Help a stranger to their destination,
though its end your own eyes may not see,
for kindness reaches with neverending branches
down an endless eternity.”

The waitress at the restaurant where I ate tonight was so sweet.
She said, “Do you do meditation?” I said I did.
“You have so much light around you; I knew you must do meditation.”

It’s nice to be seen. And to be helped.

What is it that feels so soft here? Softer than Hawaii or even Thailand? For one thing, the local people do not seem to resent the presence of tourists, as so many do in Hawaii. This is a tourist economy, and people have really suffered since the bombings. I don’t feel any anger under the surface, as I often did in Hawaii. It feels very safe to walk the streets here, even late at night.

The land feels so gentle. There’s such a rich infusion of the sounds of roosters, grasshoppers, frogs, doves and other birds. I’m just guessing that the gentle rasping that sounds like the backyard is being raked all night is frogs.

The people always ask where you’re going (Liz warned about that), which I normally would take offence to, but here it feels like they’re all watching out for me, like brothers and sisters. If I close the curtains in front of my dwelling, because I don’t want to be bothered and I want to enjoy the privacy of my backyard, they will just come around the side of the house and pop up in my backyard. But it feels so innocent! They don’t understand about privacy. They just want to come by and sweep my floor (they’d be hurt if I didn’t let them do that), or bring me a lovely breakfast. They want to stop and chat for awhile, and ask me where I’m going today and what I’m going to do.

It’s nice that most people (even most local people) speak English. They don’t seem to have any programs about how the “servants” aren’t supposed to hobnob with the guests. They’re just friendly and kind.