Messages from the Dead
I was fortunate to be introduced to many aspects of Balinese culture on my trip. Part of Indonesia, the island of Bali was fairly isolated for most its history, due to strong regional ocean currents and the lack of a natural harbor. The people thus have a very united outlook, so different from our heterogenous culture here in the States. The Balinese religion is Hindu Dharma: a mash-up of Hinduism, Buddhism and animism, and there is evidence of this practice everywhere.
As we were driving into the mountains on the first day, my brain was working hard to absorb scenes and smells and sounds so different from my normal experience. I noticed some buildings with dark thatched roofs, sometimes decorated with colorful cloths or flowers, typically surrounded by low walls. On a hike through the food forest the next day, as we walk along a wall surrounding more of these unusual structures, I learn they are temples. The black thatch is from the sugar palm tree and it is very distinctive, so as the days pass and my jet lag eases, I see temples everywhere. According to our primary guide Kari, every village has separate temples to Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, and we also come across temples to the lake goddess, and the rice goddess, and other deities who warrant attention. Traditional family compounds also contain a temple, where the ancestors reside while they await reincarnation. Additionally, there is almost always at least one small shrine within one’s field of vision, and daily offerings are left not only at all of these places, but also at various unmarked locations at different times of day to appease both good and bad spirits.
One day two of the women at our accommodation near Ubud showed our group how to make some of the simple offering structures. They already had the palm leaves cut to the proper shapes and sizes, we just needed to learn the folding and connection techniques. It reminded me of when we make crosses out of palm leaves in preparation for Palm Sunday at church, although these items were more elaborate, to the point of frequently needing tiny slivers of bamboo to reinforce a corner or seam. One of our teachers told us she makes 60 per day for her own household, made a little easier by the use of a stapler instead of bamboo, and they make 200 for daily use at the hotel complex of only 10 guest rooms. Even in the short time we explored this craft, it struck me how meditative a process it is. During my stay I occasionally watched one of the staff walking the grounds, a large tray of offerings on their shoulder, as they placed each gift, lit the incense and sprinkled some holy water before moving on to the next location. This physical element in their prayers of thanks as well as hope for blessings, was a constant visual reminder of a connection to a higher power. Our simple crafts were mostly used to help decorate for the group’s feast on our last night together, but the creations we saw island-wide ranged from small segments of banana leaf holding a few grains of rice to the towering penjors, which mimic the arch of sacred Mount Agung.
We participated in several prayer ceremonies during our stay, the most intimate of which was in a village temple, where our local guide led us in simple prayers to nature, our ancestors and the world. Worshippers must be dressed in traditional attire to enter the inner courtyard of any temple, as it demonstrates that you have arrived with the intention to pray and are not just curious tourists. My blouse, sash and sarong, borrowed from the collection of our group leader, are intentionally worn more tightly than the clothes I am accustomed to wearing, and that has me a little antsy as I sit on my heels in a kneeling position. Our guide Gede hands us the offerings to be used during the ceremony, small baskets filled with flowers. We light the incense sticks contained therein, the smoke of which will carry our prayers to heaven. As Gede begins his recitation, there is a bird directly in my line of sight, diving down behind the temple wall and then back up to perch, over and over, its flapping wings a beautiful blue and white, not a tiny bird, but not large either. I cannot see its face, and I am trying to focus on the ritual but I can’t help but be distracted by the brilliant blue of its wings reflecting the sparse sunlight through the midday clouds.
Afterwards I describe what I saw to Gede, and he says in their language it is a Tenggek, but he does not know the English translation. He tells me they believe birds are messengers from the dead. The hotel loans me a birding book from its library and that helps me identify what I believe is the bird I saw - a Collared Kingfisher. Days later while booking a guided bird walk for my solo time, I find their website cross-references English and scientific bird names with the Balinese terms, and this is indeed what I saw. Tenggek. A kingfisher. One of Ken’s favorite birds, because they are fishers. He often saw Belted Kingfishers on the river finding their meals while he fished for ours. Tenggek.
The thing Ken most wanted to do in his free time was fish. Encouraged by the thrill of the catch with its adrenalin rush and feeling of accomplishment and pride, he also found serenity in the meditative aspects of both the preparation and the wait, and felt closer to God in nature than anywhere else. The daily assembly of the offerings and then their placement fulfill this same need for repetitive action with focus on the divine. Despite his love of the sport, Ken let me drag him all over to places where fishing was not part of the itinerary. And I know he didn’t just tolerate my wanderlust, but loved our travels. Of course, we both figured there would be plenty of time for him to fish in retirement. Maybe this was his way of showing me he is. At least I know he made it to Bali.