Balinese Story: Wayan Brings Offerings. The Universe Offers Up Magic.

by Kayce Stevens Hughlett

“Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.” - Roald Dahl

Ubud, Bali, Indonesia - personal writing retreat

How or why do I forget the magic that daily dances around the edges of our lives? Personally, I get lost in conversations with myself that dare me to remember while at the same time weave a curtain across my imagination. 

I can’t get my writing started. What if I don’t write while I’m here? Where is my rhythm? Is this retreat a boondoggle? Am I a fraud? 

It’s that voice that shows up, the one who questions everything, the one with the edge in her tone. She chastises me for not writing then bullies me with doubts and criticism when I do. Perhaps the key is to simply write whatever comes, like following an unmarked trail into the beckoning jungle. Who knows what I’ll discover along the way? 

I was exhausted by mid-afternoon yesterday. My eyes drooped and sanity begged for a nap that never came. Then, when it was time to sleep, I was wide awake after two walks to the cash machine down the trail. One trip for cash, the second an unsuccessful attempt to retrieve the debit card that I left in my jet-lagged haze.  Today, I awoke early, around 5:00 a.m. Before the roosters began their earnest crowing, my mind was already abuzz.

Find your rhythm. Remember it. It’s the moment-by-moment one. Go take a dip in the pool. Really? It’s 7:00 a.m. Why not? Check the temperature. Does it matter? Is the pool clean and fresh? Maybe. I need to swim then shower then eat then write and/or walk to the bank in town for that damned ATM card. Or simply be… 

A bee waiting to be colored stares at me from the page of my journal. Weight and Wings. Is that the new title? There will be no book to title at this rate. Be kind to yourself. Go take a swim. 

And so I did. It seemed as reasonable a response as any. I stepped over all the reasons swimming didn’t make sense like the sun wasn’t out or I might wake my hostess or or or… 

Walking through the still house, I push open the sliding door that I hadn’t seen closed until now. The air is warm, but not hot. A bird makes a cat call. Is he talking to me? The lush garden wraps around my soul. Palm leaves the size of a full-grown elephant’s ear wave in the breeze. Red bamboo-like stalks flash amidst the green Eden. I step into the pool onto a deep step and the cool water swallows my calves. I stand like a shivering Buckingham palace guard and allow my body to adjust. A squirrel leaps across the electric wires overhead and chatters. Do it. Do it. Do it. I suck in my breath, reach my arms over head, and dive into the bracing water. 

My chest clinches, just a bit, and then I begin to move my arms in a crawl toward the other end of the pool. It’s barely 20 feet in length, hardly long enough for lap swimming, so it’s convenient that I’m not a lap swimmer. That was one more argument for not getting into the water. You don’t even swim. Whose voice is that? I ask as I propel myself back and forth, back and forth. Clearly, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I forget that, too. 

The morning air and water swallow me whole. I feel my body relax. The night of minimal sleep washes away and I am restored. I hear the latch on the outside entrance loosen, and a beautiful Balinese woman dressed in ceremonial attire, lace top and sarong, comes through the wooden gate near the top of the pool.

“Hello,” I say from my watery world. 

“Hello.” I notice her body shift. I’ve startled her. 

“Are you Wayan?” I ask. 

She nods. 

“I’m Kayce.” She nods again, smiles, then goes about her task.

She’s come to make the house offerings. First, she removes the old offering from the altar on the wall at the far end of the pool. Then she lifts the fresh gift to its place, lights the stick of incense, and waves her hand to send the fragrance toward the sky. I watch in rapt attention. This is my ceremony, too. Wayan seems to understand this. 

She finishes at the altar opposite me, then comes to the pavement at the shallow end where I float in awe. What is happening to me? It’s like my edges have softened and now blend into the aqua water. Tears shimmer in my eyes like holy water as Wayan bends her knees and places another offering on the ground barely two feet from where I watch. We are all in this together. The packets. Wayan. Me. Holy. Holy. Holy. 

Three small bundles of greenery and twisted banana leaves fold together and hold marigold, fuchsia, and pale blue blossoms. Wayan places them on the paneled deck and lights the single stick of incense, then sprinkles a water blessing over the trio. The aroma is heady as it fills my nostrils and I watch it waft into the heavens. I linger in the pool (or does the pool linger in me?) and allow the sweet scent to wash over my face and tickle my nose. Now I am air. Rising, rising, rising. The curtain lifts and it’s like all of the elements have gathered and conspired to carry me into this new day. Earthy flowers. Baptismal water. Fiery incense. Wisps of floating air. We have become one. Magic has arrived. Simple and pure.