Presence

So, the picture below is certainly not the most flattering picture ever taken, but I'm pretty certain it captures one of the happiest moments of my entire life. Peter and I were messing around with the camera, and he told me to start jumping up and down. The whole thing felt so silly, especially since he kept telling me to spread my arms out, and I was giggling uncontrollably. I think my face was about to split wide open with the power of the grin on my face (you can click on the picture to enlarge it if you reeeeeally wanna see it in detail....which you probably don't...):



That whole week in Bali was so unusual for me, because I think it was the first time in my entire life that I was able to just be in the present moment--not fretting over the future or thinking about the various pressing concerns that are plaguing me at the moment. I literally left them behind in Thailand, and I've never been able to do that before.

Bali has no interest in worry. Worry is utterly incapable of breeding there. Should a worry arise, it is lazily carried away by a salty breeze to join the mosaic of kites that pepper the sky there. The ground there is littered with offerings. People make them twice a day--banana leaves folded into squares and filled with flowers, incense, Ritz crackers, prayers. They're placed in a variety of spots--on steps, on the sidewalk, in the middle of the street, in tree branches. Everyone stops to reflect and give thanks, and while no one in Bali even begins to produce what can pass as a bustle, these little brief retreats bring everyone into the present moment. The present moment is alive and well in Bali.

When Peter and I went on a bike tour, our guide told us that everyone in Bali (it being the only Hindu country in the archipelago of Indonesia) believes strongly in Karma. People are genuinely good to each other. There's a gentleness that pervades and persists and any sort of negativity just gets absorbed and diminished, like water disappearing into terraced rice paddies.

Even the stray dogs were amazing. They were happy and looked well-fed and their tails were wagging and they looked significantly less tragic and weary than the strays in Bangkok. There was one particular stray dog named Cocoa (or rather, that's what I named him) who followed Peter and me around Ubud (a fabulous town filled with artists and mountain air) for pretty much the entirety of our time there. I would regress to the age of five whenever I would see this dog. I would coo to him and tell him what a widdle pweshious weshious he was, and he would wag his tail and look up at me with his sad little eyes and protect us from other stray dogs (and hide behind us when other stray dogs came after him). Peter had had enough of Cocoa by the time our last day rolled around, but he managed to find some "I heart Bali dogs" stickers for me and chuckled that I was clearly among kindred spirits in Bali.

So, yes. I was quite possibly the happiest I've ever been in my entire life in Bali. The fact that I was there with the love of my life (who spent every minute of his time making me feel perfect and pretty and like I'm the best thing since sliced bread) turned Bali into a perfect paradise.