My friend lives on the top of the hill above a remote Balinese village. Through the greenery of palm trees the view is overlooking the blue of the ocean, from the terraces he can freely observe ceremonies in the temple built of a black volcanic rock. It is a place miles and years away from the tourist part of the island. He lives alone, only with his books, surfboards, yoga pad, and the views to the distance. But let’s not feel sorry for him, this scenario suits him perfectly.
He rarely stays inside his house, he prefers the air, meditating with eyes closed and legs crossed, listening to the call of distant waves, practicing yoga, reading books, or just existing sprawled on the soft grass of his garden, unprotected from the sun and other weather elements.
The waves are a wonder of nature. The crests roll through oceans unhurriedly, while traveling to their destiny. Only incidental sculptures made while the heavens raged, spread cyclically from the heart of a storm. The forces of nature drive them over the blue surface, turning them into travelers and wanderers, until the moment strikes to break and disappear. They die in an act of beauty, when coral reef forces them to prance and grow. Like butterfly into larvae, they transform from featureless lines into grandeur of crashing waves and fireworks of its foaming water. Sun is the witness of that show, hugging them and signing by a thin rainbow across the blue back. Sometimes they are found by stray human’s eyes. Surfers blend with the entire ocean as they pass through the souls of waves which selflessly devote their breath of life to them. Each wave is special, different. Each wave is unique and unrepeatable. The sound of their breaking is reaching up to this lonely cottage.
We sipped the dark coffee, contemplating sealed in one’s own limbo. Only with particularly close people you can spend time in silence without being bothered by the presence of their absent thinking, without feeling like you have to talk all the time about new nonsense. I am concentrated on the wind that successfully paralyzes me while being motionlessly sprawled across pleasantly cold tiles. I move my toes from time to time to remind myself that I exist.
I realized with certainty that we would stay here until the end of the day. After that we will go back towards the west coast and the view to another sunset. Sunsets are a festivity that we rarely fail to attend. We have become dependent on the daily blending of dissolved coulisses of the reality. The plan of the action will be formed later, at this moment we are too lazy to make the big decisions.
* * *
It’s happening on the Kuta Beach. We look for the umpteenth time as the Sun races towards the ocean surface. With an aboriginal certainty I know what will come next. The star will plunge abruptly, and without any doubt or much thinking will disperse its colors on the surface. Just a moment and it will be over. Sunset near the equator is a play that takes a very short time.
- Could life get any better than this? More perfect, more beautiful, more fascinating. Are there happier people than us? Anywhere? I might live like this forever. In daydreaming, in embrace of this island. I want nothing else, there’s nothing better.
My friend often draws out such sentences. His good will and eternal optimism are widely known. I no longer call to ask him about the waves, because I know in advance what I will hear. To him they are wonderful, have never been better.
– We are good today. Really good.
I add two short sentences. Purely as a courtesy, just for his words not to be left hanging in the air without support, abandoned and alone. I love and respect words.
– Yes, we all know very well that this place can easily get under the skin, but did you know that it applies not only to us, or to other foreigners and tourists? Balinese are also reluctant to leave their island, especially for longer period. I rarely heard of them moving away, and being happy about it. Even if they succeeded in a foreign land, settled down and earned money – he commented cheerfully and continued: – There’s a theory about it, the placenta of every Balinese after the birth is shut into a coconut with the powerful mantra engraved on it, then buried in front of the birth house door. That’s why they feel so strongly about this place till the end of life as their home and are reluctant to leave.
– That sounds nice bro, but there are countless similar stories here. I’d say it’s about a specific way of life that is not easy to change or replace by a different formula. Besides that tradition, or call it their religion, gives Balinese meaning in everyday life, an exclusive membership within the community gives them a sense of belonging, and with the expansion of tourism, standard of living is growing on the island. And then, who would wish then to go elsewhere? What for? – I followed up.
– You’re probably right about that. Maybe we could celebrate tonight a bit? The fact we ended in the best island in the world. The island nobody wants to leave.
He replies with anticipation in the eyes, and I can already see the innocent senoritas that will not know who they are dealing with. At least, not at that moment. At the same time, through my mind blows the last breath of another day in Bali. I follow it, but it slides away.
