Chapter 5 – Bali & Grief

Well here I was back in Uluru, wondering what on earth I was going to do now. I was looking around in a daze, when a white car drew up. Inside was a man who had been part of the group out bush with me. In a surreal way, he asked me if I wanted a lift back to Alice. I didn’t even know his name. He got out of the car, took my little bag and threw it in the back. “Hop in” he said and I did. Apparently one evening around the camp fire, I had mentioned I would need to go back to Alice. He said he was planning to take a couple of days driving there. I just shrugged and said fine.

Driving through the wilderness was mesmerising, otherworldly. Eventually we stopped for a break and to my delight realised it was a camel farm. I forgot my driving companion completely and, asking if I could have a ride, made a beeline for the nearest camel. Communing with this gentle giant of a beast was soothing and just what I needed. Another rider came alongside and, as the camels communed, we started to chat. It transpired that this interesting man was going to trek across Australia on a camel and he was testing them out. As my visceral connection with these beasts got stronger, I nearly asked if I could join him. Fortunately my umbilical cord with the children kicked in as an image of them came into my head. I smiled at him instead and wished him bon voyage. Then it dawned on me how fragile I really was and, brought down to earth with a bump, I reluctantly climbed down from my camel and went to find my driving companion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We spent the night in a friendly Aboriginal stop-over and the next morning I bought a couple of paintings, one of them reminded me of the Dreamtime, especially as a giant lizard had crossed in front of the car the day before. In Native American teachings lizard can represent Dreamtime and I was beginning to make connections between what I had learned out bush and what I had learned a few years before with the wolf clan in America.

Eventually we arrived in Alice, my driving companion kindly dropped me off at the hostel I had been in before I left for Uluru. I collapsed into bed having reclaimed my belongings and went into a deep sleep. The next morning I phoned Elizabeth and Geraldine. We agreed to meet the next day. Elizabeth was curious, Geraldine just gave me knowing looks in her inscrutable way. With their help, It took me a few days to re-enter into some form of mundane reality. I booked my flights home via Bali. For some reason, before I left for Uluru, I had made a provisional booking for a couple of weeks there. Now I understood why, there was no way I could go straight back to England.

Australian men are not necessarily given to being super attentive to women. Doors were opened for me everywhere I went and they were perfect gentlemen around me.  When I told Geraldine, she just laughed and asked “How does it feel to be 100% in your female energy? Maybe you have learned more about women’s business than you think”. I was seen off at the airport after lots of hugging and tearful goodbyes, staggering off towards a line of small planes. Still pretty ungrounded I sat down, a woman glared at me saying I was in her seat. In my befuddled state I had managed to get on the wrong plane. Luckily the stewardess was very kind and, trying not to laugh, steered me towards the plane next to it.

I have no idea why I was flying to Bali from Darwin but it meant I had the day there. To begin with I just wandered aimlessly about, wiltingly hot. Turning a corner I found myself in a deserted back street. I thought there was no-one else around when I felt something touch my ankle. Looking down there was an aboriginal woman with a baby hanging on to her and empty beer bottles by her side. Seeing her took me full circle to arriving in Australia months ago and being met by my brother at the airport. He was already drunk. This woman was drunk too. Challenging me to judge her. She brought me back to the underbelly of life and for some reason, although I could feel her despair, I wondered if there was a glimmer of hope for her, for the baby. I turned around and walked away towards the main drag. She muttered something at my back and I heard her spit.

Shaken by my abrupt reminder of that underbelly, like a homing pigeon I walked towards the sea. It felt as if cracks were beginning to appear in my energy field. I found a bench and just watched the waves play in front of my eyes. A couple of dolphins decided to swim in closer to the seafront and somehow they restored me to some form of equilibrium. Then it was time to go to the airport. Whilst I was I waiting for my flight,  I struck up a conversation with a young woman and she enthusiastically talked about reading the Celestine Prophecy. Her chatter about a positive spiritual book was superficially soothing  but those cracks were only beneath the surface. I could still feel that touch on my ankle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I boarded the plane and, after a briefish flight, arrived in Bali. I stayed the night in a rather deluxe hotel, very much in a trance after months of travelling. In the same lingering daze, the next day I was driven to the north side of the island to a deserted hotel with individual cabins. The perpetually smiling faces of the driver and my guide I found unnerving. It was a relief to say goodbye to them. However, I was handed over to more smiling faces. There was a desolate feel to the whole place as I appeared to be the only guest. I was shown to my cabin with ornate double wooden doors painted in bright colours and peacocks. It felt like the entrance to a small temple. I stayed in my room and ordered room service, too fragile to venture outside my sanctuary. I meditated after supper and received a very strong message that under no circumstances was I to swim in the sea. The message seemed to be reinforced by geckos thumping on the roof. I discovered years later that this part of the sea was dangerous to humans as there was some form of parasite there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, I walked towards the beach and saw that it was black sand. Although I stayed on the beach, the temptation to swim in the sea just wasn’t there. A little group of children slowly gathered around me smiling and begging at the same time. A boy, a little older than the others, seemed to be their leader. I suddenly burst into tears and, in between sobs, said “My father has just died. Please leave me alone”. This amazing man-child said something to the others. They stopped begging and just sat down on the sand keeping me silent company. Their presence was incredibly comforting. After a while I got up, feeling better, smiled at them and came back to the hotel to swim alone in the pool.

I had lunch on the terrace in front of my cabin. The day disappeared into itself and when it was dark I went inside. There were all sorts of eerie noises on the roof, louder than just the geckos. Finally, the cracks burst open and my body felt raw. Raw with grief from the death of my father, my brother’s alcoholism, until the accumulated grief from over the years gushed out. I would go down to the beach in the morning and my little companions would continue to keep silent vigil. I thought it was curious they never went into the sea. Perhaps they already knew about the parasites. Every day I would swim for hours in the pool, my tears mingling with its water.  I completely disintegrated plunging into the  madness of grief. After a week, still feeling fragile, another car arrived with another smiling duo of chauffeur and guide. They were like those dogs you sometimes see in the back of cars, bobbing up and down.

This time they took me to a hotel outside Ubud. I was in the middle of the jungle. I can still hear the constant chirping of frogs and crickets as I write this. My accommodation was on stilts this time,  open-sided with bamboo blinds. I arrived at night and after a quick supper, I stumbled back to my new home in the dark. Far too spooked to turn the lights on, I crawled into bed. Bats kept me company as I continued to disintegrate with fear and exhaustion, finally falling into a tormented sleep.

 

 

The next morning I woke up to bright sunshine and saw that where I was staying was beautiful. My cabin in a jungle heaven. Yes, it was in the jungle but it was managed in a subtle way so that there were patches of sky everywhere and the paths were very wide. The croaking of the frogs was no longer eerie but just part of the noises, mixed now with birdsong.

There was a discrete tap on my door and a breakfast was brought in of fruit, a pot of coffee and some rustic bread with a multi-coloured vase of exotic flowers. Although my nerves were still jangled, I began to feel soothed by my surroundings. I took my time getting dressed and managed a brief meditation. I hadn’t been able to do any meditation since I had been in Bali with my madness.

Before I had started this trip, someone had given me a contact number in case I ever made it to Bali. I remembered that I had written it down somewhere and I dug it out. Scribbled with the numbed was the word Ubud. I was in the right place. My intuition  said phone it, so I did. A woman answered and said the person I wanted to speak to had just gone out for half an hour but she was sure he would like to see me. She gave me the address and suggested I take a taxi into town. So I did.

When I arrived, the house was set around a courtyard with a fountain in the middle. The woman I had spoken to asked me to take a seat. After a while a diminutive man, dressed in baggy jeans and a Paisley shirt, appeared. He brought over a stool and crouched down in front of me, taking both my hands. I just burst into tears. Slowly, I told him about my father’s death, my brother, my time with the aboriginals and the week by the sea here where I had disintegrated. I have no idea how long it took but he gently held my hands the whole time, occasionally squeezing them.

As if by magic, a cup of delicious tea was brought to me and letting go of my hands, he suggested I have some and then close my eyes and rest for a while in the chair. I must have fallen into a deep sleep because the next thing I was aware of was my shoulders being gently shaken as I struggled to come to the surface. His smiling face was there reassuring me I was alright. Apparently it was now afternoon and he gave me some kind of Indonesian savoury parcels to eat – warning me to eat them slowly as I was so hungry.

When I finished, he suggested he accompany me back to the hotel and on the way he wanted to take me somewhere. I felt a little like a princess in a fairy tale being guided by this little man as I towered over him. To my delight there was a Vespa outside (fond memories of living in Rome) and he gestured me to hop on behind him, for the first time in ten days I laughed, especially at the image of what an odd couple we must make. His detour was to a sarong shop. “Oh my goodness” I thought to myself. “Was he a tourist tout?” A little disappointed, I half-heartedly looked at their selection but soon got over my initial feelings, becoming enthralled by their beautiful colours. I finally chose a beautiful yellow and purple one with a delicate mauve camisole top. I still have them today. Purchases done, he took me back to the hotel, saying he would pick me up the next morning.

As I was sticky from my day out, I went in search of the swimming pool. It was an oasis of serenity, hidden behind green fronds dotted with exotic flowers and stone statues of goddesses. Absolutely bliss. That evening I welcomed the bats and someone had left me a torch, so wending my way back after supper was less spooky. I was beginning to feel more settled. That night I had a dream of standing in front of a gateway with golden light between two ornate columns. Little mischievous monkeys suddenly jumped on my back. One of them whispered in my ear “Do you have the courage to walk through?” As I nodded my head, the monkeys jumped down and I found myself passing between the columns. As that happened, I woke up to the morning sun pouring in on my face.

As promised, my unique guide appeared to whisk me off into another day. This time he took me around town and I was overwhelmed by all the bright colours of fabrics and wooden artefacts, a stunning garden with different ponds full of lilies in different shades of pink, purple and red. Lunch time he took me back to his place, gave me some hands-on healing, followed by a light broth and again I fell asleep. When I woke up he took me to a theatre where I watched an allegorical play about our light and shadow sides. I found the dancing and music very hypnotic with a sense that I was the only person watching the players.

 

The next few days followed a similar pattern, including one day he  told me there was an AA meeting in a cafe nearby and perhaps I would like to go. Had I told him I was a recovering alcoholic? It was great to go regardless and it was something very familiar in my life back home. My goodness I realised I would be doing just that in a week or so. Was I ready to go home I wondered?  I had just made one phone call to my sons when I got to Bali to let them know I was there and would be home soon. I just about managed to sound normal when I made the call before I totally disintegrated. Disintegration had been a familiar companion.

I had discovered over the past few days that my guide was actually a Balian, an authentic and very respected healer. I understood at some point that all the “touristy” bits were to bring me slowly back to normality. Still not sure, even now, what that means normality means. I was certainly feeling less fragmented but still fragile and daunted by the thought of returning to everyday life. Part of my daily routine now included going to the meeting  and sharing about my fears of re-entry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One evening when he dropped me off, he told me to wear my sarong the next day as we were going somewhere special. The next morning he picked me up in a four by four. I must admit I had been wondering how I was going to negotiate the Vespa in my sarong! He was also very smartly dressed. We drove through some breathtaking lush mountainous scenery which I hadn’t really taken in on my previous drives across the island. We seemed to drive through clouds at one point. He explained that in fact we were going to the Temple in the Sky and that today there was a special ceremony.

When we got there he said he would wait for me but I would have to make the final ascent on my own. It seemed like an endless climb towards the top in single file. Finally, at the summit there were priests all dressed in white, moving rhythmically to their chanting. I felt myself swaying and disappearing into some unknown energy, becoming part of the sky, the smell of jasmine floating around me. Eventually there was silence and I was carried by the crowd to start my descent. Drums started to play softly. I was aware that we were in single file again. The people on the other side were ascending in time to our descending. The drumming stopped. On the ascending line, a beautiful etheric woman dressed in white stepped in front of me, touched my third eye, saying a mantra then disappeared back into the line. The drumming started again. I seemed to float down the rest of the way. There was the Balian waiting for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We drove back to my hotel in silence and when we got there, he said “you have been blessed by the Mother. Go for a swim and then go to sleep”. When I woke up the next day and looked in the mirror my hair had gone green. Probably the chlorine in the pool or was it? The Balian picked me up again, made no comment about my hair and just said it was time for me to go home. He helped me book my flight for two days time. I made two phone calls, one to my sons to say I was coming home and another to a dear friend asking him to pick me up at the airport. I spent the last two days buying presents, going to meetings, swimming, meditating and spending time with the Balian.

I arrived at Heathrow with my wild green hair, feeling like a female version of Crocodile Dundee. Definitely a fish out of water. My friend took me gently in his arms and then guided me to his car. Without telling him that I couldn’t go straight home, he took me to Abinger Roughs and we climbed up to the Pilgrims Way where I began to debrief starting with my time in Australia. My friend had been there when I got the original phone call from my brother and together with others had helped me get ready for this life changing journey. After a few hours, I went home and had a very emotional reunion with my sons who had so generously allowed their mother to leave them without once asking me not to. After all they were still very young.

My friend came every day for a week to help me debrief and he had developed the films I had been able to send from Australia. Seeing them helped me understand that all the things I was talking about had really happened. I remember the second day I was home, I stood with my back to the front door and thought none of the “things” inside the house are important, only the people. I didn’t need any of them. It is still true but, sadly over the years, I have become attached to “things” again but, in my heart, I know they are not what counts.

 

As I re-entered everything that I had learned was integrated into my life and my practice. I offered the experiences as teachings to others, as they had been so lovingly offered to me. Interestingly, as my hair became less wild and green, I became more part of my community again but changed deeply forever