urhajos:

David Olenick

urhajos: Eric Fan

Marvellous - ‘The Seed’

A two-minute animated voyage through nature’s life cycle, following the trials and tribulations of a humble apple seed.

urhajos:

Lemon and Orange (by ILoveDoodle)

Little boy in Patan, Nepal

In Bali, by Tanah Lot temple

How I love Bali. The Gamelan music with its tinkering sound whispers gently through the evening air. The Balinese women sashay with their sarongs gently down the alleyways, balancing a basket full of offerings for the Gods (fruits, nuts, flowers and plenty of other goodies) 10 years ago I stepped foot on this island and this year it is with much joy that I have returned here.

There is something about the spirit of this island that has so deeply enchanted me some 10 years ago and still does to this very day. Every leaf, plant, insect and flower dance around in such lightness and colours. The flowers here have a vibrancy and energy unlike anywhere else. Everywhere you turn is a delicacy of colours and flowers from the greenest rice paddy fields to the yellow and white frangipani that emits a fragrance so sweet that it is believed the frangipani attracts spirits like no other flower. A gentle flower tuck behind a young school girls’s ear and she grins with the widest and most sincere smile.

The flood of tourists that have arrived in Bali on a daily basis has no doubt transformed this tranquil island. Yet somewhere in between the souvenir stores and the sunbed laden beaches is an oasis of Balinese tradition that can be witnessed day in and day out.

Everything the Balinese do, they do together, both in life and in death. Often you will find families of three generations living under one roof, sharing, helping and partaking in day to day activities together. The rearing of children thus has a relax feel to it and at any one point, there is always someone to play with the young ones. Such a world away from countries where children are often left in day care centres. Collective living does have its charms.

In death, the Balinese do not die together but they are most certainly cremated together. A local Balinese told me that the bodies are gathered over a period of time (sometimes years) and an appropriate time, year and date will be chosen when the bodies will be cremated all at once, Individual cremation it seems is extremely costly. There is one instance in Ubud (central Bali) where a body has to wait five years to be cremated.

If you ever chance upon a cremation ceremony in Bali, it is truly an opportunity not to be missed. Here cremation is much less sombre and has an almost celebratory feel to it. The procession begins with the local women sashaying with basket of offerings balanced on their heads and musicians carrying instruments down the street.  They drum, whistle and play their way through the crowd and play the gamelan instruments with such vigour and vibrancy that if you close your eyes and simply listen to the music, you perhaps just wouldn’t think it’s a cremation ceremony. The crowd gathers and follow the women, priest and musicians down the street until they all reach a temple where the formal ceremony begins. Everyone is in white, the traditional colour of mourning here in Bali.

If the deceased is an important person like that of a priest which I witnessed, then the ceremony is much more elaborate than for ordinary folks. A big huge bull about 10 feet tall, made of paper and wood, painted in glorious yellow and white colours supported by wooden stilts is carried by several men in the procession. On another gloriously decorated paper tower is a photo of the deceased and this is paraded vigorously in the procession, accompanied by the huge bull.

The temple ceremony I did not get to witness due to over exhausted legs as the last few months of travelling has taken its strain but I can only imagine it being a rather colourful affair and the deceased priest is sent onwards to his reincarnated life with the blessings of his people. The Balinese face death with courage and celebration, I have not so far after witnessing two cremation ceremonies seen any tears being shed.

The Balinese’s intertwined lives, their togetherness and community spirit evokes a deep felt admiration in me,. Perhaps in the world I inhabit, there is so little of that. We lead separate lives, in separate homes with our doors shut to the neighbours we hardly know. We do influence life the way we live and perhaps that spark of Bali could be packaged and brought home afterall. When unravelled, it could do wonders to us all!

However it shall be very long before I can manage walking down the street with a basket of offerings balanced on my delicate head! Watch this space, i’ll tell you when it happens.

Potala Palace, my dream come true :)

Lhasa really means ‘Land of Gods’ in the tibetan language and it has every right to this description. Everywhere you turn in every direction is a mountain, ranging from the dry desert sand-like peaks to maroon slabs of curvy mountains. The nature here reminds one of a higher might and power greater than the fragility of the human soul. Humbling indeed.

On the way to this mysterious capital city that has held curiosity in many explorers for years, Chinese dominance is everywhere. The popular slogan ‘Celebrating Tibet’s Peaceful Independence for 60 years’ is painted on white washed walls in bright red letters. Most signboards are in both Chinese and Tibetan but it is obvious that the Chinese signs are often bigger in size, dominating the Sanskrit-looking Tibetan language which lies somewhere beneath their Chinese counterparts.

The Potala Palace looms high above Lhasa like a guardian keeping watch of its people. With hundreds of steps leading left and right upwards to the towering palace which is clad in distinctive white and maroon, it is an impressive sight. Previous Dalai Lamas, Panchen Lamas (second in hierarchy to His Holiness) are mummified and enshrined in the golden stupas here.

Creaking stairways lead to welcome halls, endless shrine rooms and past and present Dalai Lama’s bedroom chambers. The atmosphere in these chambers and halls are dense and dark and the smell of ancient history, burning butter lamps hangs in the air. The famous 33rd Tibetan King Songtsan Gampo, credited for introducing Buddhism to Tibet and is a key driving force for major cultural and technological influences is buried here. So is the famous 5th Dalai Lama, revered for his religious and political influences. Pilgrims and tourists alike flock to the palace, forming hours long queues in the summer heat.

Its glorious facade is however not in tandem with its soul, now empty of the revered God-King. Now merely reduced to a tourist sight, with its spiritual leader His Holiness the Dalai Lama in exile and monastic activities greatly reduced, what remains is a mere facade, rid of its core. There are rumours that the Chinese government will be closing this wonderful Palace in 3 years’ time.

Despite of this, the faithful still circumambulate this great palace, doing their daily morning and evening kora (a walking circumambulation) Mantras are uttered, prayer wheels are spun and prayer beads are rolled continuously around the Potala.

Some even do full length postrations whilst cirumambulating the Potala. With hands clasp in prayer position, body facing the grand palace, hands are raised to the crown, throat and heart before the pilgrim then pour himself full length on the floor, with his entire body touching the ground and face down. The faithful then raises his body once more to a standing position, takes 3 steps and the postration is once again repeated. It is a practice that puts the entire body for devotional purposes. Stories abound about pilgrims postrating all the way from their homes to the Potala or Jokhang monastery which amounts to endless kilometres of postrations. 

At Jokhang monastery, which is the spiritual centre of Tibet, one can see these pilgrims doing postrations right at the front gate of the monastery from day to night. Their faces determined, one postration is done one after another, only a small break is taken from time to time to relief the body. The area (Barkhor) around Jokhang has been hugely commercialised due to the influx of tourists, it is filled with endless souvenir stores selling prayer beads, incense sticks, thangkas to the popular turqoise jewellery that often adorn the Tibetans’ body. Despite of this, just escaping into a narrow alleyway or slipping into a local teahouse, the true Barkhor comes to life with the locals going about their daily business.

Military presence is everywhere here at Barkhor. Soldiers are stationed all round and they march in groups to patrol the surrounding areas.

I spent some afternoons with fellow travellers and new found friends in Tibetan teahouses where endless cups of milk tea are served. The milk tea served here is distinctively different from the more common yak butter tea which I must admit is still an acquired taste. The locals spend their time here meeting friends, chatting or spinning a prayer wheel whilst enjoying a cup of warm milk tea. It is a soothing, relaxing atmosphere where many hours can be simply spent here making new acquaintances, chatting and drinking. Nowhere in Tibet have I felt more at ease than in these teahouses.

I often left with a smile on my face, contented with the warm milk tea still swimming in me.

Thank you Lhasa :)