Lava rock is full of holes. Strong but the opposite of solid. Lying in bed in my reed hut at night I could hear the ground rumble and the waves crash into Devil’s Tear, a good 100 meters away. Rumble, boom, splash. Every night, every day, for millions of years in the past and perhaps millions of years in the future.

In the morning I ventured out to the lava rock ledges. They looked weathered, torn, desolate, and old. Life had happened to them, just like it happens to us, too. Every spray of water wears down the rock just a little.

Standing by the edge I looked closer – and saw a glimmer of purple, blue, green, yellow, orange, and red. The sprays of water may slowly eat out the rock during a million years, but during every single day of those  years there is a rainbow in every splash, if you only look at it from the right perspective.

(Nusa Lembongan, Indonesia; August 2015)

A day at the beach. Nothing more than sky blue nail polish, turquoise water, golden sand, and a nutty dog. I watched a lady connect with him: after unsuccessful experiments of attempting to pet him or throw sticks, she frustratedly splashed water at the dog. He jumped high into the air to catch the splash. She threw some wet sand at him. He almost ate it and got it smeared all over his nose. She threw some more, and he expertly caught every blob before they sank into the waves. When she gave up he went to somebody else and patiently repeated the process of teaching the human what he liked the most. When I left the beach 2 hours later he was still trotting in the waves, looking for somebody to play with.

Today was a beach day for the dog. Nothing else to worry about than spending all day in the surf, caught in the moment for a whole day. When was the last time you decided to do something fun and continued to do it all day until the sun set?(Dream Beach, Nusa Lembongan, Indonesia; August 2015)

Last night was the night of death at Nusa Lembongan island, and the night of grief. I sat on my reed hut porch in the dark and listened to the death wails from the village. Sounds of men and women, mostly older, blended with the crashing surf from the sea into a hum, like a hive filled with singing bees. Leading the lamentations were wails broadcasted from the village temples.

It was the first night of three before the cremation ceremony, and the eerie cries were keeping grave diggers company. This time, bodies were dug out of the graves, where they had been sleeping in wait of an auspicious day and wealthy times when a proper communal cremation could be done.

Relatives sleeping underground means grief sleeps, too. After 3 years of waiting, now there will be liberation for the soul and closure for the relatives. Whatever happens, regardless of whether the soul will be united with atman the world soul or be reincarnated, death is both the end of a chapter and a second chance.

A Balinese cremation is a celebration where grief gives over to joy and freedom, and where the body and soul is released to the five elements. After burning in a hot funeral pyre, the ashes will be scattered into the sea and wind.

On Bali people grieve together. There is time and understanding for the process, and nobody is alone in their grief. There is also an end to grief, a letting go, and smiles and laughs during the funeral. For the Balinese, unlike us Westerners, life includes death – and then perhaps yet another life or something even better. Death is not the end, not a failure like we Westerners tend to see it. It is simply the end of a chapter among many.

And it is alright to smile and talk and celebrate a loved one’s passing. As I watched the construction of the coffins and the offerings for the procession, I could not help but feel that when it comes to this major aspect of existence, humanity is more advanced on this island than in many other places.  (Nusa Lembongan, Indonesia; August 2015)