Terimah Kasih

©1997 "Fallen" by Rudolf Helder

As I write this I'm having a foot massage. I hesitated writing "Balinese" foot massage, because whatever that would be, that's not what this is. I've had better in Thailand and Vietnam. I can't blame the young man pretending doing his best right now with stealthy glances at the clock, and I can't blame the blasé tourists for having jacked up the prices of everything except bottled water and laundry. Unlike the Thai and Vietnamese the Balinese simply don't have to work that hard anymore to earn our business. There's simply too many of us foreigners here, even in the off-season.
Another thing that may play a roll in my assessment of the pussyfooting I'm undergoing is the love that's going around. Of course, one cannot consider that necessarily a bad thing, especially if you're coming from the US, where it's merely a word, not a practice to be bestowed on your fellow (wo)man. That's definitely different in Indonesia, where the word for love, "kasih," even made it into the expression for thank you: terimah kasih. Indeed, respect for your neighbor, or the person next to you, is a basic law that governs all interaction and by extension all living things although dogs seem to be largely exempt, probably due to some karmic curse they'll just have to live with in their current incarnation.

Which brings me to today's cremation ceremony, part of which I witnessed earlier. Two huge, black, paper bulls with a single man on top were being carried on large, heavy platforms of thick bamboo poles, followed by another one with a tall, ornately decorated tower of paper and wood. Hundreds of strong men carry the platforms down the main street and up the road to the temple. Three distinguished gentlemen, their framed pictures carried in front, were dug up for the event and placed inside the paper structures for violent jostling and water hosing (the latter courtesy of the Ubud fire department, leading the procession with spouting water canon). The purpose of all this is to confuse evil spirits that might otherwise come along for the ride to the afterlife. The three gentlemen's earthly journey will end this afternoon in purifying flames.

Watching this circus the question forms: "What do we do it all for? What's the purpose of life? My life?"
Of course, we like to think that it is oh so valuable, that what we do has merit, because in the short run we provide for shelter and food, and in the long run for our offspring and/or old age. The work we do, the women and men we live with, the compromises we make, our defining decisions, none of it is so significant that it can't be contained in a moment's reflection, and none of it provides an answer.

In reality, we do not matter. Oprah doesn't matter, Obama doesn't matter,  Osama doesn't matter, the Pope doesn't matter, green energy doesn't matter, eating organic doesn't matter. Nothing matters. You don't matter. I don't matter.
It doesn't even matter that that's the secret we're never told, but deep inside we've known this for quite a while, and it probably has depressed many in a society that's all about entitlement, success, and self promotion.
Of course, ours is to live the life we aspire to, but unfortunately we trade-in dignity, trade-in time for money, and money for more and more stuff, often acting as not much more than an extension of various powers and corporations that thrive on our proclivity to belong to something greater than ourselves, whose badges we wear proudly, from the nation's flag to Abercrombie & Fitch and BMW gear, or, as I see here sometimes, one can have nothing, but still have one's dignity.

Death will come to us all, either we're fallen angels or distinguished members of the community. In the mean time (I say silently to the young man holding my foot in his hand), put your heart and soul into what you do, and if you don't like what you do, find something else that you love doing, because when you find love in what you do it doesn't matter what it is. Love, in any form, will transcend beyond the limitation of life span. Things that have been preserved from the past, art, buildings, poetry, teach us that love for someone's trade can turn into something that is tangible, and when you are touched by it, you smile and form the words in your language for "Terimah Kasih."