I stood out in the Seattle streets. A summer day, one shrouded by clouds, cold gray ugly clouds spitting a crisp wind. I checked the time. 8:03 in the morning. Where was he? Why didn’t I wear more layers? Cursed weather! With this thought, I shivered at possible outcomes ahead if, and only if, the weather turned its brutality upon me. I was wearing pants, socks, two top layers and a beanie. But still cold prevailed as I watched the early morning city rumble and tumble. Grizzly trucks motored passed. Buses spewed passengers, fares and resources within poisonous ex [View Full Entry]

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It is dark outside. Maybe 10 o’clock, maybe 11. Who knows? For all I could guess it might be 3AM or how ‘bout 9PM. There are no clocks around me, only a lace of mosquito netting cascading over the large bed like a whale’s mouth around a school of fish. Everything manmade is mute. There’s not a sound except nature—roaring nature. I hear the ocean pummeling the shore; waves peeling atop barnacled rocks and round bulbous stones the size of Smart Cars. And there are crickets; humming and buzzing, strumming and rustling. It’s a full-force ensemble [View Full Entry]

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There is a garble of mayhem. Buses spit, gears grinding and thumping. Horns from their push-buttons blare; from yellow and white Mazda taxis, from gritty pockmarked trucks, from local peoples and passing pedestrians. It’s hot where all these species interact, for a strong Mexican sun burns low in February skies. Everything seems to sweat. My pores. The parched plants covered in dust. Those firing engines inside their oil blocks. And the roaming dogs: Chihuahuas, poodles, mutts. I wander into una tienda (a shop) owned by a small family and pull out three beers from [View Full Entry]

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Day 1: The Danu Tour It is morning over the rice fields. Expected sounds of roosters crowing and crickets singing spread across this valley. Small birds chirp as they hover over the sawah’s (the field’s) green carpet. Geckos skitter along patio walls. The daylight of Galungan is cast over Ubud, and amidst the silence of the hour, an elderly man acts as a human scarecrow. He barks tonal commands and guttural expressions. He swings a bamboo pole tied with plastic. This is his duty, and as the days continue and our presence remains, it becomes hab [View Full Entry]

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Day 9: Balinese Hangovers & The Balian’s Cure Dawn arose with pain and discomfort. Classic hangover amidst tropic humidity: weighty, dank and stale with arak and puke on the breath. At the breakfast I chose not to attend, stories were told. A group of yogis walked into Monkey Forest at 2AM and chanted the Gyatri Mantra for one hour. Others swam nude in the pool, lounged in a room, and then sobered each other with their words. I kept my secrets to myself and left the unspoken for the balian. A balian is a traditional Balinese healer. Typical [View Full Entry]

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...Continued having left you in Bali, Indo after a long delay. Welcome back to A Balinese Yoga Festival! Day 5: An Afternoon Continuation Now, some 45 days later, something is rekindled. I think back to Bali, at Gunung Agung where I left my Self, where I left my readers. The retreat feels like ages ago, a distant dream savored and succored for its warmth, peace and fragility. And it was—ages passed with the interim of change, adaptation, new faces and new places. But today, October 20th, 2008, there is a revival of story. Back in a seemingly familia [View Full Entry]

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Day 5: Gunung Agung It’s pitch black. My knees ache. My legs are loose, wobbling with each unstable step. This is not helping in the least bit. The scree beneath my feet, the chalky volcanic rock, crumbles with the slightest pressure. I grip a flashlight in my mouth with clenched jaws and take a large step over an ice-less crevasse, then reach out for the boulder opposite, quickly feeling for handholds. Up ahead, as a streak of light breaks the horizon, there is a tussle. Irregular noises catch my attention as a chorus of stone ring down the mountainside. A voice [View Full Entry]

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Day 3: Bargaining Into Retreat A hard bargain to beat—morning coffee, tea and breakfast in Bali. At the table there is an assortment of weary eyes detached from their bones. This is us—Laura’s retreat group—most still jetlagged, hovering above hot drinks with susu dan gula (milk and sugar). Then with a little more flare and color, there is papaya, watermelon, pineapple, honey melon, and lime squeezed over white plates like morning clouds over the rice paddies. With sustenance, we wake, smile and laugh. Off to yoga led by [url=http://www.lau [View Full Entry]

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Day 1: The Yoga Retreat w/Laura DeFreitas & Danu Enterprises It is morning over the rice fields. Expected sounds of roosters crowing and crickets singing spread across the valley. Small birds chirp as they hover over the green carpet and geckos skitter along patio walls. The daylight of Galungan is cast over Ubud, and amidst the silence of the hour, an elderly man acts as a human scarecrow. He barks tonal commands and guttural expressions. He swings a bamboo pole tied with plastic. This is his duty, and as the days continue and our presence remains, it becomes hab [View Full Entry]

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“Twenty five years man. I’ve seen a lot of change.” I looked across at Jack, Jack the Hawaiian, Jack the man—my idol. “Bali is beautiful to this day, but 25 years ago it was a land of mystery. And before than… I can only imagine.” “So what’s changed?” I asked, forking a slice of banana pancake into my mouth. The fruity syrup hit my taste buds with explosive rapture. Across the table from Laura and me, Jack hovered over an unshelled egg. With a thrust of his spoon he chopped the globule in half. I expected it [View Full Entry]

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