Writer’s Festival

The fast becoming famous Writer’s Festival has been to and gone. Ubud was flooded with various members of the world’s intelligentsia.

Due to a rather nasty fall, in which I was rendered incapable of walking very far or sitting for more than a few minutes at a time.

I did, though manage, with help, attend the launching of a little book of short stories called ‘Dragons in the bath’ by a lady who is known as Ibu Kat (Cat Wheeler). For anyone wishing to have a glimpse into various aspects of her life in Bali, it is well worth the read.

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When we live without appreciation
we spend our lives chasing liberation
from the self imposed prison of inflexible thought.
Love fails to reach through invisible walls of projected false image before which everything falls.
freedom’s gestures of friendship
seen as threats to be fought.
Smothered in darkness, our creativity dies our experience filtered through insinuation and lies easy prey to the peddlers of what cannot be bought.

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For many years the only access to the giant basket in which we live was a narrow path through the rice fields. It was about a foot wide and served as an excellent exercise in mindfulness. A single moment of inattention could all too easily result in what was affectionately known (in those days) as The Bali Baptism. There were many degrees to this famous experience, from mere toe wetting to full emersion in muck and slime. Baptism stories flourished and were the subject of much hilarity and occasionally embarrassment. In fact rice-paddy ducking were considered to be one of the major initiations into Bali life.

For years this experience eluded me. However I knew that one day or night when I least expected it the experience would be mine. There could be no cheating, mind you, no deliberate meddling would qualify as the real thing.
When that fateful moment finally arrived it was thorough and was absolutely unexpected.

TO be continued

Will Write again soon. My back is telling me to lie down for now. Love