Thought I might clarify, the reason I dislike filing taxes isn’t because I have a problem with paying taxes, but because the app I use to do it is literally a psychic vampire.
From the inside, from the outside. // Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror during yoga today. (The mirror is usually covered for yoga, this was another dis-ordering from the cats' wild night.) After years of not seeing, a small shock (what is that, my leg?) to see from the outside what I have lived, or studied, or gotten comfortable with, for a long time, from the inside.
Related. The other day I stumbled on wikipedia entries for Kejawen and Kapitayan, Javanese folk spiritual lineages (I wouldn’t call them religions) that have syncretized with Islam (and Buddhism and Hinduism, etc.). Not exactly what I live with, and our community just calls it Islam, but this gives an outside perspective on… whatever I write about when I write about Islam in Java (or among Javanese people elsewhere, like in Bali).
Again, from an outside perspective. What I “do” is another syncretization, with my own weird and twisted roots in ancient Greek, Abrahamic, European pagan, American, (etc.), mythologies, ontologies, theologies. There is a vast (and global) landscape to explore beyond the cultural limits of Enlightenment European thought, which believes itself to have a monopoly on the logos. But this kind of “exploring” is… not possible “from the outside”. (And neither is “the logos”.)
Anyway. I fixed the curtain on the mirror, so it shouldn’t happen again. But you never know with cats,
A little Baudelaire in the morning to get you clean and contrary and ready for the day.
I wake. That small spirits of chaos have somewhat dis-ordered the room. Dirty clothes strewn, a painting collapsed, ant dirt sticks to the soles of my feet. I wonder how we could sleep through it, straighten a towel, take poop from a box, in between dreams, there having been a sound from the world.
Halaman/page.
Saturday morning “rest day” but what is the right music for filing taxes, not-quite-numbness to abuse with aftertaste of anxiety? Does the completion even register as accomplishment? Worse than the dentist!
Next. Lucky I washed my hair last night because coffee and croissants (vegan) come with a video call from Java. Everyone’s faces look so good and smiling and W. with sleepy teenager hair a-fluff. Ibuk takes a moment to connect but, smile of recognition on her face and I feel a warm glow, like sunshine from inside. All conversation hints at family melodrama but those topics remain background for now.
Next. Again by motorbike to Carangsari, we pick up yesterday’s coffee order, change into “casual traditional” (pakai sarung. I wear lipstick now, and face powder) to visit a bereaved family in the village. A man who was part of the rafting community, a nephew of Pak S., we sit, drink coffee, E. chats with a cousin smoking clove cigarettes. I smile and nod along.
A certain barrier. With local people (mostly men) who have worked in the tourism trade, spent time with foreigners, they are bold with me and expect me to be bold back. Interested in business. I don’t like to disappoint but I’m not that kind of bule. It takes time to build back trust. To demonstrate I’m neither opportunity nor opportunist. My quiet works well enough for that. Maybe they think I’m simple minded, it’s ok to be benignly misunderstood.
This also is my work. Mothers and grandmothers hug me, pat my butt, tell me I’m cantik. I tell them back, of course. Bu S., always making offerings, doesn’t stop smiling. She holds my hands as if my very presence is a blessing. They make me eat and drink, I don’t resist. My body belongs to them for a while.
At last. A quiet moment in the loteng. Warm woodlight. Leafing through inherited notebooks.
On the way back, day fades. Piles of burnt chaff smoulder in the fields, plumes disperse as a pink haze. In the east, Gunung Agung appears in lavender-grey silhouette, silent and immense. Inhalation, exhalation. Then slips back under covers as waxing crescent follows crimson sun, sinking in the west.
(To be clear, we don’t live there yet, but hopefully in a month or two, and maybe the photo is a little spell to help us along✨)
Home (magic).
Riding on the motorbike today. Each ravine a separate pocket, a whoosh of cloud and passing rain on our faces as we descend and then rise up again. Golden sawa everywhere patched with fields cut-bare. Stone-grey storms obscure horizons but this air is fresh and bright, if not blue, then pale. The scent of clove trees in bloom, blacker and more sultry than dried, and somehow more perverse. Neighbors wave, Pak S. brings green coconuts, we stop to order coffee.
Just shook out my long sleeve shirt before putting it on and a giant earwig came out of it, so… glad I did that.
I keep getting ahead of myself and while that might be good for future me, it doesn’t really help present me at all…
Good morning to all who celebrate. I want to tell you that I do not like “fun facts”. I don’t like facts very much at all. In order of preference I like person, story, argument, impression, fact. Not all translate easily into writing. Some are forever stuck between lines, and I like those the best.
Sayangku with sky.
Please find alternative ways to listen, don’t stream etc., because his catalogue is owned by Blackrock now and I’m not doing a commercial for that trash.
Soundtrack tonight is “Popular Problems” by Leonard Cohen. Didn’t like “Slow” when I first heard it but it’s grown on me, the song of an old man, but a very groovy one, and good at foreplay. “Almost Like the Blues” is sexy haunting alienation, just listen to it. “Samson” is devastating breakup/biblical nostalgia across international borders. “Did I Ever Love You” has broken grit and sweet angels singing the seasons. Alhamdulillah. You already know I love “My Oh My”, it’s as close as we get to happiness. “Nevermind” is classic Cohen doom noir/funk mantra so we’re ready when “Born in Chains” takes us down to the river. Blessed indeed. “You Got me Singing” is lovely and sweet as chantilly for dessert, if on the nose.. he does have a habit of finishing that way. Really this album is sublime. And easy to sing along with like old-timey church music. I miss you so much, Leonard.
Ah, the ecstatic occupation of finding the words for you!
The indulgence of sleeping through breakfast, sleeping and not just napping, enough sleep turns the old day into the new without questions. Already bright, the morning sits there, waits to be picked up. By me, or what happens to me, or the happy marriage of those, habit, practice, navigation, care.
Honey train.
Our mudik will be late this year, for “reasons”, we won’t go to Java until next week. A little sad to say “lahir dan batin” over video call. Like the trope of missing Christmas. So. Focus on Bali family now, and soon enough, be home for a marathon of mampir/little coffee reunions.
Do not go to war against ants; you will never win.