Borobudur

Borobudar is the largest Buddhist monument in the world, and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  It is open to tourists 364 days each year—But, on the full moon in May, the monument is open only to Buddhist monks who come to celebrate the Buddha’s birth and death on this day.  Borobudur was built between the 8^th and 9^th centuries, and was then lost under volcanic ash beginning in the 14^th century.  The monument was rediscovered in 1814. 

Borobudar has nine platforms or levels, each representing a stage of enlightenment in
Buddhist cosmology.  The base represents the world of desire.  Here, people live out their lives fluctuating between attachment to desires and aversion to that which they do not desire.  The next five levels represent the world of form.  At these levels, people live in the world of form without being driven by various attachments and aversions.

The top three levels represent the formless ocean of nirvana where Buddhas reside.  Each of the top platforms supports a row of perforated stupas arranged in concentric circles.  The stupas are upside down rice bowls, representing meditation and fasting, enclosing a nice surprise inside . . .

Approximately 2,670 bas reliefs cover the facades and balustrades of Borobudar.  The narrative panels tell the story of Buddha's birth and life, and also depict the workings of karmic law.  For my drinking, dancing machine friends, the karmic writing is (literally)on the wall:

Cause:  Drinking/dancing machines:

Effect:  Hungry, beggars (who spent all the money on the good French wine!):

Not to worry too much . . . The message of Borobudur is balance and justice, blessing and protection!

My Prayer:

All Buddhas who grace this sacred land, who have attained perfect wisdom,

  who are here to bless and protect

All Bodhisattva's, full of heart, who vow to return again and again

  until all sentient beings are free from suffering

All beings--monks, nuns, lay people--who have made a pilgrimage to this sweet place

  who come to meditate and pray, to touch the stars within, and the stars in the midnight sky

  who come to greet awe and reverence, Selemat Datang

Stepping gently onto your path, I pray:

May all beings be safe

May all beings, especially my friend Moses, be happy

May all beings, especially my friend Denny, be healthy

May all beings live with ease and well being.

Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti

Peace, Peace, Peace!   

A Taste of Java

On my way to dinner tonight, a man in a Range Rover hit my scooter from behind at a red light. 

Him (hanging out of the driver's side window):  I thought you were going to go.

Me:  The light was red.

Him:  Ya (read as "whatevah," "so what").*

Him:   Is there any damage?

Me (after looking at the back of my scooter):  No.  Your license plate is buckled.

Him:  Okay.  Returns to the inside of the vehicle.

Him (hanging out of the driver's side window again):  I'm very sorry.

Me:  Sigh.  Smile.

Dinner at Goin Easy:  $7:00.  Driving in Yogyakarta:  Priceless!

*In Yogyakarta there are often three or more vehicles riding next to each other in the same lane--a couple of motorcycles and a bicycle, a car, a bicycle taxi and a scooter--even horse drawn carriages!  Vehicles pass on the left and the right sides.  Entire families ride on one scooter.  Young girls in their jilbabs (headscarves) whiz by.  Lanes are relatively flexible, and red lights have flexible "after" periods.  The din of motorcycles permeates the City.  Cars remain an expensive luxury.  Auto insurance--not!

    

The Javanese Village

 I rode a bicycle with Rita, a tour guide, from the noisy busyness of Yogyakarta to the quiet simplicity of a Javanese village.  Here are some pictures with comments . . .

These are krupuk, or crackers.  They are baked out in the sun, and except for the fish flavor, would be a big hit in the raw foods industry!  The dough is mixed by hand and processed into long strands by a peddle (like riding a bicycle) driven machine.  The four workers who make the krupak are from West Java, where jobs are scarce.  They work seven days each week, and receive a long holiday after Ramadan.

   
Women often open warungs--small stalls that serve food and snacks--to supplement the family income.  Here, Wariyanah serves me fried tempe.  She tried to interest me in the fried chicken head, but that was a big "no go."  Wariyanah belongs to a few arisung--social clubs where women gather to ngobrol (chit-chat).  At each arisung meeting, the women gathered contribute money to a jack pot which one women wins!  Sounds like a concept to me!

The cows eat the leaves from peanut plants, rice and water!

The men ready the fields for planting, and the women plant the rice.  Planting is a quiet meditative practice.  An iron bar with grooves indicates where each plant is to be placed.  When one row is planted, the bar is moved to the next row.

Male farmers make bricks during the dry season.  The bricks are used to build houses and other buildings.



This woman tempe maker was badly injured in a motorcycle accident.  Like most Indonesians, she does not have health insurance, and had to collect money over a period of time for two necessary operations.  The operations cost  over 3,000,000 Rupiah (about $400)--a huge amount for a villager.  Rita told me that Indonesians live day to day, and are already severely taxed.  She does not see much interest in issues like universal health care.

This is me with Dwi Wahyono and his seventy year old parents.  Dwi means "two" in Javanese, and Dwi is the second child.  Dwi drove a long haul bus until he became sick, and unable to work.  His friends chipped in and bought him eighteen goats which he uses to support himself.  His Father still rides a becak--a bicycle taxi.  Dwi says:  "Christian and Muslim are one.  What is most important is what is inside of us guiding us in a good way." 

Amen, Shalom, Salam, Aho, So may it be!

The T-Shirt

that isn't mine, but that was included in the laundry returned to me!  LOLLOL

First Things

Sometimes ordinary times require you to step beyond long held prejudices.  Since childhood, I’ve had an aversion to bugs with, let’s say, insufficient cuteness factors.  This insufficiency affects most bugs to my mind, but then, beauty is always in the eye of the beholder.  When I entered the bathroom early my first morning in Yogyakarta, a large black beetle quickly scurried for cover behind the wastebasket.  I took note of his (yes, it was a “he”) location so that I could avoid him when I came back to shower.

 Later I stepped under the shower as far from the wastebasket as possible (the bathroom is one unseparated space).  But as my left foot came down, I felt a squish.  Could I bear to look down?  I did; it was.  Thankfully the stream of water moving toward the drain began to carry the beetle away.  It stopped.   And then, another beetle scurried from the area of the drain.  I gave in.  It was time to move beyond my aversion.  I picked up the dead beetle and threw it in the toilet.  I finished my shower with the second beetle.  The next morning I saw a beetle in the hall and a lizard climbing the wall. “Good morning Mr. Beetle and Ms. Lizard.  I greet you and I honor your journey.  If you value your life, you will want to stay away from my feet!”

 Lizards and beetles, the roosters on the road vying with the Imam to be first to call us to prayer, cats on the driveway and along the roads, barking dogs, the horses on Jl Malioboro hauling the tourists—all calling me to simplicity, to the cycles of life and death, to the ways we inhabit this earth together

The Journey Begins . . .

Whenever a plane I’m on runs into unexpected and severe turbulence, I think of the fragility of life--of the ways we are not in control.  As we ran into turbulence crossing the International Date Line, I reflected on this fragility amidst the immeasurable vastness of all life.  The pilot steered our aircraft in the dark expanse of night sky with the immense, unfathomable ocean below.  How insignificant this small speck of a plane seemed compared with sky and ocean.  How insignificant each passenger seemed compared with the abundance of life on Earth.  Perhaps the way our minuscule and precarious lives have meaning is in our connections—in the ways we step into traditions,  uniting with those who have come before and those yet to come, in the ways we gather with others to create family and friendships, in the ways we join with nature to create a sustainable, welcoming earth! 


Good bye lovely house, my sweet, sweet Lunabells . . .