Cliffside, our things are liquid fire

On recovering from fire, whether we have sovereignty over wealth, and that Balinese fire dance

What would you do if your house is on fire?

---

Hi, everyone-

The answer to this is usually to run away. But before that—before the fire spreads—and if you have just minutes to take something, anything (aside from your beloved kids, grandkids, cats, and dogs):

What material things would you take?

I’m still digging for answers to this question. Particularly in light of current events like the LA fire recovery efforts and even the issue of sovereign wealth fund. But this also brought to mind one steamy cliff side night at a Hindu temple in Bali, Indonesia.

This Balinese fire dance depicts an ancient epic tale in Hindu mythology that resulted in the capture and burning of one of the main characters: war general Hanuman. [Photography: El Jusuf Studio] 8.4095° S, 115.1889° E

If you haven’t been to the Uluwatu Temple fire dance in Bali, I’d encourage you to consider. I grew up remembering this dance to be an intimate gathering with maybe just over a dozen of us watching. I’d watch it every time my school lets out in July.

And I’ve always wondered …

Why did they choose a cliff to set someone on fire?

Because they actually do set the Hanuman performer … on fire.

This is even more impressive given that the front row is just ten feet away from the fire. And even to this day: not one fireman or hose anywhere to be seen. Last time I went, one lady moved from the upper seats further from the stage to the front row before the show began. I tried to warn her that it will get—um, fiery—in the front. She shrugged off and went ahead anyway. And I could see regret etched all over her now soot-covered face when, during the performance, the thick black smoke billowed and fire sparked straight to her bare shoulders.

My relationship with fire and property—the great life leveler, as a subscriber, Peter Rockhill, accurately put it—is long and complex. You can see shades of it in my writings like Around fire, time works differently, and:

(White) House on fire: what to save?

Fire is a life leveler, alright. But still:

What does happen when you lose … everything?

The ideal answer is: nothing.

Especially to those who have the spiritual conviction that things don’t (or at least shouldn’t) matter much. Except: I’d imagine most of us can’t honestly say that we’ve actually lost … everything. Not just homes, personal belongings, or even loved ones. But e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.

I’m sure if this had happened to me, I’d weep the memory around things that I own. More so than the things themselves. Because:

• Property can somewhat be exactly the same when recreated.

• But memory—oh, dear memories—when recreated, never will be the same dearest.

This is why, back before smart phones came along, if I ever lost my camera, I’d be devastated for all the candid shots that will forever be gone.

But if we’re talking my memory of the Bali fire dance, what I remember growing up was that:

There are multiple versions of Hanuman’s story. Anyone here from India—where the story originated, who could weigh in on the version you’re familiar with—please get with me on what you’ve heard.

But according to the Uluwatu Temple’s version: Hanuman was born the son of the god of wind. He was also born a monkey with milky white fur. Which can sound ridiculous. And Hanuman himself thought so. Bitterly, the white-monkey prince didn’t love all the ridicule and attention.

But few of the gods favored him. And granted him ace-powers that then won him battles with ease. I guess if you stick out, you might as well do it right.

Hanuman was known to be the war general who got things done. Two lovers—Rama and Shinta—knew this, too. I’ll write about Rama and Shinta’s tale in another piece. But Rama was deeply devoted to Shinta. She had that timeless beauty thing that all women want and that all men admire. One woman-lusting giant king definitely admired and wanted it, too.

So one day, the giant kidnapped Shinta.

And much like Helen of Troy is the beauty that ancient Greeks fought over, Rama’s troops, led by Hanuman, planned an epic attack to recover Shinta. But instead of building the Trojan Horse, Hanuman carefully staged his own capture by the giant’s men. The reason? To gain uncontested entry into the giant’s kingdom.

Now tied at the mercy of the giant’s men, they lit. Him. On … fire.

But the gods never stopped favoring Hanuman. He mustered his god-given ace powers, broke free, and gave fury free-reign. Caught unawares, the giant’s men scattered. Their kingdom scorched. And stonework softened.

Liquefied.

Hanuman took Shinta home. To Rama.

That’s Hanuman in the center, before he got up and went ballistic. The ring of fire is surrounded by topless male performers—acting as battle warriors—who’d chant, as in a trance, “Cak cak cak”—thus the name Kecak Fire Dance. [Photography: Dhani Ilham, CC BY NA-SA 4.0] 8.833°S 115.083°E

Once the heat of battle simmered down, consumption by fire will always leave us with the stone-cold question of:

What exactly do you own?

I know the right thing I’m supposed to say is, again: nothing.

But physically, given that you still have your health: I want to say something else.

Something I’ve always valued as the neurofibers that turn the cavernous chill of a lost soul into the campfire warmth of a beloved’s embrace. Something that can make anyone giggle their childhood back in the middle of a war movie. Something that can take a near-death warrior from hell’s door, back to their creaky cottage on earth.

And that something, to me, is:

Not the memories themselves. But the conveyance of it. From one sunsetting soul to a sunrising one. And from one edge of reason to the other.

Here’s what I mean.

The Balinese believe in edges of memories

They place temple-statues of their deities in the middle of road intersections. Not a water feature. Not a monument. An actual temple for them to put incense offerings. And pray. They then wrapped these temple-statues in black-and-white checkered sarung cloth.

Many Bali temples feature black volcanic rocks from Mount Agung, their sacred mountain. I guess sitting at the foot of an active volcano, they are not afraid of the grotesque. One of my Balinese friends told me that they’d wrap the statues (and certain trees) because they believe in caring for the decency of the spirits that live within. [Photography: Fathoni Novianto]

I remember asking one of the taxi drivers who was taking me to Uluwatu Temple:

THALIA: So why is it that these are smack in the middle of a busy intersection?

GEDE, the taxi driver: Sometimes, the road is blocked.

THALIA: Blocked? You mean traffic?

[I can hear the corner of his mouth smacking up in a smile]

GEDE: No, by a deity. The ones that are lost.

Gede then went into a long explanation about how deities, ancestors, and spirits, as they believe it, come in different classes, shapes, and sizes. Some are well received in heaven. Some not so much.

He went on to explain the reason that they pray in their temples is because after a family member had passed, it is believed that unless your family on earth goes through all stages of prayers, your soul would wander forever. Lost. And in their aimless wander, they often block the road. You’d have to pray—or rather, talk—to them. So they shall let you pass. On the edge of one—or in this case four—roads.

These are incense trays called Sesajen. They’d put fruits, flowers petals, rice, cash, local harvest on small woven trays. Every day, guys. From scratch. Kinda puts the rest of us to shame when it comes to reverence. Prayer ceremonies are organized by bale (similar to communes or counties). The leader of the bale would have to front the bill, which, according to locals, usually starts from $1,000. For food, staff, and sesajen materials. I can tell you that having been there almost every year growing up, they don’t do the big ceremonies just once a year. Sometimes it’s a few times a month! In addition to the daily prayers. [Photography: Gaudi Lab]

I know that the ancient tradition of worshipping ancestors and spirits isn’t new. But what’s new to me from my conversation with Gede was the realization that—often it isn’t necessarily the physical being or object that regulates much of our life.

It’s the conveyance of memories.

The memory of how exhilarated a girl became when she first met her man. Of how punishing the mind became when, years later, he said he’ll be back soon. Even though soon proved just another deceptively handsome promise. Of how quieting it was to watch the sun drink the ocean goodnight on her way back from the woods. Of how earth-turning it was when a giant tried to finger her heart out by force. Of how odd it was that fear felt a lot like being left behind. Of how enlarging it was when a friend came, complete with his monkey-god fangs, to be .. the unfailing. And for him to then lay waste to the very thing that held her mind and body prisoner.

So she can finally confront the basic fact that soon … will only ever meet in a fight with fire.

[Map: Herman Dharwan. Berita Sedimentologi, 2012. CC BY NA-SA 4.0, remixed]

Uluwatu Temple isn’t just set on any cliff. It is set on the edge of a peninsula. A peninsula that bottlenecked and pinched itself to the southernmost edge and tip, of the greater island of Bali.

In other words: the temple is on the edge of an edge, of the edge.

It is at the end.

It is a cliffside place where ownership of anything—will always turn liquid. And will continue to stay liquid for as long as anyone dances around the lust for kingdom, kingswoman, and memories of kingship. Sovereign wealth fund and real properties, included.

Unless … that liquid memory is conveyed from performer to audience. Prisoner to guard. From land to ocean. From fire to sunset fusion.

Until the conveyance of memories evolves. Into all that remains.

Until, it is: The End.

-Thalia

---

PS:

If you enjoyed what you’re reading, consider hitting the “Like” button. It’ll help more people find this article.

Or, you could show your support—by Recommending this reading to others.

Here’s how you can do this:

1. Go to your Dashboard.

2. Find Settings.

3. Go to Recommendations.

4. Go to Manage Recommendations.

5. Add “Story Arks.”

I appreciate you.

-Thalia

---

Previously:

Recovering from a Colosseum mistake

---

Upcoming for premium Story Arks Expedition subscribers:

• Balinese Gates of Heaven: Meaning and mythology behind the red-black volcanic stone gates that decorate the streets of the Island of Gods.

• Ireland’s Stephen’s Green: Tree-lining and preserving a 22-acres Victorian park in the middle of a throbbing city. And how it whispers life to the work-wearied.

• Mauritius’ Blue Machine: On mechanizing the blue-ocean preservation of what’s important.

• Ageless Inverness: Deconstructing castles that turn Shakespeare and Tolkien from local writers to global authors.

• Komodo Island Dragons: On the origins of the pink-beaches where komodo dragons still roam the earth today. Declaring: Believe, because nature is here for the ugly yet persevering.