I stared at the four plain concrete walls, and they seemed to be closing in on me. I suddenly felt cramped and constricted, the heavy burden was back, I could feel its immense weight pressing once again on my shoulders, my chest. So much has happened here in Bali and much of it began in this tiny edifice. Everywhere I now turn, some strange person or odd event seems to lay in wait, waiting for me and yet another test of my "patience." The little I have left is being quickly worn down to a paper-thin strand, and now I sit back in Eebu’s small reading room, back in the spot where it all began.

Eebu had retrieved the Holy Water directly from natural Springs at Bali’s most prominent temple in Tampaksiring. She had collected an assortment of cultural ornaments, religious icons and various Balinese traditional symbols to assist in the cleansing. Each of us dressed appropriate for the occasion with an Indonesian sarong, a sash tied loosely around our waists and a T-shirt. Vivian and William both decided to join us, and the four of us sat in a line across from Eebu's chair. As Eebu entered, she looked directly at me and smiled as she grabbed the incense to begin blessing the room. Vivian immediately greeted her in Indonesian, and as she walked around us spreading, she began speaking to Vivian.

"She asks, or rather, is stating she knows that you didn't get your bag back, she says that she’s sorry for you," Vivian said beginning the translation once again for us.

"So it’s gone?" Bren asked.

"She doesn’t see it in her vision, so most likely…yes."

Eebu was still walking around the small room, and the air felt the same as it did our previous visit, somehow it was light, almost ethereal, and the heavy burden seemed to be lifted, I felt comfortable. I didn’t know if it was Eebu’s presence, my psyche, or what, but something here cuddled my psychological onus and I felt a sense of freedom, I felt like we did at Port Anne searching for the whales. "She also says that many things have happened to you here in Bali," Vivian said with a chuckle, "and they will continue!"

"I don't think I like coming to see this lady," I sarcastically whispered to Bren.

"Maybe, she’s the source of all this weird stuff," Bren leaned in toward me and softly replied.

"I guess I'm still being tested," I then said flippantly to Vivian who relayed the thought to Eebu.

"Of course."

"Just out of curiosity, can you ask her how long this test will continue," I asked Vivian.

Eebu was now tossing some holy water around the room as she continued talking with Vivian.

"It will continue until you either pass or fail this test, the length cannot be foreseen at this point," Vivian was saying as I could hear Eebu speaking again.

"Oh, she says that it's completely dependent upon the things you do, I guess it's based on how you react."

I quickly glanced at Bren and said what she was probably thinking, "Oh great, more of this crazy stuff to look forward to."

Eebu now leaned in front of me and began dabbing the Holy Water on me in certain places, the back of my neck, the joints of my arms, my wrists and when she began placing the water on my cheeks and forehead, she stared deeply into my eyes. She was warm, comforting as she said something to Vivian who said, "They are still with you, don’t worry."

I bowed my head slightly, and even though I wouldn’t have believed that it made a difference, it did for those words did seem to remove some of my anxiety.

"You are growing stronger," Vivian relayed as Eebu smiled at me, the creases around her lips pursed in the pleasure of telling me this, "She can see them much clearer now."

Eebu then took her chair in the corner, and we gave her another "offering," with basically the same goodies as before, and she lit a cigarette. She took out the cards as she blew the smoke high into the air, and spoke to Vivian.

"She has something to tell you," Vivian said as Eebu was placing the cards.

Bren quickly glanced at me with a look of, "Oh boy, here we go again!"

A quick jolt of anxiety streamed through my body, and I glanced up at the ceiling and took a deep breath.

"The reason you must be cleansed," Vivian said and then suddenly paused.

"Well," I thought growing ever more impatient.

"Well, the reason you must be cleansed is that you are a ‘healer’ and this goes back to your previous lives. She didn’t want to say anything before because you seemed upset enough."

"See I told you William," Vivian then said to her husband with a nudge, and he quickly glanced in my direction.

"This, she says, is part of your life’s mission, as it’s always been part of you. Now, it’s imperative that you be cleansed to assist you in this pursuit, to help bring this aspect of yourself to the surface in this life."

As I sat mired in thoughts of the past weeks here in Bali, it struck me just how profoundly this odd chain of events has manifested all from the fated theft of our bags. It certainly doesn't seem that long ago now, but in fact, nearly three weeks have past since the bags were stolen. And this whole reincarnation angle was now unfolding, the layers were being peeled away and even though I didn’t feel the slightest hint of being a ‘healer’ or anyone else from some past life, it struck me deep. Indeed, she was dead correct on virtually every aspect of her vision with our bags, and if I believed her before, then I must now. That, however terrified me, this whole thing began to grow into something larger than myself and it crippled my emotions, my senses, and chilled me to the bone. On a theoretical level, it’s one thing to think about being someone more than the "you" of the present moment, but I now felt like ice cream melting on a scorching day, and I couldn’t get my mind or any other aspect of myself around Eebu’s words. They rang almost achingly through my head, for I kept thinking to myself, "Who the hell am I?"

Then, the ceremony began.

"This is not religious in any sense, merely a cleansing of the soul, to drive away the evil, hostile spirits that surround us all," Vivian again relayed.

It seemed to be a mixture of generic religious and cultural dogma, a mixture of blessing and rite, a formal way of sanctifying the soul. Because the cleansing surrounded me, I was then given a clay pot filled with incense, holy water, and flowers and instructed to smash it on the floor. I lifted the pot high above my head as Eebu stood beside me praying and chanting that this act symbolized my desire to drive the "evil spirits" away from me, and accept the good. I threw the pot crashing to the ground. We then found our seats again and Eebu finished the ceremony with a personal blessing for me. It was a fascinating mix of Indonesian culture and religious rite, and I felt extraordinarily privileged to have participated in a ceremony foreigners rarely are able to even witness. As we said our good-byes to Eebu, a woman I would never again set eyes upon, I couldn’t help but think of the immense impact her words already have had on my life. It seems profoundly odd that one day my belief system is drastically altered, or possibly so greatly enhanced, with the words of this simple woman. That, as a result, my way of thinking has been altered forever, my approach to life changed, and quite possibly, my entire direction in life refocused. All from a single event, which at the time seemed to be the utter destruction of my life's dream. All from this single event, all from the words of this solitary plain woman, all from the fated theft of my life’s dream.

"Was it fated then?" I thought as Eebu said to me, through Vivian, "Remember to find the largest of the pyramids, it’s important for you’ll find yourself in the Land of the Lost during a troubling time for yourself. Seek balance."

"She doesn’t know the words in English," Vivian then said, "but she says to trust, have faith."

My heart raced, my mind went blank, and I desperately fought off the urge to just bolt, to get away from the source of knowledge, wisdom, information that seemed to torment me at every turn. That word popped up yet again, it was running me down now, endlessly following me.

As Eebu then bowed in farewell she said in English, "Don’t worry, don’t worry. It be okay. You be fine."

She smiled graciously as I returned a respectful bow of thanks. She softly touched my shoulder as she passed, then she elegantly turned again and glanced back, smiled warmly, and walked out of my life forever.
 

***************

Glorious red, white and blue streaks soar through the night air overhead, I stare up at the magnificent explosions of color dancing in the heavens, and I smile with my jaw dropping agape as I feel the thunderous claps above me and the ground shake below me. Then, I suddenly opened my eyes. It's the 4th of July, and we're half way across the world from home, so far from America on its greatest day, and there isn’t going to be a single fireworks display. So much has been happening lately, and with our torrid pace of travel, the days have simply flown by. This day in particular has crept unexpectedly up on us, and lit a fire of depression underneath us both.

We spent most of the afternoon scouring through ideas on how to spend our Independence Day, and finally concluded that the closest we could get to "feeling" a piece of home was to pay a visit to the Hard Rock Cafe--Bali. Our splurge at one of the more expensive restaurants in Kuta was all in tribute to the Fourth, and the instant we entered the place, I knew we had made the right decision. In addition to the usual "Hard Rock" decorative style, which is distinctly American, they had put up a giant American Flag and several signs announcing the Independence Day. It was stunningly refreshing. With a big screen TV playing Music Videos, the little American Flags on toothpicks dangling in the middle of my sandwich and the waiters dressed up in red, white and blue, I was hit hard with just how much I missed home. How much I missed the United States of America.

I was unexpectedly hit with a wave of pure emotion and pride for my home. I took a long hard look at the giant American Flag, I sat in silence staring at the most easily recognizable symbol of America, my emotions stirred, my pride swelled, goose bumps streamed up and down my spine, and tears began to swell helplessly within my eyes. I thought about America, the America I know of, the America I grew up in, America the beautiful on its most prestigious day, the 4th of July. How the thoughts of Stars and Stripes floated penetratingly through my mind; oh, the picnics with hot dogs and burgers, baseball, homes lining the streets each displaying their own American Flag, and the glorious explosions of fireworks which practically every American would partake in just a few hours consumed me. I missed home. I missed it desperately. It's such a special day too, a day we celebrate our independence, a day to cherish the gift from our forefathers, it's a day we celebrate being American.

I once again gazed up at the flag. Its sheer beauty rings the bell of my senses, it's simply an awesome sight, the American flag. And it held me in awe, that feeling knifed deep into my chest, it wrapped itself into a tight ball and ached in the pit of my stomach. To be away from America for so long, to be away from Americans, away from anything American, to be on foreign soil, hear the music, touch the memories and taste the food (close anyway), then see the flag. Yes, I just stared at the American flag. And as I sat there, on our day, our day of celebration, on a day when my pride and love for my country had swelled to utterly consume my soul, I knew. I felt it explicitly, I saw it clearly, I thought it with lucidity, and I knew.

I knew the inevitable in that moment of aching pleasure. Indeed, I saw the decline of the place I hold so dear, the country I love, my America. I felt the path of gross destruction we have seemingly chosen, and it's so utterly painful to observe. But, oh, the horrors we are growing so easily capable of, it's a place where a tumor of apathy and self-absorption has sprouted, a country manipulated and motivated by money and infested by the toxic seeds of violence. It has become a place where the fear of the arbitrariness in life has been taken to a new height, where the people of this land are suffocated by their fear of a culture that spins a vortex of pain, and is largely unchecked. Where life itself is unknown, American society has created even more of this darkness, it’s produced even more of the arbitrariness because we never know what to expect from others anymore. It’s become a land where knowing your family or your neighbor is a remarkable feat. Simply, no longer do we seek to understand others, even more, we no longer even want to know anyone else, and as such, we have become a society of faceless bodies roaming through the expanse of time and space. Our bond with humanity has been severed, and we’ve become a faithless people, a society born without a soul. Of such greatness we have come, of such purity and grace we have grown, of such strong character we have been molded, all by the ideals that we once held true to our hearts. But in this generation, we have turned a blind eye and our bold heart away from the principles upon which we once thrived and ultimately achieved our greatness.

Oh yes, we live in dangerous times.

Indeed, we as Americans may live in the most dangerous times this world has seen in centuries. Yet it's bound in the passive ball of silent security. We don't see it. It lies in wait, no doubt, and even grows exponentially with every moment of our impassivity and indifference. Indeed, peace can be as dangerous as war. I know, therefore, as I sit here staring at the red and white broad stripes of our heritage and the brilliant stars of our unity, that I see the genesis of my destiny. I sense absolutely the love for my country as well as the scorn for its deterioration, and I know now that I don't want to witness our bitter children picking up the fallen ashes. With my innocence torn and my ignorance stripped, I feel bare, and I am left only with this ugly and painful "truth." The "truth" that lay within the hallowed walls of my home, for the wings of liberty have been sheered by its own oppressive gluttony. As I stared intently at our flag, the flag of freedom, I know; I know that today is the day I will reach my hand out and refuse to be a part of this raging stream of blood that drips from our own hands. Today, I refuse to simply abide by the blood being thoughtlessly drained from my soul. And I was distinctly reminded of Cairns when I thought, "I try and wipe the dripping blood from my fingers, but I can’t, for it has forever stained my nimble digits, and with it, my soul.

For I know that we have willed it so."

Through our gifted technology, we are now building machines to be more like ourselves, to be more human. Sadly, at the same time, we developing ourselves into machines, to be programmed composites of one another. Even more disturbing, we are creating this dehumanized world simply to sustain our material wealth, to create a place where we all work diligently in concert to produce goods for our own personal gratification. In doing so, we are destroying ourselves, those around us, and those qualities that make us so distinctly human. We have prostituted the essence of ourselves for nothing but a few material possessions, which actually do more to possess us, than we them. We’ve created a world that enslaves us in every sense of the word, and most importantly, a world that devalues us as human beings. Yes, we may live in a "free world" but we have used this freedom to build a world of subjugation and mental bondage, one that by its very nature debases the sanctity of the human spirit. I wondered back in the small corner of the hostel in Cairns, if I was alone, if I had been left to dangle in this physical realm with this stinging "truth." But now however, I realize that this was a piece of fate, a slice of "me"—the "me" of now and possibly the past—which now resoundingly calls for me to stand alone, to bear this aching burden of "truth." Is it possible that my "destiny" lay within this painful confrontation? Was this the precious key to unlock the passage to the "test" I’ve been given?

Yes, we all do indeed live in dangerous times.
 

***************

I woke sudden and hard. It was still dark. I pried myself from another sweaty dream, these dreams that come every night now, and I sauntered into the crisp night air of the balcony. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, my body feels isolated somehow, and this is all been intensely troubling. Everything I knew about this world stretches out before me, plain and simple—again it’s merely a single grain of sand, for I know so little. I am so damn ignorant, and so pathetically afraid. I again felt alone, and searched for the corner like in Cairns when I first confronted the "truth" about the disconcerting state of America. Here, however, there was no pervasive lightbulb, nothing searched for me, nothing probed, I only saw the clear night sky. The stars twinkling overhead and in that scant split second, I felt that the world was composed of just "me" and those pulsating rays of light. How many times had I looked at this sky under different circumstances, different environments, different places and yes, in a different time?

I immediately jumped up and took to walking around the eerily deadened silence of the streets of Kuta just as I had a few nights ago. I glanced at my watch; it was 5 AM. This last of Eebu’s readings has wormed its way under my skin; it plagues me. I plopped down on the empty beach, inhaled the intensely salty ocean air, and watched the dawning of a new day as the orange arc began to break upon the water in front of me. Previously, reincarnation and these possible past lives, seemed more like just some pleasant theory, and I placidly thought, "Oh, wouldn’t that be interesting, if true." Now, however, something within sounds off and penetrates through my soul, and tells me definitively that indeed, it is true. Yeah, reincarnation is logical, and yes, Eebu’s vision about the bags was virtually perfect, but somehow, I never put the "truth" into play, and now after this reading, with or without my cooperation, it’s been thrown into play. The "truth" has confronted me. I knew when I was first going to see Eebu, that this is what terrified me about the whole process, it was a simple matter of believing or not believing. And when you are told first-hand of something this extraordinary, there’s no space in between.

However, the reincarnation theory, my potential past lives, to find out I could have been some ‘healer’ in a past life, or lives, and that it is connected to my mission now, part of who I am, seems just too much. It’s deeply unsettling internally, for now this "test" becomes so much more than one for "patience," and I feel absolutely the expectation that’s now heaved upon me. I don’t want this "test," this expectation, this isn’t my responsibility, and I don’t want any part of it. But it does at least make sense now, that overwhelming weight on my chest over the past month, all around me, yes, now at least that makes sense. Did I always know this information, my past, this test, for indeed I always felt, on some level, the weight? Did my soul know something more than my mind? Is that even possible?

I was hopelessly caught now, mired in the struggle of belief, and this "faith" continued to haunt me, showing me different angles, different perspectives virtually with each new day. These last few weeks definitely have seemed like a test, and even more, like I needed to learn something and I had to learn it quick. I thought back to Australia, where this pattern of odd events seemingly began to occur. I couldn’t get the image of Uluru out of my mind, the massive "Red Rock" and I thought of destiny, faith, and God. Was I being shown something? It seemed ridiculous on the surface, even a thought bound in arrogance, indeed a thought laced with self-indulgence. However, the pattern was clear now. What began with the Great Barrier Reef, to the Red Rock, Jay and Lisa, the whales, Wave Rock, and the old woman, they all cried out, they blared from the top of the world for me to "understand." It seemed to flag me down from the side of this road, the road of life, in the hope of getting me to stop and take notice. I did stop, and this is what I saw, what I felt. Yes, it was real. I think back to those days in Oz, and yes, I know they were real and I felt connected. I felt this place, this earth, its inhabitants, like never before and I was a part of it, I was a piece of the interconnectedness. The "significance" of being human beat rhythmically within my chest, and it became one with the physical pounding of my heart.

This I knew.

The "test," Eebu said had specifically begun ten days prior to the first reading. That put us in Perth on the day that I was to mail home my journal and instead chased the thief through the streets of the city. Was this the initial piece of the "test" or merely coincidence? I didn’t know, but what was to become the keystone to discovering so much about myself through Eebu was having the journal stolen, and this obviously couldn’t have occurred if I didn’t chase the purse-snatcher that day in Perth. I understand now "why" I took off after him, why I came to aid the helpless man in the street, and why Bren and I assisted the young girl to the hospital. My soul somehow understood the responsibility before my mind; somehow it recognized the path even though it hadn’t been lit yet. Is this the way life is for all of us, we just don’t trust the soul because the path is not openly illuminated, and our fear then controls our physical being in these times of darkness? For the first time, I began to see, even feel, this as universally "true."

So, was the "test" merely that I observed these odd occurrences, and to have the patience necessary to put them into perspective?

In the week since our return to Sukawati to confront the woodcarver I have grown reluctantly toward the conclusion that we weren't getting the journal back, and after meeting with Eebu yesterday, I know now that it’s gone. It continuously pounded on me as people began to mill around me on the beach in preparation for a few early sales. The frustration of being so close, so close to what was held so dear now tore at the binds of my heart. Yet with the failure, and in spite of the frustration of having found the man who stole it and the man who had picked it up, I feel that it was predestined that I not get it back. It was indeed fate. The theft was the climax to this test that began, ironically, back in the Land of Oz. And my reactions to the theft and my perseverance in getting it back were certainly a part of this "test." Whether it was a test from some God-like entity, my subconscious, or God itself, is irrelevant. It was in fact a test. After my experience at Hard Rock yesterday, I know now that this test was a necessary precursor to discovering my defining purpose in this life. It had to be that way. It's strikingly odd to say, but something from beyond has spoken, has shown me something, and it’s for me to figure out. Within this quest, I now believe that my ultimate purpose in this lifetime exists. It has a life within me now. Even stranger, I know that finding my purpose began with the theft of what was so precious to me, my journal--it was the catalyst to uncovering my destiny. It all begins now for me consciously. It’s difficult, even alien to say, but the quest for discovering my ultimate purpose now begins...it is the genesis of my spiritual evolution. I feel its warm breath on the lobe of my ear, exhaling its words of wisdom, its magnificent pattern, and illuminating its glorious golden path.

However with this thought, a sense of pure panic rifled through my body, and I was back on the Pemberton Tree, one-third of the way up and in a cold sweat. I stood up from the sand and began the trek back to the hotel. For the first time, I began to feel as if I was going "crazy." In fact, that this whole thing was ridiculously crazy. Maybe, this is all just some wild fantasy derived by my subconscious to avoid dealing with the theft of the journal. I began to become consumed with this nagging thought and I immediately began picking up the pace, now jogging back to the hotel to get Bren. I wanted out. I wanted to leave this place, desperately I wanted to be anywhere, anywhere but here.

"I’m really going nuts!" I thought as I was in a full run for the hotel.

"We’ve got to get out of this place, this Bali, this Indonesia, and now. It’s just too much!" I thought as I was truly panicked, terrified of this place, my past, everything. I blasted open the door consumed with anxiety, out of breath, my face flush, and I found Bren standing calmly before me, showered, dressed and all our bags already packed.
 

***************

 Gripped with the terror of this place, of myself, and any hope for the return of my journal finally squelched, we finally left Kuta for good. As much as we have traveled on this trip and despite my pervasive fear, it actually feels strange to be leaving Kuta. It has become a kind of a second home to us both. We are headed for Ubud, the cultural center of Bali, but now with a rejuvenated energy to explore, to get back on the road of "traveling" again. After the two-hour bus ride we were immediately met by touts shoving business cards and pictures of their establishment in our face. After taking the risk with one of the touts, Bren and I ambled onto the back of two separate motorbikes with our backpacks hanging precariously off the back of the bike and sped off to their hotel. The risk paid off many fold as it turned out to be the nicest place we seen since Australia. An oversized room with new tiled floor, a large canopy bed, an overhead fan, private bath with shower and western toilet, and an elegant balcony all for the ridiculous price of $7 (U.S.) per night including breakfast.

We threw our bags in the corner and immediately took off for a casual stroll through Bali's infamous Monkey Forest. We had heard from other backpackers not to take any food into the forest and we were immediately thankful we heeded the advice. The monkeys actually came right up to us, even touched us, and at first glance, they seemed extraordinarily friendly. However, when a young teen-aged boy had run out of peanuts for the monkeys around him, they flew into a spoiled rage. One ripped the ballcap from his head while another grabbed and clawed ferociously at his small backpack. After the Father helped tussle with the monkey and wrestled away the backpack, they were forced to bribe the other with bananas to retrieve the ballcap. These monkeys have been know to bite and claw, and everywhere we went through the forest we could see clearly these mongrel monkeys displaying their ornery, bombastic and avariciously greedy temperaments.

Later, we overheard the same European family that had the backpack and hat taken talking about how the Balinese need to do something about these "crazy" monkeys before someone gets hurt. Interestingly, a large sign in Indonesian and English stands at the entrance asking you not to take food into the park, that the park is not a zoo. The truly sad part is that it's not the monkey's fault. It is we, as tourists, who have changed the environment and taught these wild monkeys to act this way for the sake of getting a picture with them or an up-close and personal snapshot. Yes, like the endangered flightless bird, it was the "Cassowary" effect. The gregarious monkeys are only reacting to the conditions we've placed on them and their environment, and now they've grown used to having food provided for them.

It was another stark example of how we ignorantly alter the environment without the slightest care as to the damage we do to the eco-system. Of all the lessons of this trip, this is the one that is the most clearly noticeable and devastating; that is, just how much we destroy the environment, change entire eco-systems, completely alter habitats and pollute the air we breathe. It makes me truly wonder about humanity, a group so capable of ravenously raping their own planet without the slightest hint of concern. For me personally, it makes me sick to think that it took a trip around the world to open my eyes to this blatantly open and notorious issue.

The following afternoon we jumped on a public bemo to Tampaksiring, the same place the Holy Water in the cleansing came from. "Bemos" are stripped down old mini-vans, they are run privately and are the source of public transportation throughout Indonesia. They are an extraordinarily cheap way of getting around even at their jacked-up "tourist prices," but are often extremely crowded. This day was no different. First, before getting on we needed to agree on the appropriate price; otherwise, the sky is the limit when we’d go to get off. They started out asking 5000 Rupiahs for a trip the locals would pay 200. Serious haggling is necessary, even mandatory for the Indonesians enjoy the battle and it is a test of respect for them. It's a bit of entertainment not only for the money collector but for the locals on the bemo to see just how much the tourist will pay. What might be difficult for us, as westerners, to understand is that it would be considered disrespectful not to bargain. They know the price is ridiculous and they fully expect you to haggle; it is an integral part of their culture and to not do so is to ignore, even disrespect, this facet of their culture. Not to mention the disservice to those who follow you, who will eventually be forced to pay a much higher price.

I greatly respect this aspect of the Indonesian culture, even cherish it. That is, they respect more a person who bargains reasonably and arrives at a fair price for the services or product than having the money thrown at them. Outside of the highly touristed areas of Bali, where they’ve grown used to the tourist’s Rupiahs, you see this clearly. Coming from a culture where equity many times takes a back seat to getting the most you can from someone, I find it uncommonly refreshing.

After agreeing on "reasonable" price for the trip, and a pleasant chuckle from the driver on our bargaining, we climbed aboard to a thousand smiles and adorning faces. The only problem was the bemo was packed, people were already crammed on the floor, baskets and bags of food were stacked at the front creating a wall between the passengers and the driver. As Bren and I entered, people shuffled even more, heads swung out the windows to create more space for us, but they all did it with genuine smile of greeting. I ended up sitting on the floor with my legs dangling out the open door with Bren wrapped around me. It was a sight not lost on the locals we passed by...first to see a westerner on their local mode of transport, but to see them crammed in with white legs and fancy sandals hanging precariously out the door was just too much. They laughed, smiled and waved to the bemo as we passed, but it was really meant for Bren and I. It was an intoxicating welcome into a small piece of their culture, a window into their way of life. I felt the ghost of lives past swelling within, creating a maelstrom of familiarity from those smiles, and I wondered, had I been here before? As we arrived at our destination, I really didn't want to get off. It was such a lifting experience. To be touched by the common everyday people of Bali, moving about doing their daily work, as strange as it sounds, it was one of the more special moments of the trip.

I could see clearly that their way of life is binding and it stirs the soul. They believe; they have faith. It's palpable, almost tangible, and they exude a unique positive energy that is utterly consuming. Their life is immersed in faith, dripping with the truest binds of humanity. They believe in God, then the country, then the community, they believe in each other, and they believe in their existence. They are bound. They are unified on some discernible level. From this circle of belief and faith comes this positive energy, an almost unified affirmation of life. For me, as an American, this energy is indisputably remarkable for they have very little if anything materialistically, which is the epitome of our societal construct. Once again, another culture that by our standards has so little, but it becomes readily apparent to me that they have so very much.
 

***************

Early the following morning we took a long, cramped and bumpy bus ride to the north coast of Bali to the very small town of Yeh Sanih (pron: "Air SE-Nay"). The town consisted of merely two nice hotels side by side, a shared fresh-water pool, and two restaurants across the street. We seemed to be the only tourists in the place, and it became a quiet and peaceful place next to the ocean to spend the two relaxing days. The highlight came early the next morning when we had an arranged for a local man to take us out in search of the elusive bottled-nose dolphin.

In the dimly lit moments before dawn we pushed the small, hand-made wooden boat out into the huge waves pounding the shore. The boat it was apparent was roughly cut out of a mammoth tree; yet it was only as wide as my fingertips to elbow and was just a little longer than one of my body lengths. With only a single stabilizing arm and a tiny motor we took to the intimidating sea beyond. We never spotted any dolphins in our two-hour search, but rising with the peaks and valleys of the sea, we were able to watch the giant ball of orange fire rise over the horizon with the volcanoes of Bali majestically flaunting in the background. The orange circle was simply huge, and as we moved directly toward its pervasive glow, I felt as if I could reach out and touch it. It was within this moment, that I solemnly realized that it’s these simple experiences with nature, the simple interactions with the people of this world, that the best parts of the trip have occurred. That within the simplicity is life’s most cherished moments, those times again when I feel alive, and that I’m truly "living life."

It is from the simple, the complexity of simplicity, that ultimately I learn.

After snorkeling for another two hours and finally returning to the hotel tired and hungry, we found that our room had been broken into and money stolen from Bren's backpack. After informing the manager who seemed to care less, I sat on the bed becoming angrier with each passing moment. It was the second theft here in Bali, and it was the personal violation not the money, which bothered me so deeply. When the manager then acted as if he didn't care, it threw me over the edge. I became incensed. I couldn't believe something else bizarre was happening, I couldn't believe that we could get ripped off twice inside of three weeks, and I couldn't believe that the manager didn't give a lick. I was enraged with this place, this stinging, painful string of weirdness, and a sense of panic set in again. I just wanted to get the hell out of this place as quickly as possible. This roughly defined love-hate relationship for this place brought a daily roller coaster of emotions that was now wearing me down, and it was beginning to take much more than it was giving. And even expecting the unexpected wasn’t enough anymore, it was all just too much, this place, these people, the revelations of my past, all was driving me to a point beyond simple frustration but to the brink of insanity.

However, just as I was raging fully into my tirade, storming through the room in a fury, there was a knock at the door. It was the manager. He stood cautiously in front of me, his arm held outward toward me with his palm up, within it rested the exact amount that was taken. I stood stunned. Then, an overwhelming feeling of shame gripped me. I knew the Balinese people, this place, and I had doubted them both. Just when I did, the money was staring me in the face. Was it another "test" or was it part of the same ongoing one? Either way, I failed. It was then that I felt a deeper appreciation for "faith," and to understand its delicate edges required more than just knowledge. It was the application of "faith" that meant something, that gave it distinction. Here, I had lacked "faith," I lacked "faith" in the people I had grown so close to, the people who have shown me the gifts of being human, a people who have given me what I desperately searched for, ultimately, they showed me a precious piece of this same "faith."

And, again, they had done so.

After my reluctance to accept and his reluctance to leave without giving me the money, I figured it would be insulting to the owner not to take the money. So, after much insisting on his part, I took it albeit still hesitatingly. It was only twenty bucks but it was the principal; he had accepted responsibility for something he probably had nothing to do with. But it helped to restore my misplaced "faith." And there it was staring me in the face, and I laughed. I roared with laughter, knowing that I must have looked "possessed" myself to that manager. But I also knew that he went beyond his own responsibility to bring a sense of justice to the situation, and it did in fact restore a sense of "faith." I now held this "faith" in the palm of my hand. When I was in that boat in Fiji with Aponu, I searched so desperately for it and couldn’t find it, and now here it was, not only within my tangible grip but within my heart. I felt it, it was a life within me, and all I could do was laugh, laugh at this place, the overt irony, my fate, the "test," and I reflected on the Korean girl and thought, "Hell, maybe I am possessed in this place!"

As uncertain, even unstable, as I feel with the growing oddities of Bali, I realize that I have discovered something deep, something beyond the logical or rational. I’ve become openly "aware" of a different, unseen world that exists around me. I feel a sense of my immortality; yes, I feel the dolphins from Kaikoura swarming around me as I floated in the soothing sea. Profoundly, in this regard, I know now that "faith" cannot be found in "God" within today's light and perspective, or even within our institutionalized "religion" as is promulgated by today's less than credible leaders. Rather, "faith" can only be found first in a personal spiritual existence and discovering one’s purpose in this realm. Without it, "faith" in God becomes merely an escape, one that provides a feeling of security and helps the individual psychologically deal with the inequities and arbitrariness of the world. No, "faith" is the integral link, the necessary link, in the search for "purity" of the spirit and soul, and then eventually a "faith" in and even with "God." It is "faith" that we are indeed guided by forces beyond our normal comprehension, and interaction with these forces that will provide the necessary means toward attaining this "purity." So, "faith" is a human's purest passion and can only be truly enjoyed through one’s own path of discovery, one’s own personal journey. It certainly cannot be contrived or compelled, as others would have it. No, it must be diligently searched for and I now realize that it can only be found through the introspective fires of trial and error, that is, through the exercise of being fully human, which is to learn from our errors and to savor these life-altering trials. Again, it strikes me profoundly that essence of life is found in the struggle.

And, even more, I now realize "faith" doesn’t begin with "God," it ends with it.

I know that here in Bali I have found a portion of this elusive "faith." I have taken this first step and found "faith" and awakened the depths of my own spirituality. Within this inward journey, I found a sense of my purpose, and learned that "faith" is the cornerstone of attaining the "purity" I seek; that is, to become spiritually whole. I know as I sit here on the balcony of our room staring out at the far reaches of the deep blue sea, that the knock at the door was more than the simple return of our money. It was a knock to gently remind me, remind me to have "faith," and not to be so easily dissuaded from what I have struggled so long to find.
 

***************

It was our last stop in Bali before departing for Java, as we left Yeh Sanih for Lovina Beach. Lovina is not nice. It's a smaller version of Kuta; however, it's clearly overrun, dirty and the people seemed abrupt. It felt as if the town wanted something from us the moment we stepped off the bus. Lovina immediately felt like a place for "suckers." Here, the small shops and bars don't dominate the town as in Kuta, but it's not peaceful or serene either. It’s this "in between" state, not peaceful but not bustling with activity, that I find disturbing. Simply, it lacks any form of character that made Kuta such an interesting place.

It was our last night in Bali. Bren wanted to celebrate in some fashion, so we tried out one of the recommended eating spots where we ordered an appetizer of pseudo-nachos and a couple beers. As we watched the sun set gloriously from our beachside seats, I lifted my glass and toasted to our last day in Bali, when Bren bit down on what turned out to be a large rock from the "nachos." As I was laughing at ironic nature of the toast coinciding with another bizarre occurrence, I then bit down on a rock myself.

"We're on one heck of a streak here!" Bren said laughing.

"Yeah, I think as much as I love Bali, I'm now definitely ready for some sort of normalcy," I replied.

"Well, now I'm just hoping that it really is Bali, and not us!" Bren said as we watched the sun disappear over the horizon of the sea.

As I was eating my "Gado-Gado" (an Indonesian mixture of vegetables in a peanut sauce), I felt something painfully lodge in the roof of my mouth. I reached into my mouth and pulled out what definitely appeared to be a staple.

"Oh my God, this is unbelievable, let's just pay our bill and go back to the room before something else happens..." Bren said not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

"I can't really argue with you there," I finally returned.

"Let's not even tell them about the food, let's just pay the bill. I don't want anything else to happen," Bren sternly replied.

As we walked back to the room, I put my hands in my face and rubbed my eyes, consumed with disbelief. I couldn't help but start laughing. Bren wrapped her arms around me and we walked arm in arm laughing deliriously back to the room. As we swayed in each other's arms, I looked up at the full moon arching high above us, and said with a chuckle, "I really think it's the moon cycle, Bren."

Bali just wouldn’t quit however, it almost knew this was our final day within her grip and she was determined to reach up and pinch us one last time.

After retreating back to the room following the "staple and rocks," we both found our respective beds and immediately crashed with exhaustion. Sleep found our fatigued and intoxicated bodies quickly. Bren slept across the room in her own twin bed with a nightstand between us, which itself is unusual as we commonly have the romantic view of sleeping together even if cramped. On this night, however, our intoxicated state prevented it and I quickly fell onto my own bed. It was sometime in the middle of the night when I felt it. I immediately thought I was dreaming, then I thought it was just my drunkenness, but then I realized that I did indeed feel it. Something was on my forehead. Still, as a result of my slumber, it took a few seconds to register, but I then lethargically swiped at it with my hand. Whatever it was had departed by the time my slow reach found its way to my face. Nothing registered. Then, suddenly, it did. I gasped yelling, "Turn on the lights, turn on the lights."

I don't know if it was my tone or the decibel level, but Bren popped straight up and out of bed and had the light on practically before the words finished leaving my lips.

"What is it?" Bren asked in a shaky voice.

"I don't know, but I felt something on the my head."

"On your head, what do you think it was?" Bren said with sincere trepidation.

"It was on my forehead, and I don't know," I was saying as I removed the covers and crawled along on all fours to the end of the bed. I peered over the edge to find a large candy wrapper swirling around on the floor.

"A candy-wrapper, that's what it must've been. I guess it was swept from the table onto my head and down to the floor because of the ceiling fan," I offered.

"I cannot believe you scared the hell out of me for a candy-wrapper," Bren said harshly as she flipped the light out.

As my head hit the pillow once again, it really didn't make much sense, and in fact, the evidence certainly indicated that it was no candy-wrapper that was lying innocuously upon my forehead only moments earlier. However my exhaustion quickly gripped me, and in that moment it all seemed to make perfect sense and I comfortably slipped back into depths of the unconscious.

I remember it vividly. I was dreaming of a big bowl of "corn flakes" completely drowned in real milk when...

As I was lying on my side toward Bren, I heard something...something very close to my head, something rustling and something gnawing. Slightly startled, I threw open my eyes and as they adjusted to the darkness, I could see an even darker object sitting on the edge of the night stand only inches away from my face. Seconds passed. I was frozen. It was frozen. Silence, except for the whirl of the ceiling fan above. My eyes grew wider with apprehension. I didn't move. I didn't even blink. Then, it moved and I could see it clearly.

I jerked up and without my feet touching the ground, I was across the room and had the light on. Bren, as if in telepathic communication with me, had jumped straight up from beneath the covers, and had run the length of her bed and jumped into my arms knocking me back against the wall. She quickly wormed her way behind me as she frantically cried out, "What is it, what is it?"

"A rat!" I said looking over the room for our ubiquitous creature of the night.

"Oh my god!" she screamed in a shrilled terrified voice.

We didn't move. We stood in the corner together, Bren peering over my shoulder, both searching the room, searching desperately for the "killer" rat who might jump out of nowhere to attack. After the initial shock wore off, I realized that there was very little we could do.

"Maybe having some nasty, filthy creature happily dance on your head in the middle of the night is a regular occurrence here in Bali, but I’ve just about had enough of it," I said to Bren as we were crawling back into bed, this time together.

"At this point, Bri, I would honestly believe just about anything...all I know is that we really need to get out of this place."
 

***************

As I watched the island of Bali fading into the distance, I was suddenly mauled with a host of emotions. On one hand, I'm a bit relieved hoping that the bizarre events of the past month have finally come to a close, but I also know that Bali has been a special place for me personally. It was a place of discovery, and so much of what was discovered will be apart of my life for its duration. Most importantly, I know that within this unique and mystical island, I found a distinct sense of spiritual "faith." And although I am still searching for Mary Matthews' faith, that is "faith" in others—to just believe, I know that I have not only unexpectedly found the spiritual "faith," but I have taken a positive step toward achieving Mary Matthews' "faith."

Within the bowels of this Bali, I have embraced a fundamental change in my personal belief system. Although it's ever changing, ever-growing, it now has a sense of permanency, and deep within my soul, it just feels right. The experiences of Bali have shown me, taught me, many lessons of "faith" and "belief," but most importantly, it has given me a profound sense of my soul, my essence. I feel it like never before.

Also, after having fought through the fundamentals of reincarnation, I now fervently believe that it provides the necessary link to our divine purpose—to achieve a sense of "purity." Reincarnation sets in motion a whole new approach to life in this realm. It begins afresh differences in thought, perspective, personality, our memories, and possibly even our social structure. It goes far beyond the obvious that our existence exceeds this particular life, that with death of the physical body we continue onward in our learning and we will return to continue this process. It’s profoundly comforting. For within the logical system of learning and growth, we can see that each of us has a distinct purpose, and the will to achieve it. This process of learning through rebirths of the soul is a necessary piece to discovering our individual destiny and our collective purpose. It’s a spark of pure magic in our existence, one that should inspire the most basic of elements of our being, for we indeed have a distinct place, a place to go and the means to get there. And within this cycle of life exists the most basic and yet precious of gifts, "faith."

We must understand that with death is life and with life is death--they are mere transitions which become necessary to sustain our growth toward "purity." Basic chemistry even bears this out, that our essence is composed of energy. Even our thoughts may very well be energy, and energy can neither be created nor destroyed. We are energy that can neither be created nor destroyed. Profoundly, in this remarkable state, we can create a force toward affecting others, their energy, and if concentrated, this awesome energy can be focused to create a "Oneness." An energy that binds us all.

It strikes me now, that it feels "right" because the soul probably experiences a constant longing to return to its natural state. Yet, the human body is the means for achieving our "purity"; it is the vessel for experiencing the lessons necessary for eternal personal spiritual growth. We, in the human condition, are mere shadows upon the cave walls. That is, our senses provide us with the feeling of the tangible and "real," the appearance of the shadow--caused by the light of "God"; yet they are mere fleeting "feelings," the flow of which is nevertheless not permanent. However, the senses do provide the outlet for expressing in some tangible form our ideas, making our ideas immutable, which is the basis for spiritual "enlightenment." "Enlightenment" therefore is the edification of the ideas we have learned and expressed through the senses of our human condition.

It is so ironic, so damn ironic, that our essence, our truly tangible being, may indeed consist of the intangible, unseen by us in our present state. "Faith" bridges two gaps therefore. We build "faith" which on some level may indeed be the cornerstone of spirituality, or at least the basis for feeling and understanding the bond of humanity. Within this "faith" is the bond of humanity, our deepened sense of "significance" in being human. Second, "faith" is the foundation for spiritual learning, which builds toward "enlightenment" in pursuit of the divine goal of "purity." In a state of "purity," our souls ultimately understand and can accept the "peace" it seeks.
 

***************

After a three hour wait at the ferry dock in Java, the bus then broke down a mere 10 kilometers later. This would portend of things to come as the bus "broke down" another four times and we finally arrived in Probolingo at 2 A.M., over six hours late. In retrospect, it was an obvious scam. Because of the late hour, many of the passengers who were getting off in Probolingo then had to rely on our driver to "arrange" transportation to their hotels—the bus stop was conveniently located 7 kilometers outside of town. He made a handsome profit from those getting off and then kicked off a couple who wanted to go onward to Mount Bromo but had a ticket only to Probolingo. He refused to allow them to pay the additional amount on the bus, and after kicking them off he tried to arrange another mode of transport to the mountain for triple the price. They refused, and he stranded them.

"Welcome to Java," I said to Bren who was sleepily slouching in the bus seat next to me.

"Maybe Bali wasn’t so crazy after all!" she somberly replied.

We eventually arrived at out destination, Ngadisari, the second small town from the crater of Mount Bromo. However, because of the late arrival hour the place we desired to stay was booked, and the only other place in town a dilapidated, bug-infested hotel the bus company was in cahoots with. Naturally, they charged us triple the usual price. We were so exhausted and cranky, however, that we had no choice but to pay the extortionist's price. We suffered through the night with the bed bugs in by far the worst place we've stayed so far on the entire trip. This nightmare, coupled with the "rat" incident the night before, our "staple and rocks" meal, and the lack of a shower in three days, nearly put both of us over the edge of sanity.

After hiking all afternoon around the outskirts of the crater of Mount Bromo, we woke at 3 A.M. still tired and sore. We woke to take part in one of the renowned spectacles in all of Indonesia, that is, watching the sunrise from the lip of the active volcano, Mount Bromo. But first we had a two-hour hike to the top of the volcano. The setting was impressive. Mount Bromo actually sits in the center of the Tengger Massif, a flat, stretching, desolate landscape filled with lava sand. From this remarkably flat lunar landscape, which covers over 10 square kilometers, rises three towering peaks of which in the middle rises spectacularly the smoking spiritual center of Indonesia, Mount Bromo.

We hiked through the black lava sand underneath the starry-dome of the deep night sky, with the dark shadows of the peaks rising majestically with each step. A thousand flashlights lined the path of our pilgrimage stretching to the lip of the crater high above. Just as Uluru is the beating heart of Australia, Mount Bromo signifies the same to Indonesia. It’s the spiritual pulse of this mystical country. However, it differed in its expression, with smoke rising from its bowels, the distinct smell of sulfur lingering in the air, the starry dome above us, and the hike to the top of this volatile peak. Much like Uluru, it beckoned and with each squishing step in the sand we felt the sheer power of this awesome beast rising in front of us. This was no stroll through the cover of darkness, no it became a pilgrimage, a rite of passage through this complex and intense country. The hike itself, however, was not nearly as difficult as trying to keep from being run over by the slave-whipped donkeys whisking the "rich" to the foot of the volcano. We passed through the lines of donkeys and people selling their wares at the base and began the climb to the top. At the lip, we maneuvered between the masses to find a comfortable spot to pay homage to the dawning of another day in this world.

As the sky began to brighten and the sun rose over the eastern mountains, there was an eerie, mystical feel to it. It was gripping, truly haunting in its beauty as we stood perilously on the edge of this active volcano with its smoke filling the air while the glorious rays of the sun fueled the sky above and dampened the supernatural landscape below. I felt Kaikoura’s dolphins, Port Anne’s whales, and Uluru, all coming together with the rising of the sun from this bubbling mountain in the sky. From the "fall" on the trek on Rarotonga, I was now beginning the climb back, I was reaching for the heavens and its profound state of grace. As the sun began to slip above the mountains beyond, I peered over the edge of this volatile mountain and into the smoking soul of earth itself. Its inner core, its spirit, was being released through this tiny hole in the surface and into the heavens above me. Its essence was liberated through its release into the open air and sky above. As I absorbed this surreal scene, I couldn't help but think of home and that the same sun is at the same moment fading from view.

And so, the cycle continues, onward and upward.

And I feel myself, one with earth, rising with the silky smoke of Mt. Bromo into the waiting arms of heavens above.
 

***************

Following two pleasant days learning the art of batik design (application of wax substance to create a particular design on cloth) and shopping for other textiles and antiques in Surakarta (or "Solo") we moved quickly to Central Java to the city of Yogyakarta. Yogyakarta (pron: "joe-g-ja-cart-a") is the cultural and intellectual center of Java and quite possibly all of Indonesia. The city is striking. Its main streets are littered with a constant, never-ending stream of people, people everywhere, while noise, neon, choking fumes and complete chaos abound. The appearance of the inner city is obviously touched by western influence and modernization, this creates a bubble around all the integral facets of Indonesian life. However, behind the facade of these influences, Yogya still clings to its proud traditions and values, and life behind this modern facade is markedly more laid-back and easy-going. The streets remain unhurried, less crowded, and it’s a place where friendly people greet you at every turn. The heart of Yogya remains pure and absolute; its genuineness flows like water slowly dripping from a leaking faucet. Surprisingly, we found the hustle and bustle of this city relaxing, a pleasant spice which at first burns the tongue, but then becomes a staple, something the tastebuds actually crave. It was one of the few places we actually stopped touristing and just took in the people, the place, and the ambiance. We bounced from place to place feeling the beat of Yogya’s heart, enjoying the incredible Indonesian food, perusing the fantastic markets, and the old ruins of a gracious Indonesia past. Since this is the cultural center of Java, we took in the famous Ramanyana ballet for an evening and a leather puppet performance, which were both interesting, but to me, conducted without the passion we felt in Bali. Although Java is the same country as Bali, they feel as of completely different places. Java is much more city-oriented, driven by the hubs which control and dictate the island, and although the people are friendly, even overtly so, they are different from the Balinese. They seem to lack the passion of life so abundant, so free, in Bali. The Javanese although still clinging to their traditions and values are nevertheless greatly influenced by the modern world. The people are necessarily attached and driven by the pulse of the cities. It's not bad, just different. It's not Bali.

I wish we had the time to get out away from the tourist centers of Java, although we had a taste of it near Mount Bromo, to find and experience the essence of Java. I have the feeling, however, that what I am searching for here cannot be found. Bali is just special. After 35 days here in Indonesia, and despite wanting to stay much longer, we realized quite suddenly that we must pack up and move on. Here in Java, other than seeing the Buddhist temple of Borobodur, there isn't much more I'd like to do except get out of the cities and explore and discover much like we did in Bali. However, we are both still anxious to leave before something else occurs, and even though we’ve spent the last week here in Java without incident, I still feel Bali’s pull, its tantalizing call.

So, after making the difficult and trying decision to abruptly leave, we crammed into a van for an overnight ride into Jakarta, where we spent the morning exploring this overrun, sprawling mass of people, traffic, noise, and pollution. After arriving late at the airport for our flight to Singapore, we were forced into the immigration office, where we were held captive for not having our entrance stamps on our passports. Naturally, they weren't on the passports, since our passports were stolen; however, we were told that it was necessary for us to go to the head office in Jarkarta to receive the stamps. The American Embassy was to inform us of this small but necessary prerequisite to leaving the country, which they mysteriously failed to do. Consequently, the immigration officials now refused to let us leave. Bali seemed to rise before us, and just as the police officers did to those on the motorbikes driving without a license, cleanly knock us off our bike with the huge pole. I felt it, the indelicate pull of that mysterious land reaching out and seizing my throat.

They asked us to go to the airline to acquire the flight records from our arrival in Bali. It certainly seemed simple enough, but it turned out to be a serious problem. With the time clicking away to catch our flight, and growing exceedingly anxious with each passing moment, we desperately explained our situation to the people at the airline. However, they were nonchalant, bordering on incompetent, with one gentleman actually informing us that it was impossible to retrieve such information as, "Bali is in a different country and we don't have international records." We had to get to Singapore on that flight because I had made arrangements with my father to send a new camera to one of Vivian's friends who lives there, and today was our only day to get it for another week.

Something had a grip on us and prevented our departure from this place and it seemed to be growing stronger with each passing minute. Driven by forces beyond our comprehension, we were anchored in place and our efforts seemed hopelessly futile. I felt that palpable sense of "going crazy" creep back in and it immediately hastened my desperate desire to get out of Indonesia. It was one of the most magical places we’ve ever been, ever will be in our lives, but enough clearly was enough, and I wanted out. If not at least to retain a small piece of my sanity.

"Bri," Bren said with her voice quivering, " I mean it, we’ve got to get out of here!"

I sullenly replied, "I know, babe, I know. Believe me, I know!"

That’s all I could say, for time was clicking away and our hope of catching this flight was quickly fading. With the pressure seriously mounting and only 15 minutes before the flight left, we went back to immigration without the passenger list. Back amongst the four officers again, I instantly felt like I did after our bags were stolen, and the officers in Sukawati hovered over us, unsure but curious. The supervisor obviously feeling the sensitivity of our predicament began putting the clamps down, harassing us, expecting to be slipped a little something under the table. I knew at that point, he didn’t care in the least if we caught the flight, and in fact, I truly began to feel we weren’t getting out of Indonesia, at least not on this day. Bren then lost it. She began crying, almost uncontrollably, and the officers suddenly became wide-eyed with the horror of a western woman wailing in their office. She began whimpering, in my arms, and crying out, "Why can't we just leave this place!"

She slowed for a second as I comforted her and then broke out screaming again, "We need outta here, Oh God, were never leaving, they’re never going to let us out!"

Her face had turned pale, sweat dotted her forehead from the heat, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. After a brief respite she continued yet again, "Oh, I guess that it isn't bad enough that we had all of our stuff stolen...no, they want more, and now they won’t let us out!"

The supervisor listened intently, and even attempted to soothe Bren saying in broken English, "We'll get this worked out." However, he still held onto the hope for the usual donation for his services.

But his assurance wasn't enough for Bren as she cried even harder, "We need to be on this plane! Bri, Bri, I can’t take it, I really can’t, I need to get out!"

After everything that had happened to us, all the weird unexplained occurrences that plagued us for the last month, Bren actually snapped. I felt her sense of panic, the depth of her anxiety, and I began to envision not only failing to get out of this country but having to put Bren in a mental hospital. In a flash, I saw the Korean girl before me, holding me tight and weeping in my arms. Now, Bren was resting her head listlessly on my chest, still sobbing as the officers gazed at one another perplexed, and quickly becoming worried with her behavior. I could see plainly that they didn't know what to do. After a significant pause, the supervisor then asked the others to leave, and with only a few minutes before the flight left, he picked up the phone and held a discussion in Indonesian. As he hung up the phone, he quickly looked up at me from behind his desk and with a deep unconscious sigh said, "Okay, Okay. They hold the plane for you."

He then personally escorted us through the immigration gates where he said genuinely in parting, "I hope she okay."

Neither of us responded, instead we quickly turned and ran furiously for the gate and boarded the plane. I plopped in my seat with utter relief, completely determined that nothing could remove me from it until Singapore. The engines roared almost immediately after buckling our seat belts and we left the gate. Naturally, in keeping with the pattern of events here in Indonesia, we weren't leaving without some kind of struggle, without something else bizarre occurring, and of course, once again experiencing another striking example of nonchalant ineptitude by the American embassy.

I sat in my seat gazing without focus out the window as the runway faded from view. My heart was still pounding in my chest, the perspiration still freshly coating my body, and I really couldn't believe that we had made the flight. I knew absolutely that if it wasn't for Bren we would never be seeing the inside of this plane, and we not only could be back in the immigration office but much worse, stuck in Indonesia for days. As I was consumed with that thought, that there was no way they were letting us go, and Bali still had us in its powerful grip, Bren leaned in to me and with a giant grin adorning her face said in a whisper, "Well, how'd I do…"

Copyright © 1999 PbFisher. All rights reserved.