Bali: God in the Garden
Before arriving in Bali, I researched local wineries and decided to squeeze two visits into my retreat itinerary. I enjoyed an expansive wine tasting at Hatten Wines with delicious goat cheese, breadsticks, and palm sugar white chocolate pairings. I was excited about what awaited me on my next wine excursion to Sababay Winery.
When I arrived at Sababay, security led me down a palm tree-lined pathway into a shady garden with a thick bright light piercing through the center of leaning trees with branches that reached out as if to embrace one another.
The staff greeted me, confirmed my reservation, and led me to a table facing the light and the flora kaleidoscope it created of bright green grass decorated with colorful plumerias. I became used to the earth showered in flowers and imagined nature had ceremoniously adorned the island for which gods walked.
As I waited for the staff to serve the wine, I slowly sat down, almost missing my seat because my surroundings once again hypnotized me. The temples where I worshipped, the lodgings I stayed, and the savory food I ate all melded my mind, body, and soul into a state of oneness. And here in this garden, I finally faced the light I often called upon but without anything to say. I supposed the omniscient light needed no outward supplication, for it already knew what had been in my heart.
Briefly interrupted by table preparation, pours, and wine descriptions, I returned to my trance. Butterflies ritualistically fluttered, dancing around the light as the trees waved softly in approval. Fixated on the performance, I forcefully drank water between the intermittent breeze offering respite from the blanketed heat.
My loud gulping muted my surroundings, and I hadn’t heard the staff members approaching me — one delivering a bowl of fried cassava and bright pico de gallo, the other with hands in prayer and a concerned look. Both asked me if I was alright. Assuring them I was fine, they smiled while bowing and wishing me an enjoyable tasting before floating away. I returned to my preoccupation, this time accompanied by wine to avoid attracting further concern from the staff.
“Om Namah Shivaya,” instructed the Balinese medicine woman I met the day before, who urged me to repeat the mantra to myself. She claimed it would offer me clarity, focus, and divine connection through affirming myself. And because I feared all the peace I gained would be lost once I left this garden and departed dear Bali, hoping to glean insights from the moment, I silently repeated the mantra, staring at the light intently, but nothing came to me.
Upon returning to the familiar realities of American living and working, every so often, I retreated to repeating my mantra a few times to relive Bali’s mystic vibrations. Surprisingly, I noticed a sense of serenity that overcame me. I began to feel like I was still in the garden facing that familiar light. I was present and more aware of my surroundings. It even occurred to me that at looking at a painting I purchased from Argentina (without any intention of acquiring artwork, I, and the others I beat to the purchase, were spellbound by this particular piece) hanging above my bed, there was some spiritual humor at play.
The painting, titled El Paraiso, by Mónica Olivé, astonishingly resembled the garden, foreshadowing my actual journey to paradise, where I would sit with God in the garden. It wasn’t until returning home I realized that paradise — peace, clarity, love, oneness, and spirituality — is wherever we devote ourselves to intentionally experiencing it. I always had access to this garden but needed confirmation I hadn’t been alone.
