I come to your ear one day and like a river flow my mouth become yours. And my anger become the world. I’m dancing in this burning forest where my tears dry in deserted lands. No more trees left in this land. Deserted heart is what all I got.
How could I give you drink, when all poison destroy all my water. How could I give you food, when all the earth is barren. How could I give birth to life, when everything in my body had already being sucked empty. How did all my children had been gone, ruined, meet all their tragic fate of their own.
Listen, from my steps, my dancing steps. When my anger become the world. Listen, when this anger become the seas that rises above and the ground crack uncontrollably. I puff my breath like the mountains and my cough become a bloody hot lava. Have you forgotten me, have you forgotten me, my dearest?
I would make everything crystal clear when all this anger finish the world. And like an unborn child I would rock you in my stomach while I do my first dance when everything vanish. In your first lullaby I would be born again.
So dance with me, dance with me until the world is gone.
Smell of cempaka, smell of incense, smell of prayers. Early morning without sound. That silent longing. I see the sea through the taxi window. I see a pour memories coming into like the waves. I see those waves everywhere I look. But there was not lost. Or even that tinged of pain. It was surprising. I felt like standing in a small island and in a very vast sea without ending. I remember the Pacific. The blue sky. The golden shine of sand. The heat of the very best summer. I might eat some flowers with some coconut water. Silent prayers are everywhere and I was just still knowing, that I’m sitting in a taxi. Touching and standing in this very ground after three long years.
A sound of bell turn out to be the sound of a very dear friend. Who have been spending time very far away. Every time I see him, I see that small pinkish lotus flower tattoed in his right arm. It is like seeing a sign every time I remember him. And a hug feels like forever. Did I just come home then? Did that just feel like home?
Those smell of grass, waiting for the rain to come. Silent conversation at the very odd hours. I see mountains rise through his eyes when we were telling our stories and journeys. I remember some promises to be at the far away land. It feels not far anymore. In so many loses somehow we meet again to gain something out all the events of our lives.
I hear death knocking in every birth. That the sound of baby crying is the same of wailing. Women, women wome. Everywhere they always cry. At my son’s birth all these women before me came, gather and surrounds me. I just see my life flashes in seconds. I felt an earthquake coming through my body. An another being born amidst all cries. Did a cry always help you to feel better? Or to be better? I smell jasmine sometimes without reasons. And sometimes the urge to let go everything comes when I saw the South Sea. That feeling, the coming back to a mother’s womb.
Kintamani – Batur, 20th July 2012