MONSTER BENEATH

I've been through four earthquakes, two in Hawaii and two in Indonesia. The first one in Hawaii was little more than a rumble. I thought it was caused by a super heavy truck passing by. It did make the house shake, but just for a moment. The second one was only a couple of years ago. That one did quite a lot of damage on the Big Island. I was downstairs in the kitchen preparing breakfast when I heard a tinkling sound. I looked around, then seeing my collection of coffee mugs hanging on hooks on the wall clinking against each other and going at it faster and faster that it dawned on me that it was an earthquake. As the floor heaved under me I drunk-stumbled my way to the protection of a door. As soon as I reached it the shaking stopped. I ran upstairs to Phil who was still in bed. He's lying on his back, sheets drawn up to his chin, eyes big as saucers.
"That was an earthquake, Phil!" I shout at him as if he doesn't know.
"Yeah," he says quietly without moving, "You didn't have to do all that to wake me up."

The very first earthquake I remember occurred in the middle of the night when I was (I think) 12 years old, living in Balikpapan, East Kalimantan. The bed was shaking so violently that I thought there was a monster underneath who would grab my legs if I tried to get out. For weeks afterward getting up in the morning meant moving myself (careful, careful) into position... shhh... quiet... don't wake him up... almost there... ready?... ready? ... Yes NOW!!! Jump as high as I can, as fast as I can, as far away as I can!!! Away from the bed!!! Now run!!! Whew... safe! Funny (or sad) how at 68 I still act like that, earthquake or not. It's just harder to jump now.

Last month's earthquake didn't make me think of monsters or jumping. The heaving house, swaying bed posts, billowing mosquito net, held me still, captivated, as if I was in a theater watching a movie. Only after things quieted down did I get excited and, nerves tingling, wanted and waited for more. I learned again what a drama monkey I am, at least as long as I don't get seriously hurt. I love to tell you about hurricane Alicia that damaged and destroyed the houses around us but kept ours perfectly intact, and the head-on collision that totaled the car but left me with only a foot scratch and a chunk of insurance money. There's a pattern here, wouldn't you say?

Right or wrong, the message is: Let go. Let go of attachment. Let go of things like my brand new colorful set of dishes. I love them. They come with a great story about how I got them in the first place. A big earthquake would shake those sweet dishes off the shelf and shatter them into a million pieces. Let go of the dishes. Clean up clutter. Clean up your closet. We came to Bali with so little, but look what a mess our closet is in now. Lose weight. I know, I know... Let go of the need to be special, or better than. Oops, stop. We're getting "Father, I have sinned" confessional here. See what happens when you're married to a devout Catholic?

The earthquakes in Sumatra are no joking matter. Being trapped under massive layers of rubble is the stuff of nightmares. Don't we all live on the Ring of Fire now? How then shall we find beauty and rightness amidst suffering? That is my question.

EARTHQUAKE

We were jolted awake by a 5.8 earthquake this morning. According to Indonesia Meteorological andGeophysics Agency, the quake measured 6.4 on the Richter Scale. It was pretty exciting. I watched our bed posts sway back and forth over a width of at least one foot, maybe more, but before we could get out of bed, the shaking ended. Three hours later another one happened, but this one was considerably lighter.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/8264335.stm
has some interesting reports of people's reactions.

Apparently some buildings in Denpasar were damaged and seven people suffered injuries. I'm not aware of anything serious here in Ubud. Charlie told how a row of parked motorcycles fell over on their sides like dominoes. He also described how everybody ran out of their homes, banging on pans and buckets, yelling "Hidup! Hidup!" (Live! Live!). Balinese believe that doing that calms the earth down.

Here's an interesting post by Sidarta Wijaya:

Earthquake for Balinese is not merely a disaster; there is a hidden meaning or a prophecy, in every occurrence of earthquake. Armed with the sacred Palelindon (treatise on earthquake) manuscript, for hundreds of years, Balinese decipher every sign or prophecy behind every earthquake that occurred.

In Palelindon (treatise on earthquake), the earthquakes are categorized based on the time of occurrence. An earthquake that occurs in the first month of Balinese Caka calendar (July) has different meaning from the earthquake that occurs in the fifth month (November) and the meaning an earthquake that occurs on Saturday (Saniscara) is different from the one that occurs on Wednesday (Buda).

From: http://blog.baliwww.com/arts-culture/5924

BALI BIZARRE

Back in June we had a mysterious invasion of strangers. Phil and I were having a leisurely breakfast when we heard a car pull up. Thinking it was someone delivering materials for the construction next door, we did not pay attention. Our parking area is often used for turning the trucks around. But this time we hear a car stop and park. We’re not expecting any visitors, so who can it be? Curious, we walk to the front and see a rickety old van carrying a bunch of people. The doors open and nine people pour out of the car. Talking loudly among themselves they stride toward us as if we had invited them over for a party. Yes, nine of them, dressed alike in crisp blue and black-patterned rayon shirts over black skirts or pants. The women in high heels. Phil and I are puzzled. We don’t know any of them. Who the hell are they and what are they doing here? They’re gathered in the entrance, darkening the lobby. They carry official-looking folders and speak to us simultaneously in rapid Indonesian of which I can only derive that they are from some government office in the Gianyar region and that it involves some kind of permit. Nobody speaks English and no, they did not come to the wrong address. Hmm, nine people from the same office drive 30 minutes to our villa to okay a permit? A permit for what? They don’t say. We’re completely flummoxed. I’m beginning to feel beleaguered. I remind myself that when it comes to dealing with the government I better play nice. I should offer them something. How about some water? They decline. I insist. No, no, they brought their own water. Juice? Cookies? No juice or cookies either. Okay then, no bribing them with sweets. We’re at an impasse. Nobody can tell us what the permit is for and we don’t understand why they’re here. Two of the men give up and go outside for a smoke. The others circle around and hold a conference. Reaching a decision they open their folders and start filling out their documents. Watching them is a funny Alice-in-Wonderland kind of feeling. What are they writing? What are we being approved or not approved for? This is crazy. I make one more stab at understanding what is going on and ask if they need to see the villa, walk through the property. Do they need to know how many bedrooms we have? Or check out the kitchen facilities? No, no need. They continue filling out their mysterious forms. When they’re finally finished they take their leave. The two men outside squish out their cigarettes and all nine of them fold themselves back into the sardine can of a van and wave goodbye. Phil and I just look at each other. What was that about? Until now we have no idea.

THE BALINESE CALENDAR

If you want to know why living in Bali can be so confusing, consider this explanation of the Balinese calendar system:

The 210-day pawukon calendar provides the reference system for most of the religious ceremonies in Bali: market days, personal anniversaries, and the good or bad days for doing special tasks. A single 210 day cycle since no record is kept of successive cycles nor the numbed. They just pass by. During the 210 day can then weeks each of a different length, run there is a week that is only one day long, one that has two days, one that has that long, and so on up to the longest 10-day week. Each of the 10 different length weeks has a Sanskrit - derived Balinese name based upon the number of days that it contains. Thus Triware is the 3-day week and Saptaware is exactly like 7 days week. And each separate day of each of the ten different weeks has its own name, making a total of 1+2+3…10-55 separate weekday names. Actually, however, the one-day week does not have the same name every day. On some days it has no name at all. (From: www.darmabali.com/.../Balinese-calender.html)