An incident in Ubud

This is a true-life encounter with a young lady who I had met in Ubud on January 13th at 2230hrs. She spoke to me about the angels in her life. Her name has been changed to protect her from the unknown. I have faithfully recorded what transpired between us.

The day started when I encountered an emaciated dog with broken back legs dragging itself along the road and wailing like a banshee. I ignored its calls for succour and instead drove past the dog on a beautiful sunny morning when the sky was blue and my heart felt at peace with the world. “It’s going to die anyway”, I said to myself, “so why bother”. Putting a stone to its head was an option that crossed my mind.

The day had just begun and I was unaware of what lay ahead – an encounter with Unknown that prompted the question: What is the purpose of living, procreating and dying and was Sartre right in his assumptions?

On the evening of the same day when I was sitting with a friend in his restaurant a distraught young lady with flaxen hair walked in and asked me if I was the husband of the woman dressed in white who had just left the restaurant. I replied in the negative and pointed to my friend and said that he was the person she may want to talk to, as he was the woman’s husband in question. Ignoring my friend, she looked at me with piercing blue eyes whilst taking out a newspaper cutting from her bag. She gently unfolded the paper and laid it on the table before me. It was the Ubud section of the Bali Times.

She asked, “Are you Mark Ulyseas and did you write this story about a bone healer?”

“Yes,” I replied, “And what’s your name?”

“Sarah” she replied and then she burst out crying uttering the words, “Thank god I’ve met you”. She requested me to meet her later that night at the same place, as she desperately needed to talk to me. I agreed. Around 2230 she returned.

We sat down at a table in a corner and for a moment the silence hung heavy. It was suddenly broken by a torrent of words, she said, “I had an accident recently, I was thrown out of the car in Los Angeles. When I hit the ground I felt my soul leaving me. I should have died in the fall but miraculously I survived with minor injuries.” Then she raised her blouse and showed me fresh scars on her side and parts of her arms. “Since then my life has changed. I have angels who speak to me now, telling me where to go and who to meet for reasons I cannot fathom. Sometimes the devil provokes me to do things that I know are not good and I have to resist the temptations. I came to Bali because my angels told me to come here – that I would meet some people on this island who will show me the way. I don’t know what’s happening can you help me?

“You have been through a cathartic experience – your accident. Do you understand the concept that the universe works on the principle of balance – between good and bad, negative positive, male female, you know like electricity – the plus and minus that generates energy? The Yin and Yang? You have lost your balance and need to regain it. I am no shaman or teacher I can only tell you what I know, all of which may not be true. Maybe you should share some past aspects of your life with me and hopefully we can together decipher your present delusions,” I said.

“I had a near death drowning experience when I was eleven. Later at the age of 17 I overdosed on some drugs. I was a hard drinker and couldn’t care less about my mind and body.’

“Are you still doing these things?”

“No, the angels have helped me. They have protected me from all these temptations. They keep instructing me to meet people at various places who would be carrying messages for me. What these messages are I don’t know. For instance, the other day I was in Benoa because the angels had instructed me to meet someone there. Who this person was I didn’t know. When I arrived at the location I didn’t see anyone. However in a shop nearby I came across The Bali Times. On the front page I noticed a picture of a frangipani – the favourite flower of my grandmother. I opened the paper and saw your article. Then I realised that I was being guided to you. You know how I found you? I had a dream, last night, in which I saw a car number plate 177 and the name of this restaurant and I was told I’d meet you here. When passing this place earlier in the evening I saw this lady in white coming out of this restaurant, the car with number plate 177 was parked outside and the name of the restaurant was the same as in my dream. I was shocked. I had to meet you. I felt there was something you had to give me. Do you know what it could be?” she said expectantly.

“The only advice I could possibly give you will be from my worldly experience. Have you been writing down your spiritual encounters?” I asked.

“Here are some books I have been reading – Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love and another titled Angel numbers – and the notebook in which I am jotting down what the angels are saying to me. Read my notebook maybe it will give you some idea,” she said in a soft voice as she handed me the book.

I hesitantly took the notebook and glanced through it. Scribbled words – law, universe, and love – in childish handwriting sprang from the pages. I quickly handed it back to her and said, “You must understand that the world is within you. It resides in all of us. Many of us go searching for salvation, love and the meaning of life oblivious to the fact that it is within us. We sometimes lose ourselves in this violent world and sadly some of us take a lifetime to find ourselves again. Do you understand what I am saying?”

She looked at me as if staring into my mind and said, “I see you have many old souls within you. I see souls everywhere and they talk to me. I am frightened. I met this man at an Internet cafe the other day and the angels told me I should go with him to Vienna and India. Were you expecting me?”

“Sarah, you should not go anywhere with any man right now. You have abused your mind and body and now you are going to let others do it for you. Throw away those books that you are carrying and begin to trust in yourself once more. Leave Bali and go home, wherever that is, and take control of your life. You are fragile and your spirit needs to heal. Your world has opened up with the cathartic experience and your eyes and mind are acting like a giant magnifying glass that enables you get a crystal clear picture of life around. These effects have confused you and therefore you presume that you are lost when in fact it is the opposite. What you need to do now is to slow down. Take time out to re-evaluate your life. It’s my opinion that you should go home to your family, friends and relatives who can help you. In your present state it’s not advisable for you to be travelling alone. There are many unscrupulous people who will take advantage of you” I replied.

She had a strange look on her face as if some one else had taken control of her body and then she said in a guttural tone, “I have to go. Goodnight”, and left abruptly. It was apparent that my advice had no effect on her or to whoever was within her.

I walked home apprehensive about the fate of Sarah. I questioned the meaning of angels and the concept of good and bad. Could it be possible that Sarah’s mind had encountered another level of consciousness, which she was mistaking for angels? Or was she possessed with evil spirits bent on driving her insane? Who knows, maybe God has the answer.

Wherever you are now Sarah, I wish you Godspeed. I am truly sorry I couldn’t be of help to you.

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om

Cigarettes and Cell phones

There are many images in paradise that enlighten, mystify and antagonise visitors who eventually become enthusiastic participants in the shenanigans of a populace living at the crossroads of the world.

So what constant images would be ingrained in our memories when we depart from this island, reluctantly?

Some of us have fallen unwittingly into the dance of a social stereotype that is prevalent on the streets of Bali – cigarettes and cell phones that are essential appendages, which enhance our self-esteem. For the sake of brevity we shall call them cigy and hp (hand phone).

When I arrived on this isle a few centuries ago, at least it feels like that, I was confronted with social liberties that extended beyond the pale. I would jokingly call the stewardess at my watering hole darling and ask her to marry me, or light up a cigar at a community dining table where women and children were tucking into Nasi Goreng. In fact in some cases a dotting father who was smoking, while holding his small child in his arms, had offered me a cigy, which was followed by plumes emanating from our orifices and choking all who were within a few feet of us.

I like the community tables at Warungs because this is where one can practice freedom of speech. It’s also a great place to meet people from all walks of life, in one sitting, to the symphony of hp rings and clicking of lighters.

Have you ever seen a youngster with a cigy dangling from the corner of his mouth on a motorbike pelting down the road? Yes, of course you must have encountered these specimens that can be seen in abundance all across the isle. Rebels without a cause could be the apt phrase here. However, these ‘rebels’ are of pretty face and slim build with a fetish for the latest hp that borders on neurotica and erotica. The constant fiddling with the hp and faces changing to the tone of the messages – frowns, grins or scowls all in a blink of an eye. I wonder what Dorian Gray would have done with one of these gadgets – taken a picture?

I bought my first and only hp more than a year ago for a price that embarrassed me whenever someone asked me how much I had paid for it. It is a basic instrument that doesn’t have a camera and all the do das that are the craze today. It works in spite of falling into a commode, being stomped on and bitten by my landlord’s dog.

Whenever I remove it from my shirt pocket I get disapproving looks from self appointed well wishers chiding me about keeping my instrument in a pocket so close to the heart. I am warned that the radio waves could give me a heart attack anytime anywhere like driving or worse still in bed.

There have been news reports that scientists have discovered that prolonged use of the hp could damage one’s grey matter, as if the pollution and noise doesn’t do it already. Now isn’t this a wonderful way to addle our brain? Talk while we drop.

Let us get back to the frills for the hp. The other day I visited a friend’s home for lunch and was accosted by her daughter who insisted I see her latest phone. It looked like a piece out of the science fiction movie Minority Report – the moving parts, crystal clear pictures that it took and the ring tones that sounded like a 24 piece orchestra. I felt intimidated by all the gadgetry and quietly returned the hp to the 11-year-old child with a terse, “That’s nice”.

A science magazine reported a year ago that birds in New Zealand were copying the ring tones of hps. Now where is Greenpeace when we need them?

Some may remember the good old days when we never had hps but big black heavy duty land phones – the receiver that weighed a kilo was successfully used as a murder weapon on more than one occasion.

Hps are getting lighter and more dramatic in their features and therefore using them for any purpose other than making calls, messaging, photography and surfing the net is out of the question. I am referring to the darker side like bludgeoning someone to death with an hp.

Methinks all this talk of hps has sidelined the other topic under discussion viz. cigarettes, affectionately termed by some as cancer sticks.

A cigy resting firmly in the corner of the mouth of James Dean raised his testosterone levels and made all his female fans into giggling jelly. Nowadays everyone seems to be aping him – long, short, young, old, fat and thin – though not too successfully. However, the various brands of cigs that are arrayed on shop shelves bear testimony to the huge following of abusers. No amount of warnings by surgeon generals across the world will deter people bent on posing with them and sucking the smoke deep into their cavities, lining them with wholesome nicotine that affects all functions of the body including the libido. But does all this posturing with cigy in hand get the girl? Some say that it is a phallic symbol and therefore works effectively to snare gullible nubile nymphets. I think my cigar is a safer bet – The pleasure one gets from the combination of a fine Dominican cigar and a cognac is unsurpassable. I suppose one can’t do this standing on the roadside next to a motorcycle.

The sight of a lit cigy in hand and an hp in the other has become synonymous with life on the isle. Ever sat at a table where many hps have rung at the same time? It’s like sticking one’s head in the Big Ben when it chimes. Oh for the days when one was ‘called to the phone’. Now the phone arouses you with its vibrating ring tones!

The other side effects of cigs and hps is seen in the mannerisms of someone at a table who lights up a cigy and then blows the smoke in other people’s faces; and further answers his hp speaking so loudly that no one can hear themselves think. However, there exists an absence of malice in the lack of etiquette with regard to the usage of cigs and hps on the isle.

The young and old are constantly bombarded with slick ad campaigns depicting dream merchants using products that ooze sensuality – a puff that increases the adrenaline and radio waves that tickle the brain; A burlesque that transcends sanity.

Is it conceivable that the cell phone mirrors our secret desires and hopes while the cigarette is an appendage that lulls us into a sense of false security and bravado?

Who’s to say – the user or the abuser?

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om