After my first trip to Bali, Indonesia, I realized how that small island, so rich with mystery, burrowed into my heart and changed how I perceive the divine. It was post-pandemic, and Indonesia had only opened to travelers a few months prior to my arrival. Tourism was slowly returning, so hotels, shops, spas, and temples felt like private experiences for the few of us willing to jump through the hoops to get into the country. Despite the darkness outside at night, I pressed my forehead to the tiny plane window but couldn’t see the landscape below. Exhausted from traveling halfway around the world in a seat so cramped it made my diminutive body ache all over, I still raced down the jetway in search of the first signs of Indonesia. Nothing could dampen the excitement I felt for visiting one of my top-ten bucket list destinations.
Bali, known as the “Island of the Gods,” is a captivating destination that goes beyond its stunning beaches and lush landscapes. It’s also a sanctuary for those seeking deep inner peace and spiritual transformation. I’ve been a spiritual seeker for as long as I can remember. I was seven when I declared my desire to find myself through spirituality. Catholic mass was terribly boring for me as a child. The singing was okay, but I really loved the repetition of the ceremony. At seven years old, I dutifully and flawlessly recited the Apostle’s Creed, passed the time analyzing the stained-glass windows depicting the stages of Jesus on the cross, and counted each different colored hat to prevent any distracting fidgeting. It was during this exercise I noticed something that sent an electric jolt of understanding directly to my soul. My eyes slid from a particularly large pale blue hat to the eyes peeking from beneath the wide brim. An utterly vacant expression on her face belied what I thought should be adoration for the divine. Instead of continuing to count hats, my eyes raced from one face to the next, desperately looking for any sign of devotion. I found none.
Grabbing her face and pulling it toward mine, in a loud whisper, I declared, “God doesn’t live here” to my grandmother. She quickly rummaged through her handbag, noisily worked a crinkly, yellow butterscotch wrapper into submission, and unceremoniously jammed the candy into my mouth. The next day, I cornered my parents, quit the church, and started my spiritual quest to discover where I might find the real God, the one I felt within. My mother laughed and told me it was my job to find another church to attend as if to challenge my position on religion. My father knowingly lifted his eyebrows in my mother’s direction and said, “We’re going to have to keep an eye on this one.” Of their three children, I’ve always been the mystery child, and that pivotal day marked me as a wonderfully different fruit on a somewhat wacky family tree.
My life became a tapestry of spiritual experiences that spanned the globe. I visited temples, churches, and spiritual teachers of all kinds as a way of experiencing. A thousand times over, I found God in churches and temples, in yoga retreats and in meditations with gurus, amidst the massive Redwoods of California and along every shoreline where the ocean blessed the sand with its waves and carried all my prayers back to its calm depths. For me, God wasn’t in one place, such as the Catholic church; God was everywhere I went.
Indonesia was on my bucket list, but it was not on my five-year travel plan. After reconnecting with a friend post-pandemic who had recently returned from Bali, her passion for Indonesia nudged my radar toward Southeast Asia. It sounded wild, untamed, lush, and steeped in spirituality. What took me so long to consider going sooner rather than later?
Part of the more than 18,000 islands that make up Indonesia, Bali is a cluster of anywhere from 5-32 islands (depending on who you ask). Not all are inhabited, but you probably could visit any of them if you find the right tour guide. The Balinese practice Hinduism within the largest population of Muslims in the world, but it’s not the same as what’s practiced in India. Bali has its own delicious flavor of spiritual practice, and it’s a wonderfully immersive experience that makes Bali a unique place to connect to the divine.
It was sundown when I arrived at the private villa in Bali. The sky was dusky and heavy with hues of red and purple. The jungle valley was rich with gongs and chanting to celebrate the full moon. The ethereal sounds wafted through massive mist-covered trees from unseen places, but that did not stop me from scrambling all over the property to try to see the source of the magical chanting.
Each day in Bali stretched into the next. Hiking in the rice fields, spa, visiting temples, spa, sumptuous meals, spa, a cooking class, a dance class, a class for making Balinese offerings, spa, traditional water ceremonies, yoga, spa, meditation, and enjoying lazy days at the villa left me feeling relaxed and whole. It wasn’t just the sumptuous spa treatments; I felt as if Bali wanted me to sink in and stay for a while. I let her win that one.
For me, Bali was an enriching and transformative place that nurtured the mind, body, and spirit. It provided the perfect environment to cultivate mindfulness, reduce stress, and embark on a journey toward a more balanced and harmonious life. In Bali, amidst the natural beauty and tranquility, I reveled in a journey of self-discovery, rejuvenation, and connection to the divine. It was food for the soul.
On my final night in Bali, I feasted on a Balinese-style Thanksgiving. The complex flavors of the traditional dishes captivated my tastebuds, and I thought of how the food mirrors the complexity of Balinese culture itself. Enjoying a post-dinner haze and cradled in a deep, comfy chair, I let it all sink in. Later that evening, wrapped in a cool sheet and surrounded by delicate netting that covered my four-poster bed, I floated off to sleep, lulled by distant chanting.
When I was seven, I wanted more than anything to find God, and I did that over and over in my travels throughout the world. It wasn’t until I returned home and allowed the transformative powers of Bali to reorganize my thoughts and feelings into a more evolved form of my personality that I discovered I didn’t find God on my first trip to Indonesia. How could that be? Spiritual practice is in every aspect of Balinese life. Ceremonies are plenty, and every home has a sizeable sanggha temple that is visited and nurtured throughout the day. Fresh floral offerings adorn every doorstep, and you must walk over them to pass through any doorway. It’s impossible not to notice the presence of Balinese spirituality in action. My concern was that I was losing my ability to feel that joyful presence in recognizing God everywhere I go. A knowing smile spread across my face as I realized I was no longer the seeker. In Bali, God found me.
