Pura Tirta Empul

Tampaksiring.  Today was our day for the holy water temple.  It is a Sunday, so a holiday for many Balinese, but also a special day for blessings.  Ketut's daughter Made (Ma-day...the second born.  There are only 4 names in Bali, determined by birth order...Wayang, Made, Nyoman, Ketut, boy or girl, no difference, and then it starts all over) was kind enough to act as our guide and we left early to avoid the crowds.  The drive itself was lovely, up into the hills with picturesque rice fields spilling down the sides of ravines and a breathtaking view of Mt. Gunung.  Made navigated the narrow twisting roads with aplomb.  She is a cautious driver.  The family knew my special wish to bathe in the sacred springs and ask for the blessing of health and wholeness.  We brought sarongs and a change of clothes because when the Balinese say bathe, they mean it.  We had several explanations of the process, but once we arrived to a sparsely filled parking lot and started walking toward the massive, intricately carved stone temple, nothing could have prepared us for the experience.

Like ducklings, we followed Made, who had her hands full with the large basket full of offerings prepared by Ketut's family.  Inside are several small 3-4 inch square basket containers made of palm leaves, filed with flower petals, rice and sometimes candies, and many sticks of incense.  Made made the initial offerings and then directed us to the changing building that houses numbered lockers for which she had secured 2 keys.  Once inside, I noted that not only were there many many Balinese already in process for the ritual, but that we were the only foreigners.  She directed us to strip down...nothing but the sarongs.  I placed the clothes I had brought for after bathing into the locker and proceeded to divest myself of everything else.  I stood in the locker building clad only in the thin sarong Muzzy bought me from the market a few days earlier.  I'm pretty good at fastening these things, the intricate twist and fold that keeps them in place, but with my strange new anatomy I felt particularly vulnerable.  I was NAKED!  And then there was Muzzy.  He struggled out of his clothes and I used the sarong I had brought to wear in the temple to tie around his waist.  It was a humbling and equalizing position for both of us.  Muzzy was concerned about being respectful and wanted to get it right.  He had no man to guide him through this.  When I secured his sarong he looked up and a Balinese man who was holding a modesty sarong up for his wife looked over and said, "You look good!"  Muzzy replied "I look good?"  The man smiled and nodded.  We trooped out of the bath house, already wet as there is water everywhere, and followed the intrepid Made as she made a couple more offerings, and then over the threshold through a cloud of incense smoke and into the bath itself.  

The parking lot may have been empty, but the sacred pool was not.  10 carved stone spouts along a wall pour holy spring water into a pool that is a little over waist deep.  The springs come from high on the volcanos that make up the island of Bali and the water is pure, fresh and holy.  It will cure you, bless you, and renew you.  There are two pools, separated by a stone walkway.  As you finish your ablutions in the first pool, you climb over this walkway and do three more in the next one. There are two spouts at the end of the first row that you don't use. 

We entered the first pool and joined a line that snaked around about 4 people deep.  Ordered chaos with lots of camaraderie, joking, laughing, children splashing, a shared sacred experience without any self-consciousness.  When our turn came to start praying, it took me a couple of spouts to get my rhythm...my silent prayer, 3 splashes of water on my face, and then a duck under the spout to let the water run over my body.  Immersed in prayer and aware of how lucky I am to be in another holy site so far from my home, I focused myself and began the ritual.

Made told me, "you must think of a dream, for good health."  I did.  As I came up from the first spout she said, "you must drink the water", I did.  The pool filled with floating offering baskets that tumbled from the ledge above the spouts spilling flower petals everywhere, and a line of hefty carp competed for possible food debris as we made our way down the line.  Finally, after crawling in a most undignified manner over the wall separating the first and second pools, we finished and emerged, dripping and shivering, despite the heat.  Made filled a gallon container with holy water to bring back to the family shrine, then led us back to the changing house, which by now was sopping wet with men, women and children changing everywhere.  There was a que for the 4 bathrooms at back which afforded a little more privacy.  We took our clothes and joined the line.  There was no order but also no angst.  What impatience there was was shared...we all had to pee after standing in cool water for so long.  Once inside the stall I did the dance of the flip flops, balancing on one foot and the other as I tried not to touch the floor, not to drop anything, not to drop anything into the squat toilet proper, and not to touch the walls.  I was wet and had neither towel or dry sarong, but I managed to get into my clothes and make it out alive, despite dropping my shirt, invoking the 3 minute rule, and trying not to think about it all too much.  At least it wasn't something to eat.

In the end, we all emerged feeling blessed, feeling cleansed and happy.