Spirited away

DENPASAR - The moon is out here in Bali. It’s the witching hour and this island of enchantment is already asleep. The last flight from Manila has landed, but the airport isn’t as bustling as it normally is.

The threat of Mount Agung’s eruption has scared off many travellers, locals say. Most hotels are feeling the pinch of last minute cancellations and some cafes and restaurants in Ubud are not as packed as before.

 The last time Mount Agung erupted was in 1963 and is considered one of the largest 20th century eruptions in the world.

 It’s business as usual for many drivers and guides here, but others concede that another eruption could indeed happen.  

You never really know what to expect in Bali, they say. The island, after all, is a place of magic and demons, of gods and goddesses, of voodoo and healing.

 Barong, the lion-like creature rules in this land of the spirits. There’s Garuda, too, the king of eagles. 

Mortality

 One can’t help but think of one’s own mortality when one is in Bali because a volcano named Agung may or may not erupt. It all depends on what the gods want. At least that’s what people believe — here in this island where there are many dimensions and a parallel universe.

 My mother always tells me I’m just impossibly reckless, unmindful of dangers. Instead, she says, all I care about is my anthropological interests.

 But I’m philosophical about death. I believe that whether I’m at 31,000 feet above sea level or standing naked in the shower, death will come when it’s my time.

Death

 I can’t say I’m not afraid of death, but I dread the subject because I don’t like grief.

 Perhaps that is why I’m here – to forget grief because back home, it’s time to remember the departed. I know that forgetting is futile but maybe, just maybe, in this land of the spirits, I can forget. Or maybe, I’ll be spirited away to where I can see them all again – back in the arms of the old man. Or to touch those tiny hands I never even saw. 

There’s no rhyme or reason when it comes to death. I’ve never found the answers. Philosophers always discussed what happens when a person dies.

 Plato said it’s good to see the afterlife, while Augustine always wanted to know his creator.

 But nobody really talks about what happens to those left behind – that profound emptiness of grief.  Perhaps, to grieve is to be alive.

 The living must go on living, no matter the pain of loss.

 And sometimes, the only thing we can do is to give our departed a dignified exit from their life on earth.

Mausoleums 

Architect Michael Adriano, a man who builds mausoleums, comes to mind. I had a chat with him recently.

 He said one way to remember the legacy of those who have died and to give them dignity in death is to build a mausoleum for them.

 The word mausoleum is derived from the Mausoleums of Halicarnassus, King Mausolus’ grave in Turkey. They were historically built as a resting place for people of influence such as leaders, but eventually became widespread with people of nobility in various countries, Adriano says. 

Adriano has found a niche building mausoleums.  He has already built 13 mausoleums since he started in 2012.

He says it is important for the façade of the building to reflect a story of that person’s life and his achievement. It should be like a monument and not just a typical house used for a shelter. 

Mausoleums are large and exquisite and the structures are usually associated with religion, he says.

How much does it cost?

Mausoleums aren’t cheap. Prices range from P1.5 million to over P4 million and it takes around four months to finish, but dignity is priceless, isn’t it? 

But sometimes, in life as it is in death, our actions are influenced by our beliefs.

Even if families may want to build a mausoleum, if the person who has departed wished to just be cremated and his ashes spread, say in the Baltic Sea, who are we to disagree?

Trunyan Village

There is a place here in Bali where the people don’t bury the dead. The residents of the far-flung mountain village of Trunyan believe it’s not necessary to bury the dead.  They are not cremated, either. Instead, after a ritual cleansing, the body of the deceased is placed in a bamboo cage under the Taru Menyan tree until the wind has dissolved the body tissues. And then only the skeleton remains.  

But however way we bury our dead, there’s no escaping grief.

One can only hope that even for a moment, here in enchanted Bali, one can forget the pain of departures of long, long ago.

Grief is paralyzing. And sometimes the mind can trick us into believing that we’ve recovered. But it doesn’t really happen. The gaping hole stays – like white noise in between dreams and nightmares. One can drink to forget or take a paramour to make things easier. Or one can run away to mystical islands. Whichever it is, escape is always just a palliative, it’s never really a cure. But I’ll take it anyway.