Visiting the Rice Fields of East Bali
Some photos of the incredible Balinese rice fields I visited today
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Good Morning, Bali!
Thanks to Ativan I slept through my first night in Bali and woke up at 5 this morning, which is pretty close to when I awaken in California. I did my business in the outdoor bathroom, checked around for geckos (nope, haven’t seen any yet), threw on some new light-weight harem pants, a green linen
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First Impressions Back in Bali
It’s an hour and a half drive from the Denpasar Airport to the Lotus Bungalows, our first hotel. I’ve arrived here a week before our first group of writers, along with my friend Nancy Gertz, who I invited along as my companion for the first half of my stay. I’m here to get over my
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Well, I Tried
I really, really, really tried to pack light for my departure to Bali tomorrow. I mean, I have all kinds of excuses. I’m the teacher—I bring special things for my students—beautiful hand-sized notebooks as gifts—so in this case with two groups in a row, that’s 32 little notebooks, giant name tags I hand-wrote on file
The Road to Memory and Where It Leads
“Memory doesn’t work directly. . . . You might stub your toe one morning and your mind tumbles back to an old friend, who wrote poems, and introduced you one May to peonies. The buds secreted a sticky sweet juice that attracted ants. The ants crawled in and opened the big petals. The flowers couldn’t
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I’m Already Packing for Bali!
When we were discussing travel recently, my writing teacher Carolyn Brigit Flynn said, “Your soul begins the journey weeks before you physically go.” I’m leaving for Bali in less than a week and I’m definitely feeling it! It will be six years since I’ve set foot on Bali. Six years since I heard the tinkling
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People Who Work With Their Hands
“Strawberries are too delicate to be picked by machine. The perfectly ripe ones even bruise at too heavy a human touch. It hit her then that every strawberry she had ever eaten – every piece of fruit – had been picked by calloused human hands. Every piece of toast with jelly represented someone’s knees, someone’s
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Personal Ad
“You were last seen walking through a field of pianos. No. A museum of mouths. In the kitchen of a bustling restaurant, cracking eggs and releasing doves. No. Eating glow worms and waltzing past my bedroom. Last seen riding the subway, literally, straddling its metal back, clutching electrical cables as reins. You were wearing a
Deep Dive into Writing
I’m sitting in our retreat room in Seminar House at Mount Madonna. It is dusk and the sound of wild turkeys is rising over the deck through the open sliding glass doors on the back wall of our meeting room. The sound of crickets fills the air and as the sun sets, a pink glow
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A Living Altar
One of the things I love most that Evelyn brings to our writing through grief retreat is the living altar she creates and tends. Each day it changes; every day it evolves. People are invited to add things they find in nature and to place an item on the altar that represents a loss they’re
The Morning a Writing Retreat Begins
There’s something special about the morning a writing retreat is about to begin. I woke up this morning with anticipation and focus, and everything on my future to-do list fell away. Sloughing off all the roles I play in life, the myriad ways my life splays out into the world, I am now focused on
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What the Nose Knows
“Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines, hidden under the weedy mass of many years and experiences. Hit a tripwire of smell, and memories explode all at once.” —Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses Tell me about a smell that reminds you of your mother (or a different significant childhood
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The New Door
“Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.” —Albert Einstein Tell me about a mistake that opened the door to something you never expected.
The Work I Cannot Quit
“It is not up to you to finish your work, but you are not at liberty to quit.” —The Talmud Tell me about the work you are not at liberty to quit.
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Stepping Into Silence
“The experience of silence is now so rare that we must cultivate it and treasure it. This is especially true for shared silence. Sharing silence is, in fact, a political act. When we can stand aside from the usual and perceive the fundamental, change begins to happen.” —Gunilla Norris Tell me about a time when
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