Rivers Run Deep

by Maya Gavish (Australia)

A leap into the unknown Australia

We put our trust in him as he led us both down the steep, muddy mountain towards the river. He asked my man to support me and hold my hand firmly as we followed his footsteps. We put our faith in him when he asked us to undress and stand naked facing each other with our eyes closed. We kept still as the sun twinkled through the branches of the tall trees above us, while he gently whipped our torso and head with a bunch of twigs, spreading a citrusy fragrance around us. Following his commands, we opened our eyes and gazed deeply into each other’s soul. My man’s spirit was loving, caring, open and exhilarated. We discovered each other flow as we breathed in unison, I observed his chest as it calmly floated in space. Our senses enhanced as we held each other’s arms, listening to the sounds of the tropical jungle, repeating the man’s blessings in a gentle tone. We had just met the brown-skin man an hour ago, hanging around outside of his shack in the midst of the rice fields. Still, we followed him into the river with no hesitation. We sat on the soft ground, leaning on a rock, embracing each other whilst our salty tears dropped into the fresh water. In this intimate moment, we were united and we felt one with nature, humans and God. The currents of the river kept shifting our spine, right, left, forward and back in a sacred ritual. The past and the future did not matter as the stream of water washed all our fears and judgements away. When we left the river and climbed back to his village, we felt invigorated, humble, hopeful and loved. His words kept echoing in our ears “good for family, for community, for country, for planet”, referring to love, its healing powers and the goodness it brings. We turned left and entered his four-posts pavilion. Our eyes explored this well-balanced sanctuary and the decorative temple which resides within it. We greeted his elderly parents with a smile and bowed our heads softly. The wrinkled old folks were roaming around the central open space with their colourful sarong wrapped around their waist. His bare chested mum was preparing her offerings, assembling together some rice, flowers and cigarettes which she placed inside small boxes made of banana leaves. From time to time, she would glance at us with acceptance and eyed Wayan, her first born son, with adoration. He is an artist, a farmer, a father, a healer and on this particular afternoon, he was our guru. A master who showed us the way back into each other’s hearts. He led us to his room and poured coconut oil onto our palms. The scent was rich and earthy, the texture thick and heavy. We obeyed his instructions like true devotees and began to rub each other’s skin. Fire was blazing within us, our hearts were pounding, our cheeks red, our eyes burning with desire. We continued to press harder into the deeper layers of the skin until we merged into a single entity, one that is amorphous and fluid. At this point, Wayan became silent. He left the room, closed the door behind him and locked us in. As we heard the key turning, our doubts crept upon us, our fears renewed, our stamina weakened, our temperature dropped, our minds took over again. We could no longer surrender. We took control. Our shields were up again. It was flight! We ran out as fast as we could, unsure of the truth, questioning whether this whole afternoon had just been an illusion? I still do not have the answer but now, I realise that this was destiny’s intervention. The universe was responding to my wishes, my wish to feel wholeheartedly, to be close to him again and experience something out of the ordinary, to transcend. Ten years ago he proposed in the exact same place. Yet, this was our first and only marriage ceremony and for the most part, it was sacred, authentic and unique. Thank you Bali for always bringing me closer to myself, closer to love. Namaste!