We get in the car and drive to the trailhead that leads to Wayan’s priest’s house.

Along the way we see women carrying things on their heads:

“Do men carry things on their heads?” I ask Wayan.

“Men carry things on shoulder. No head. Only sometimes.”

As we are driving Wayan tells me about his priest:

“My priest very high priest. He have many problems in life. He become peaceful in the mind through training the mind. He does the Kundalini meditation. You know what that is, Kristeen?”

I nod.

He continues: “My priest cannot got to marketplace. Must have others bring what he needs. Many priests in India who say, ‘I am priest’ and people give them food. When you go to India you hear on every street corner ‘I am priest’. In Bali true priest do not say, ‘I am priest’. People must say ‘He is priest’. Not the one who is the priest say ‘I am priest’. My priest teach me how to relax the mind. Not be so angry. Not be so sad.  Teach to have a happy heart. No mental illness. He teach me the wisdom.”

I’m excited to meet his priest.

“You must wear sarong to meet my priest, Kristeen. And bring the offering. We stop here.” We stop at a market on the side of the road to buy a sarong and bananas and flowers.

We begin driving again and he points to coconuts on the side of the road. “In Bali we believe in the karma. Someone put these coconuts here, pick them up later. If you take a coconut, very bad karma. Balinese peoples believe in the karma. No take the coconut.”

“Here the trail,” he parks the car. “You bring your sarong. Change near the priest house.”

We walk on a steep trail down a mountain. I’m slipping and sliding in my flip-flops. Not what I usually wear to hike in the jungle.

Wayan says, “Mountain very steepy, Kristeen. You must walk like this,” and he points to his feet which are at an angle.

The view is stunning:

Pretty soon we come to a river.

“We cross the river. You put on your sarong after cross the river, okay, Kristeen?”

I cross the river and my flip flops get caught in the sloppy mud that goes down to my calves.

“You wash your feet in river and I help you put on sorong.”

After my feet are clean he says, “You lift your hands like this,” he sticks his arms above his head.

When I do he wraps the sarong over my pants and artfully ties the sash. I feel like I’m a baby getting dressed.

We continue walking but this time up the mountain.

After a few minutes we come to a doorway at the top of the mountain.

We walk through and his priest is sitting in front of the temple.

Wayan has coached me on the way up the mountain to lower my posture when greeting the priest and to not point feet or left hand at or near the priest.

I bow down and say hello.

The priest nods to me, smiles and says something to me in Indonesian.

“My priest very happy you here. He wants people to come visit him. Students. Some know about him but not many people because he live so far up the mountain. No road. You come. He happy.”

“Please tell the priest I’m happy to be here and meeting him.”

Wayan does and then says, “My priest know many things. He know 100 years from now what happens. He 75 years old but very strong. He work in rice fields at day and ceremony at night. OH! Woman menstruation no meet priest. I forgot to ask. You menstruation now, Kristeen?”

I’m thinking ‘Too much information, Wayan’, but I say: “No.”

“Good. Some woman lie about that and see the priest. Bad things happen to them if see priest when the menstruation.”

Wayan goes on to tell me how the priest has helped heal his ‘mental illness’.  How the priest is like a father to him. How he gives what little money he has to his priest and how, at certain times, the priest gives what little money he has to Wayan.

“What you need, you get. No worries about the money. I think ‘I need the money’ and I meet you. You hire me for the taxi, I have the money.”

We stay for a couple of hours and wait out the rain that happened shortly after we arrived.

As we are leaving, I ask to take a photo of the priest and Wayan.

Wayan asks if I can make a copy of the priest picture for the temple wall.

So last night after Wayan dropped me off at my hotel I go to Ubud Photo and have a large canvas picture of the priest made and buy a frame for it. I have a smaller canvas picture with frame made for Wayan.

The total for these two pictures is $60.00 which is A LOT by Balinese standards (and mine too, I’m spending money left and right these days) but the thought of giving these two men a gift fills me with joy.

As I’m walking back to my hotel I hear, “Hallo!”

It’s Wayan.

He’s on the street corner where I originally met him the first night I arrived. He’s waiting for someone to ride in his taxi.

I sit down next to him and show him the picture of the priest.

“This for the priest?!” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, smiling.

“He will like! He will like! He happy to have picture. Many come to take picture of him, no tourist give him the photo. He put this in his temple wall.”

“And this one? This one for you?” he points to the second, smaller picture that is face down on my lap.

“This one is for you, Wayan. My gift to you.”

His face lights up as he looks at it.

“For me? Thank you, Kristeen.” He turns the frame over and sees the price on the back of the frame. “Oh, you spend the 90,000 for the frame, very much money, no?”

“You are worth it, Wayan. You’ve given me so much.”

“On Saturday when we go to Denpasar I give you the special sarong. My gift to you. Maybe one with the orchid. You will like. My gift to you.”

“I would like that.”

He stops smiling. “Kristeen, when we go to the temple you must be the very seriously. No laughing, must be very seriously. Sacred ceremony. Wear sarong. Very seriously.”

“Okay, Wayan, I’ll be very serious.”

“Okay, I pick you up on Saturday for ceremony with my family. On Monday we go to the priest, you give him this picture gift. I put the paper over it, he open, in this way, surprise. I pick you up at 7:00 in the evening on Monday to see my priest.  I bring a light. Very dark at night in jungle. We stay there until 10:00. Priest have special ceremony. You come.”

Wow.

“Wayan, I want to tell the tourists about you. I want to hand out your card and tell them that you are the best driver in all of Ubud.”

Wayan says, “I make my own lucky, Kristeen. I no need you to tell them. When I need the money, I get the money. I sit here for three hours tonight, no transport. It’s okay. I joking, I laughing, happy heart. I see you here. Happy. It’s good. What I need, I get. You no need to tell the people about me. I create my own lucky.”

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