To complete my cycle, I vow to come back and make a long awaited artistic collaboration. Maybe I can’t get funding and have to schlep the costume. All these artists seem to move outside the system anyway. It was good to walk the city I used to live in this trip to feel it because I walked it instead of flying through in a taxi. I could feel it more. It made me sad to see the changes but I could still sense the old places. A lady was still weighing gold on the side of the road that had been there 30 years before.
I felt like I was walking through my past constantly remembering a ghost of my younger self. Having tread these roads many years before, like a second life, I knew all the corners, caverns of time. Back to a place that lives in ones memory as if it never existed and step into it again with all the shadows of the past, dauntingly unearthing my past. Seems strangely irreverent that I spent my time in Indonesia 32 years ago.
That world and situation no longer exists, all dissolving as we pass by. So what is important is just now.
From above in the plane I look down… Java so immensely vast with billions of tiny lights and itsy minute houses, thick blankets of lights and ships in the harbor, remembering the silence of entering in Surabaya harbor, that ancient harbor full of new and haunted ships.
I cannot see Jakarta from the plane anymore, it seems a piece of my internal core is here in Indonesia so fluid yet also so foreign.
The thunderous clouds spiraling way upward and below intricate patterns of rice fields like designs in the earth.
I wake up from my doze only to remember bits of high Javanese language unearthed, ah… the vastness of Java.