Bali is balance. Balance is Bali.
Not the kind practiced on yoga mats or surfboards. This is the balance between life and death, joy and sorrow, the seen and the unseen.
In recent weeks, two stories have lingered with me. Both tragic, both sudden. A tourist on his honeymoon, a motorbike accident on an unfamiliar road. A young man caught in a rip tide, and he was an excellent swimmer. Split-second choices . A heartbeat away from a different ending. These stories remind me how thin the veil is here. How tragic, how intimate. Nature is ruthless, and we are all walking the line between devotion and danger. We are not invincible. But I love our optimism.
As Bali moves into the season of Galungan and Kuningan, the theme of balance feels especially close. These holidays are the heart of the Balinese calendar, when ancestors return home for an eleven-day visit and the living prepare to welcome them. It is not a quiet affair. It is a full sensory explosion of faith, gratitude, and abundance.
Twenty-five days before Galungan, preparations begin with Tumpek Uduh, a celebration of planting. The idea is simple and beautiful: ensure that fruit and flowers will be plentiful for the ceremonies to come. By the time Galungan arrives, the island is dressed for joy. Shops overflow with offerings, penjor poles rise from the roadside like bamboo prayers, and homes whir with purpose.
Each penjor tells its own story. Curved bamboo symbolizing mountains and dragons, dressed with palm leaves, rice, crackers, fruit, and ribbons. They line the streets, bending toward the earth in reverence. Men raise them up while women balance towering baskets of offerings on their heads, carrying them to the temples with quiet strength. The scent of incense and frangipani fills the air. Pigs and chickens become part of the ceremony, sacrifices to maintain balance between gods, spirits, and humans.
For eleven days, the ancestors stay close. Families gather, pray, cook, and laugh. Gratitude is thick in the air. Galungan reminds us how lucky we are to exist at all. The Balinese honor the miracle of being here together, on borrowed time.
When Kuningan arrives, the final day of celebration, the ancestors return. The temples glow with yellow offerings, symbols of prosperity and light. The cycle closes gently. The living and the departed, both satisfied. The love never leaves.
For those of us who were not born here but are fortunate enough to call Bali home for a while, this season feels like a quiet invitation. To reflect. To slow down. To live with reverence for the fragility of it all.
Life and death walk side by side here. The balance asks for faith. It never promises comfort. We are all walking between worlds, honoring what was, tending what is, and trusting what will be.
To live in Bali is to stand at the edge and try not to flinch.
