26 September 2026, I stood inside something older than memory.
The main day of the Madéwāśraya ceremony at Pura Tuluk Biyu Batur.
From the first light of morning until deep into the night.
I have lived in Indonesia for more than thirty years. I thought I understood what devotion looks like here.
Yesterday taught me otherwise.
The procession seemed to have no end.
Barongs, moving as if breathing. Sacred masks, carried with a care that silences you. Ancient dances, their movements handed down through centuries. Gamelan, rising and falling like the mountain wind.
And the faces.
Faces of people who have kept this flame alive for a thousand years or more. Through kingdoms, colonial rule, and modern upheaval. Quietly. Faithfully. Often unseen.
What moved me most was not only the scale, though the scale was overwhelming.
It was the sense of a legacy stepping forward into the light.
For generations, the followers of this temple held their faith close. Yesterday, the wider Balinese community came to witness it. To honour it. To recognise it.
You could feel that shift in the air.
Among those present were Nyoman Parta, the Governor, several Bupati, Ni Luh Djelantik, and many more. Their presence said something important: this heritage belongs to all of Bali.
But the heart of the day was not the officials.
It was the prayers.
For the island. For the nation. For the world.
Offered in a time when the world badly needs them.
I shared this day with my dear friends Lis Comsatun and Andy Barski. There are moments you are grateful not to witness alone. This was one of them. We said little. We didn’t need to.
I came home exhausted, sunburnt, and deeply full.
Some things cannot be explained in words. They can only be witnessed, and then carried.
Note: Madéwāśraya is not a spectacle staged for visitors. It is a living act of faith rooted in a lineage stretching back beyond written history. As this tradition gains wider recognition, may it be met with the respect, humility, and care its keepers have shown it for a thousand years.
