Eat, Pray, Love

Everyone was blessed again and again with flower petals dipped in holy water. The whole
family took turns passing the baby around, cooing to her, while Ketut sang the ancient man-
tras. They even let me hold the baby for a while, even in my jeans, and I whispered my own
blessings to her as everyone sang. “Good luck,” I told her. “Be brave.” It was boiling hot, even
in the shade. The young mother, dressed in a sexy bustier under her sheer lace shirt, was
sweating. The young father, who didn’t seem to know any facial expression other than a
massively proud grin, was also sweating. The various grandmothers fanned themselves, got
weary, sat down, stood up, fussed with the roasted sacrificial pigs, chased away dogs. Every-
one was alternately interested, not interested, tired, laughing, earnest. But Ketut and the baby
seemed to be locked in their own experience together, riveted to each other’s attention. The
baby didn’t take her eyes off the old medicine man all day. Who ever heard of a six-month-old
baby not crying or fussing or sleeping for four straight hours in the hot sun, but just watching
someone with curiosity?
Ketut did his job well, and the baby did her job well, too. She was fully present for her
transformation ceremony from god-status to human-status. She was handling the responsibil-
ities marvelously, like a good Balinese girl already—steeped in ritual, confident of her beliefs,
obedient to the requirements of her culture.
At the end of all the chanting, the baby was wrapped in a long, clean white sheet that
hung far below her little legs, making her look tall and regal—a veritable debutante. Ketut
made a drawing on the bottom of a pottery bowl of the four directions of the universe, filled
the bowl with holy water and set it on the ground. This hand-drawn compass marked the holy
spot on earth where the baby’s feet would first touch.
Then the whole family gathered by the baby, everyone seeming to hold her at the same
time, and—oop! there goes!—they lightly dipped the baby’s feet in this pottery bowl full of holy
water, right above the magic drawing which encompassed the whole universe, and then they
touched her soles to the earth for the first time. When they lifted her back up into the air, tiny
damp footprints remained on the ground below her, orienting this child at last onto the great
Balinese grid, establishing who she was by establishing where she was. Everyone clapped
their hands, delighted. The little girl was one of us now. A human being—with all the risks and
thrills which that perplexing incarnation entails.
The baby looked up, looked around, smiled. She wasn’t a god anymore. She didn’t seem
to mind. She wasn’t fearful at all. She seemed thoroughly satisfied with every decision she
had ever made.
Eat, Pray, Love