Cleansed by Water, Challenged by Surrender

February 4, 2025

Today started like any other day, except instead of skipping yoga, I chose to practice on my balcony. The morning felt heavy, cloaked in grey, but as the skies opened up, a downpour cascaded from the heavens. Normally, I dislike the rain, especially in Florida’s humid storms, but Bali rain is different. It sings as it touches the earth—each drop a note in a divine symphony, an artist painting the land anew.

A reminder in trust: Even if we cannot immediately see its effects, the rain nourishes the soil, just as our experiences—both joyful and painful—nourish our souls in unseen ways.

Non-Attachment & the Trek Down

By 10:30 AM, we met our driver to head to the waterfalls for a purification ceremony. It was just three of us—myself, Bea (an older woman from England), and Ernest (a man from Switzerland). Two Balinese men accompanied us: one driving, and the other, an eccentric character with a single tooth who sat in the trunk, whose purpose I never quite figured out.

We barely made it down the road before being told we’d need sneakers—the path to the waterfall was steep and slippery. I hesitated to bring my new cream-colored Hokas, still pristine since I had only worn them a few times. A fleeting moment of attachment—an aversion to the inevitable dirt, the wear, the loss of their “newness.”

But here was an invitation to practice aparigraha (non-attachment). My shoes were meant to be used, not preserved in some imagined perfection. Much like life, we are not here to remain unscathed—we are here to experience fully.

The hour-long drive took us through northern Bali’s lush hills, a mesmerizing expanse of greens, giant trees, and wildflowers thriving without effort—pure santosha (contentment) in their natural existence. Nature doesn’t resist what it is; it simply grows, blooms, and sheds as needed.

When we arrived, Guru Meade greeted us by the roadside. “It’s a 10-minute hike,” he said, so I left my knee brace behind, not realizing how challenging the descent would be.

The jungle sang around us—a piercing, primal soundtrack. One particular sound caught me: a locust’s call, somewhere between a shriek, a cry, and a song. Beauty in the haunting. Much like our own emotions—sometimes raw, sometimes jarring, yet always an expression of something deeper.

I lost my footing more than once, slipping on the moss-covered stones. Each time, our driver caught me. A lesson in support: Sometimes, help comes from the most unassuming places, at the moments we least expect it.

Recognizing Past Lives & Divine Symbols

At the waterfall’s base, I was greeted by Ganesha, his presence an assurance that I was protected. To the side, a Shiva Lingam stood—an unmistakable reminder of my journey—of how my first trip to India was initiated by a vision of this very symbol. No coincidences. Only divine winks.

As I stood before the cascading water, something stirred within me—a memory? A recognition. I had seen this place before. Not in waking life, but somewhere… Maybe in the National Geographic shows that played at my grandmother Anita’s salon when I was a child, or maybe in another lifetime.

But in that moment, I felt her with me.

Her presence, her fierce, untamed energy—her own Kali essence. She’s here, guiding me, whispering through every cigarette smoke curl and every reminder to sever attachments that no longer serve me.

The Purification: Surrender & Release

We changed into sarongs and were led to the smaller streams, not the grand waterfall. There, we were covered in mud, instructed to sit in stillness, meditating on what we wished to release.

Kshama (forgiveness)—for myself, for the past, for expectations unmet.

Ishvarapranidhana (surrender to the divine)—trusting Kali to take what no longer serves me and replace it with what I truly need.

Then came the screaming.

We sat beneath the water and let it out—the rawness, the unspoken, the things we hold in our bodies for far too long. I had expected Guru Meade to be with us in the water, guiding the ceremony from within, but he waited for us above. I initially felt disappointed—longing for something deeper, something I had found more profoundly at the temple purification I did a week ago. But then, I softened into the realization that spiritual experiences are not always what we expect them to be. They unfold as they need to.

When we returned to Guru Meade, we sat before the waterfall for a chakra meditation, holding small Balinese offering baskets. My monkey mind danced restlessly at first, trying to pull me out of the moment, but I redirected my focus. I was here to offer my ego, my pain, my pride—to empty my hands so they could receive whatever Kali saw fit to place in them.

As Guru Meade poured water over our heads and placed a nest of grass atop me, I couldn’t help but laugh. A human Easter basket. The ritual felt both sacred and absurd. Isn’t that the essence of surrender? The willingness to sit in mystery, even in confusion?

Lunch, Durian & Unexpected Conversations

After the ceremony, we drove to a small restaurant, and I was starving. I wasn’t sure they’d have anything for me, considering we had stopped at a coffee place, but I was pleasantly surprised when they brought out a packed vegan lunch from the center. I’ve realized how much I love the food here. I’m usually not a fan of sauces, but the vegetables and tempeh they serve are incredible.

Ernest told us how he had been coming to Bali for over 20 years and that his wife had rented a house where they had been living for the past year. He shared how he had met Guru Meade in Lovina years ago, which is how he found out about this center. I asked him questions about the logistics of living here, and for the first time, I really started to wonder… could I build something here?

Then came the durian.

I had loved almost every fruit I had tried in Bali—no matter how weird or off-putting it looked—but I had been warned about durian.

The second they cut it open, the smell hit me. Like onions, garlic, fart, and garbage. The inside looked like a mix between raw chicken and brains. Every part of my being told me no, but when in Bali, right?

I took the tiniest nibble.

Nope. Instant regret. I spit it out immediately and chugged water to wash away the taste. Some things are just not for me—and I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

The Rest of the Day: Yoga, Reflection & Breaking Patterns

Back at the retreat center, I took a swim, feeling the water soothe my body after the long, overstimulating day. Then, I went up to the yoga deck to practice alone, overlooking the ocean. It felt peaceful, grounding. I saw a photo of myself earlier and wasn’t happy with how my arms looked—I used to have more muscle, more definition. But my body has been healing from injuries, and I know I need to be gentle with myself.

Later, I FaceTimed Mom, Dad, and Ace. Seeing Ace made me homesick for the first time. I didn’t get enough time with him before I left, and it hit me that he probably doesn’t understand why I’m not there. But I remind myself why I’m here.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I will never be in this exact moment again. I need to be here now, to drink it all in, to fully immerse myself in this journey. The longing will always be there—but so will the gift of presence, if I choose it.

I stayed up too late again—scrolling Reddit, eating too many sugar-free sucking candies, dissociating. It’s a pattern I need to break. But to break it, I need a clear plan for what I’ll do instead.

Tomorrow is the Leela self-awareness game, and I’m nervous. But today reminded me of something important:

Trust. Surrender. Let go.

With love & gratitude,

Eve… officially Kali Grayce.