Surrendering to the Fire: Kali’s Trials, Hanuman’s Leap & Trusting the Pain

Surrendering to Hanuman’s Leap: Pain, Transformation & Trust in Bali

February 2, 2025 – 2/2

This morning started painfully—literally. I kept waking up every couple of hours with a migraine so sharp it felt like an icepick was stabbing through my skull. I’ve been trying not to take Ubrevly every time, knowing that at this rate, I’ll run out before I leave Bali—especially since my trip keeps extending. I wasn’t planning on going to yoga at 8 AM, but with my head pounding, it was completely out of the question.

Around 8, I texted Nena to let her know I wouldn’t be at breakfast. I asked if she could bring me some ginger tea and fruit to save for later. My itinerary had me scheduled for a detox spa appointment at 10:30 AM, but in that moment, my head was in so much pain that I wasn’t sure any treatment would even be helpful. I asked if I could reschedule, and she let me know that 11 AM and 2 PM were available. I chose 2 PM and requested that they bring my lunch around 3:30 PM, since I don’t eat until later in the day anyway.

At 10:45 AM, a young Balinese woman knocked on my door, insisting my appointment was at 11. She didn’t seem to understand that I had changed it, and she was adamant that 2 PM wouldn’t work since the treatment would take two hours. I didn’t have the energy to argue. Still in my sleep shirt—the same one I’d been wearing for days—I grabbed my ginger tea and made my way down the steps toward the spa, tea in hand, still half-asleep.

The Fine Line Between Healing and Harm

When I arrived, the spa was peaceful. Someone else was already lying down, but I didn’t mind. We started with an herbal foot bath, the scent of lemongrass and ginger surrounding me. I took a deep breath, hoping this would help me feel better, hoping something would shift.

Once I laid down, my masseuse’s hands were immediately intuitive. She worked deeply into my back, shoulders, and neck—the places I carry the most tension. It felt so good that at points, I was groaning in relief, my body surrendering into the treatment.

Then, without any prompting, she grabbed my left hand—the one that has been aching from carpal tunnel—and said, “This hand.”

I was stunned. I hadn’t told her about my hand, only my migraine and neck pain. But somehow, she knew.

She started working deeply into it, pressing into points that felt like they had been holding pain for years. At first, it was intense, but it felt like something was shifting, like the energy was finally moving. But then, she moved to my right hand—the one that wasn’t injured—and pressed deeply into the space between my thumb and index finger.

A sharp, unbearable shooting pain erupted through my hand.

I gasped. Then, I wailed.

My body tensed, my breath caught in my throat, and suddenly, the pain was all I could think about. I tried to tell myself that maybe something was being released, that this was part of the process—but it hurt. And it kept getting worse.

My mind started spiraling.

Why does this always happen? Why do I let someone touch me, and they end up hurting me?

This wasn’t just about my hand. This was about trust, about surrender, about being hurt when I allow myself to be vulnerable. It reminded me of my eating disorder, the control I used to have over my pain. If I hurt myself, I was the one doing it. But when someone else caused the pain, I felt powerless. And this past year, it has been one massage therapist after another, pressing too hard, reinjuring me, making me question if healing is just another version of pain.

I wanted to believe that Kali and Hanuman had their hidden hand in this. But in that moment, I just felt broken.

Kali’s Wrath, Hanuman’s Strength & the Dance Between Surrender and Power

Kali destroys, but only to create something stronger. She rips away what no longer serves, forcing rebirth through fire. As my right hand throbbed in unbearable pain, I wondered if this was another initiation, another test of surrender. Maybe something was being moved, but it wasn’t in a way I understood or welcomed.

And then, I thought of Hanuman.

Hanuman, the divine monkey warrior, leaped across the ocean for Ram—not knowing if he could make it, not knowing how far he could go, only trusting that the divine had a plan.

Maybe this is my leap. Maybe this is where I have to surrender, not to pain, but to the idea that pain and healing can sometimes feel like the same thing.

The Aftermath: Tears, Ice & Searching for Answers

After the treatment, I could barely focus on anything but my hand. My face massage had been incredible, but all I could think about was the shooting pain still radiating through my right hand. I tried to explain to the therapist, but the language barrier made it impossible. She didn’t seem to understand—until she saw my tears.

And then, she started crying too.

I felt terrible. I didn’t want her to feel bad—the massage had been beautiful—except for this one major issue. I took my tears to the herbal bath, where I let them fall into the water, hearing the mantra from the previous evening play in my mind:

“You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need.”

But I couldn’t see the bigger picture yet.

I called my mom, hysterical, needing her to tell me that this wasn’t going to turn into something chronic. My right hand is everything—writing, harmonium, the two things that bring me the most joy. I needed her reassurance, and even though it was midnight her time, she gave it to me.

Then, Nena arrived at my door with ice. She sat with me, held space, listened as I cried. Her energy was soft, nurturing—like Parvati.

Navigating the Evening & Finding Comfort

Later in the evening, I took a trip to the pharmacy for anything that might help. I hesitantly got onto the back of a scooter, only to switch to a jeep a few blocks later. At the pharmacy, I picked up some pain patches, valerian root, inhalers, and sugar-free sucking candies (because apparently, I really am turning into my mother).

I stocked up on fruit, knowing that my nightly ritual has become eating a heaping plate of fruit to avoid craving sugar.

By dinner, I ate on my balcony, watching the food arrive via the pulley system. They still sent me rice and mashed potatoes, even though I had asked for only vegetables and protein. Another lesson in communication, I suppose.

My migraine still lingered, my hand still hurt, and I still had no answers. But I had to trust that Hanuman’s leap isn’t about knowing—it’s about believing that something greater is guiding you, even when it hurts.

Stepping Into My True Name

One more thing—I think I’m going to start introducing myself as Kali instead of Eve.

This transformation has been unfolding for a long time. It’s not just about a name—it’s about stepping into who I truly am.

I feel the fire of Kali in me. The devotion of Hanuman in my heart. The softness of Parvati in the way I hold myself after breaking open.

If this is my Eat Pray Love, it’s rewritten in blood, devotion, and surrender.

More like Pray, Love, Pray, Love, Pray—and hopefully eat at the end.

For now, I rest.

Ram Ram. With love & gratitude,

Kali Grayce