![]() “In other words, we are connected to more than just ourselves, and there is a lot more beyond us humans out there to be respected,” she says. (Ahem, America, take notes.) Murdaya explains that along with karma - the belief that what you’ve done in your past life has a direct effect on what happens in your current - most Balinese also believe in Tri Hita Karana, a Balinese philosophy that translates roughly to “three causes of wellbeing,” consisting of harmony with God, harmony among people, and harmony with nature or the environment. Case in point: They celebrate Nyepi, a New Year of sorts, on March 22 not through loud countdowns and debaucherous imbibing followed by next-day hangovers, but with complete and utter silence - “to think about the past year and to not bring bad energy into the new year,” explains another healer. “In Bali, the spiritual traditions and beliefs from Hinduism infuse with the indigenous, deeply spiritual culture of the Balinese” explains Murdaya. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that healing isn’t just a practice for the Balinese - it’s the only way of life. It might explain why thousands flock to Bali each year not just for its white-sand beaches and lush emerald jungles, but in search of something less palpable. “Known as one of the energy vortexes of the world (with other well-known ones being Sedona, Stonehenge, and the Pyramids of Giza), these spiritual places are defined as locations where there are intersections of ley lines, aka lines of natural energy,” explains Metta Murdaya, founder of Juara, a skin care line inspired by jamu principles and ingredients. Bali, a tiny island nestled between Java and Lombok, is a spiritual hot spot based on its location alone. So do the buzzing sidewalks and concrete skyscrapers of New York City, though the air in Bali thrums with its own type of energy - less harried, more meditative. The pristine beaches most people associate with Bali feel worlds away. ![]() In Canggu, motorcycles and mopeds cram into the narrow unpaved streets, ants-on-a-hill style, squeezing past groups of pedestrians on foot strolling to open-air coffee shops and stalls of homemade wares. Kadek and I have this first unceremonious meeting in Canggu - a bustling neighborhood 30 minutes inland from the tourist-laden beach neighborhood of Seminyak. But this is the exact reason I’ve traveled over 23 hours by plane to Bali: to learn about the ancient Indonesian wellness practice of jamu, and hopefully restore some parts of my body (and mind, and soul) in the process. To no one’s surprise, New York City - and life, and my pasta-wine habit - has done a number on my body. My kidney and bladder need green tea (for detoxing), my lymph glands could do with some tapioca pudding (for fiber and collagen), and my pancreas would work better if I avoided white rice (unless I supplement with sweet potato and corn). “You need more fiber and to drink more water.” Over the next hour, he digs this stick into different areas of my foot the louder I yelp, the more it indicates a specific part of my body needs help. “This means your stomach is bad,” he says solemnly. “Four,” I respond, voice muffled because I’m lying face down and my face is in a pillow. ![]() ![]() “On a scale from 1 to 10, tell me how much this hurts.” A healer, dressed in head-to-toe white linen, is poking different parts of my foot with a sharp, pointed stick. ![]()
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