Don’t fuck with Hanuman

My soul sings with the spirit of adventure.

What I needed, and boy did I need it, was to get out and about in Bali. Away from Seminyak/Canggu, fashionista beautiful people haven in the flatlands…

I needed to come to Ubud, nestled in the mountains, where the artists live.

Somehow my soul resonates better up here. In my first stretch of several days off in a row, I spontaneously hired a car to whisk me away up to the town where royalty lives. It’s funny how I’m such a creature of wanderlust that even in the beauty of a place like Canggu, I can get cabin fever. But as soon as the car was in motion, passing small villages , zooming scooters, uniformed school children and neighborhood temples my heart sang with freedom.

My first stop in Ubud, without question was the monkey forrest. The jungle forrest home of little Hanuman- esque macaques. Apparently the most widespread and successful of all primates (according to the brochure). So human like. Playing fighting, nursing babies, grabbing bananas out of your hand, making makeshift tools, with rocks and sticks and leaves, swimming, staring at the clouds like they are contemplating god, fighting territorially. The monkey forrest is an Indiana Jones like jungle with Banyan trees dripping thick ropey vines which plunge down into the earth. Moss covered dragon carvings, and monkey statues, waterfalls, and steps crawling down into the forrest floor are the backdrop for these captivating creatures which look so much like us. You feel as if the poet writers who wrote the Ramayana walked these steps, watched these monkeys, saw them looking up and envisioned them flying across mountains to save Sita.

I sat with a monkey holding an nursing her baby, and thought how communal and loving and caring these simian creatures are. I watched them play for hours in the water, jumping and leaping and playing tricks on each other. I identified with the lone monkeys. As I wandered down to the end of the path there was one large monkey, sitting amid the sound of the crashing waterfall and the blue mountain stream, staring into the forrest. I thought,” this monkey is me.” This monkey is pensive and thoughtful and earnest and alone.

Then another monkey came close and he hopped on top of her and humped her madly.

I started laughing contemplating my own horniness, and what if we were that visceral and raw as humans just running and humping whomever, however we wanted. And I snapped a photo. Then , all of a sudden turned and ran at me, bearing teeth, and screaming in a frightful manner. He was definitely going to bite me. I thought about the woman I heard about in New York whose faced was ripped off by her friends pet monkey. I stepped back, he advanced, I screamed, he waved his arms screaming at me. I ran backwards screaming like a school girl, heart pounding. I stopped again, turned around and looked back at him. Once again, as if nothing had happened, he was just sitting , contemplating, looking meditative.

I laughed again. Stomach dropping back to normal position, fear abating.

This monkey is me.

We talk about the monkey mind, and it’s funny how apt the analogy is. The monkey’s are like us without higher cognition. They play, they love, they eat, they fuck, they attack, and do it all over again. Looking at that monkey as myself, this is the play my mind has been on since I’ve been here. Meditative and peaceful flpping in an instant attacking myself like a terrorist, then calm again staring out at the Balineses sunset.

I haven’t jumped on anyone and humped them, but that’s probably because, unlike the monkey, I’m a bit self conscious.