KuDeTa in Wonderland

KuDeTa in Wonderland

Queens again. This time, Queen of Spades.

Adyashanti, a California teacher of non-dual awakening , often says human beings are like people wearing Batman costumes pretending to be Batman. Consciousness pulls our mask back and snaps it on our face, as if to say, “Get it, it’s a costume.” but we insist we ARE the costume rather than the thing behind the costume.

I’ve been playing with that idea of my ego/costume for some time- But what happens when a costume puts on a costume?

I resist going out at night, because, in truth, I’m really not a partier. Maybe I was once, but for now, it feels like it requires a lot of effort to force myself to go out.

It is August. Bali high season, and everyone who lives here year-round says, the high season parties are not to be missed because international DJ’s come here to play to Bali’s best impression of Ibiza. A few days prior I was talked into venturing out to KuDeTa (the epicenter of high season madness) to catch Frankie Knuckles. Mr. Knuckles is a New York based DJ pivotal in the development of house and dance music in the 80’s and 90’s. That night went off ok, but also offered a visual foreplay into the preparations for the “KuDeTa in Wonderland” party, a few nights later. Alice in Wonderland decorations were being mounted for 10 year anniversary blow out. “$80,000 were spent on the décor,” someone whispered “and the Brain New Heavies are slated to bring down the house.” A huge 20 foot tall rabbit clutching a pocketwatch dominated the entrance, large oversized mushrooms loomed up everwhere, a very scary chesire cat sneered down among dancers. Having previously glimpsed what designers in Bali are capable of, I was curious what happens if all of these creatives simultaneously come out, decked to the nines in wonderland regalia …

The going out, and the idea of putting together a costume both seemed like a lot of effort, which I would more easily have rejected, but then in a last minute crazy confluence of events, including an Australian journalists with convincing enthusiasm who was promised to go as the Red Queen including, a mysterious yogi from Jakarta appearing and offering to drive to by me tickets as a form of Seva, and, Tom, the artist visionary owner of Desa Seni wanting to go dance up a storm, I decided to go.

Of course, it was a last minute decision, and I couldn’t imagine what costume I would pull out of my newly paired down wardrobe. Again, I didn’t factor in May. Leave it to the creatives.

My friend May, in a flash envisioned the costume she would create for me, out of the mysterious endless depth of her closet, accessories and make up.

“The Queen of Spades!” she said , as if there really only was one choice.

“That’s not a character from Alice in Wonderland…” I said, tending often toward the literal.

“No, “ May said in confidence. “She is underground. She doesn’t need press. She is Kali.“. I couldn’t deny the sense in this. She was speaking my language.

Our departure time was 11pm, the time that Tom would be finished in the kitchen at Desa Seni and the party would actually be “happening”. Everything here is the inverse of LA hours. In LA everything shuts by 1, here, like Europe, it’s all just starting after midnight. All this late night stuff is really a challenge for my body, which is used to being asleep by that hour. I resist it so thoroughly I figure there must be something there I am supposed to discover.

Adyashanti says to find where the resistances are and go there. Seems ironic that “partying” is my resistance. When so many here, especially the tourists are LIVING for the party. My party feels like it happens in yoga class, in conversations, in lunches- but I’m trying on for size the other thing.

Out of her creative compassion, May consented to get me ready, since I think she had a hunch I might go shy, “Why dress up half way?” She again inarguably commented as she transformed me into a costume in a costume. There is supreme surrender in letting someone else costume you. Especially since apparently the Queen of Spades wears short-shorts, fishnets, and white platform sneakers, a black sequined top, a painted white face with a sparkly bow of red lips, a pile of blond teased hair, feathers, a collar, a black and white jeweled belt. When finished, I stood probably 6’3”, a tower of black and white. The ludicrousness of my size underscored by the fact that when I embraced May and her partner Jason after the whirlwind of creation, both their faces buried into my chest, as they stood fully upright.

One side makes you taller….

I never wear heels, and navigating May’s platform sneakers made me feel like a clumsy RuPaul, which I probably also resembled. Tom, for his part dressed as the Bali monster Rang Don. He actually was wearing our Ogoh Ogoh creation from Nyepi, Long horse hair streamed down to his knees, and a huge scary monster face, the size of four heads covered him completely. We were quite a pair of costumed costumes.

As the day progressed it became abundantly clear that most of the local expats who live here were NOT going to the KuDeTa party because of the anticipated throng of tourists that would all be pooled into this single event. Tickets were $100. Which is like a week pay for most Balinese.

When Tom and I walked into KuDeTa, one thing instantly became abundantly clear. No one else was in costume. And due to this fact, we were a spectacle, two costumes among costumes, who didn’t know that they are costumes, and in fact were not costumes wearing costumes.

A blaze of flashes went off. Suddenly every tourist, and I’m really not exaggerating when I say EVERY tourist photographed us like we were Posh and Beckam. We played up the part. And I thought I must resemble some sort of Matryoshka dolls. The folk art, where like peeling back layers of an onion one doll fits inside of the other. A costume, who knows that she is wearing a costume, wearing a costume- No Self layered, and being photographed while the Brand New Heavies play to throngs of tourists from every nation.

And while we danced and danced and were photographed endlessly, literally out of maybe 2000 people attending, I think we saw one other in a costume, I wondered what happened to the Red Queen. I sort of had an image of us having pictures together.

I found myself in a swirling mass of humanity, a costumed costume feeling slightly giddy with the hilarity of it all. But the 6 inch platforms were too much for me to navigate with the whirling dervish of my Ogoh ogoh dance partner. I toppled to the floor and fell on my butt.

One side makes you smaller.

I got back up to continue dancing, but my illustrious swirling illusion was too bruised. Ego within costume came crashing down. The Brand New Heavies ended their set. Costumes who didn’t know they were costumes began looking at each other wondering, “What next?”.

I quickly decided the experiment was over. I got the lesson I came for, and set about making my exit. Queen of Spades sheltering , the costume Tara, grabbed a cab back to Canggu.

Bye Bye Romance

I spent my first fifty dollars in Bali on an astrology reading from Paul Sixx.

This is ironic in a million ways. The first of which is that the walking cliché of myself right now is not missed on me.

On the way LAX I looked at the billboards for Eat Pray Love and thought, “Shit, really? Am I really moving to Bali one week, ONE WEEK before Eat Pray Love comes out in cinemas- me a blond yoga teacher named Tara, really?” I secretly began to regret the last minute decision to carry my yoga mat as a carryon.

Somewhere in my consciousness is an 80’s dyed black haired version of myself with smeared mascara laughing hysterically. Or sneering. Or both. Ridiculous.

And the next thing I’m going to say is going to pull the rug out from the previous thing.

I liked the book. The first time I read it. Yes, I read it twice. The first time on a beach in Tulum in 2007 because it was a mindless beach read, the second time (this is worse) two years later because my MOTHER said I hadn’t learned the lessons in it the first time I read it. Even though she herself thought Elizabeth Gilbert was a bit whiney. My friend Jim who lives in Ubud, said there is now an even newer term for the epl people, a fresher thing to call the women knocking about Ubud in the height of tourist season looking for love, Gilberterians.

Black haired self is vomiting in the background.

So as I was eating lunch with my friend Johnny at Desa Seni, the bright blue-eyes subtly eavesdropping on our conversation from the neighboring table belonged to Paul Sixx. Johnny was telling me how his friend raved about his reading with this internationally acclaimed astrologer who was giving a free lecture at Desa Seni that evening.

I looked over at him. Probably in his late 60’s, pure white hair, hunched over his computer.

“Do you have time for one now?” I tossed over to him across the porch. He looked at me intensely. He has a clarity that is palpable, the kind I’ve come to look for in people I’m ready to listen to.

“I certainly do.” He said.

When I sat down next to him and his computer he said, “Do we know each other?”

I thought about my French friend Guilloime in LA who, just having written a book called The Creative Advantage , advised me to say to all new students, “I’ve been waiting for you…”, and then to say, “We’ve known each other for a long time…”. I considered saying to Mr. Sixx, “Oh we’ve known each other for a long time…” but simply said instead, “No.”

Paul Sixx basically summed up my reading in five minutes. Which also apparently surprised him, because he said, “Well what should we do with the rest of our time…”

The five-minute summation was this. I’ve been powerful in many lifetimes, maybe even a Queen, and now my ego (which I should shed as quickly as possible) is shocked that people don’t treat me like a Queen, but my Taurus sun sign being in the 12^th house means that my purpose this life is to wake up and to communicate this to all around me. I should stop my obsession with romantic love and allow myself to go for the big purpose I was brought here for. Communication. Powerful synergy, transformation. “You already know all of this,” he said.

I really didn’t come to Bali looking for love. I swear I’m not a Gilberterian, but when I pressed Paul Sixx a little about love and possibly children he said,

“You’ve already achieved that before in many lifetimes, you’ve followed that path to the end of the road, you know what it is, this time you have to go the whole distance this lifetime you chose something different…”

I know what your thinking. You’re thinking the same thing the four people I told already think, “what the fuck, does Paul Sixx know…”

I know. But here’s the thing. I have thought this very thought for the past six months.

Not the Queen bit, because wasn’t everyone a Queen in their past life? I mean, it’s as if psychics and astrologers tell you that to make up for the fact that you’re not one this life, nor are there any chances of you being one. But it sure feels reassuring to know that you’ve been there done that. I don’t know what they tell actual queens, but everyone I know was Cleopatra in a past life, or Joan of Arc, or Queen Elizabeth.

But I have thought, if I follow the signals of the universe that it is urging me towards a more a much more expansive notion of loving and living than say –“boyfriend. “ And I’ve also thought, because of my previous compulsion to say, have one- that it will probably , to help swat my former Queen ego around a bit towards total dissolution it will demand that I not, have one.

It’s funny, other women’s reactions to your saying that you have to give up the notion of romantic love. I don’t know if it’s true or not true. But it is utterly fascinating how upset on behalf my friends have become.

My friend Jody put it best, “he’s a douche.”

Paul Sixx made point, “it’s not the time for Romantic love. Our world is a mess. The work has to get done. We have to get to work, and move through this shift. Our world is on the brink of financial collapse…” we talked about the quickening, the chaos, the tipping point. And I know what Paul Sixx is getting at with his readings.

I eavesdropped on a reading he had with a different lady the next day, just to see if he was saying the same thing to everyone.

“I see you marrying someone with a lot of money, he’s older, and when he dies you will control his companies….” He said to a woman from Mexico city. “Santa Barbara would be a good place for you,” he told her.

Shit, ever have that feeling you should of taken the other pill…