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- Элизабет Гилберт
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- Ешь, молись, люби
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But
the
more
I
read
and
see
about
this
culture
,
the
more
I
realize
how
far
off
the
grid
of
balance
I
’
ve
fallen
,
at
least
from
the
Balinese
perspective
.
My
habit
of
wandering
through
this
world
oblivious
to
my
physical
orientation
,
in
addition
to
my
decision
to
have
stepped
outside
the
containing
network
of
marriage
and
family
,
makes
me
-
for
Balinese
purposes
-
something
like
a
ghost
.
I
enjoy
living
this
way
,
but
it
’
s
a
nightmare
of
a
life
by
the
standards
of
any
self
-
respecting
Balinese
.
If
you
don
’
t
know
where
you
are
or
whose
clan
you
belong
to
,
then
how
can
you
possibly
find
balance
?
Given
all
this
,
I
’
m
not
so
sure
how
much
of
the
Balinese
worldview
I
’
m
going
to
be
able
to
incorporate
into
my
own
worldview
,
since
at
the
moment
I
seem
to
be
taking
a
more
modern
and
Western
definition
of
the
word
equilibrium
.
(
I
’
m
currently
translating
it
as
meaning
"
equal
freedom
,
"
or
the
equal
possibility
of
falling
in
any
direction
at
any
given
time
,
depending
on
…
you
know
…
how
things
go
.
)
The
Balinese
don
’
t
wait
and
see
"
how
things
go
.
"
That
would
be
terrifying
.
They
organize
how
things
go
,
in
order
to
keep
things
from
falling
apart
.
When
you
are
walking
down
the
road
in
Bali
and
you
pass
a
stranger
,
the
very
first
question
he
or
she
will
ask
you
is
,
"
Where
are
you
going
?
"
The
second
question
is
,
"
Where
are
you
coming
from
?
"
To
a
Westerner
,
this
can
seem
like
a
rather
invasive
inquiry
from
a
perfect
stranger
,
but
they
’
re
just
trying
to
get
an
orientation
on
you
,
trying
to
insert
you
into
the
grid
for
the
purposes
of
security
and
comfort
If
you
tell
them
that
you
don
’
t
know
where
you
’
re
going
,
or
that
you
’
re
just
wandering
about
randomly
,
you
might
instigate
a
bit
of
distress
in
the
heart
of
your
new
Balinese
friend
.
It
’
s
far
better
to
pick
some
kind
of
specific
direction
-
anywhere
-
just
so
everybody
feels
better
.
The
third
question
a
Balinese
will
almost
certainly
ask
you
is
,
"
Are
you
married
?
"
Again
,
it
’
s
a
positioning
and
orienting
inquiry
.
It
’
s
necessary
for
them
to
know
this
,
to
make
sure
that
you
are
completely
in
order
in
your
life
.
They
really
want
you
to
say
yes
.
It
’
s
such
a
relief
to
them
when
you
say
yes
.
If
you
’
re
single
,
it
’
s
better
not
to
say
so
directly
.
And
I
really
recommend
that
you
not
mention
your
divorce
at
all
,
if
you
happen
to
have
had
one
.
It
just
makes
the
Balinese
so
worried
.
The
only
thing
your
solitude
proves
to
them
is
your
perilous
dislocation
from
the
grid
.
If
you
are
a
single
woman
traveling
through
Bali
and
somebody
asks
you
,
"
Are
you
married
?
"
the
best
possible
answer
is
:
"
Not
yet
.
"
This
is
a
polite
way
of
saying
,
"
No
,
"
while
indicating
your
optimistic
intentions
to
get
that
taken
care
of
just
as
soon
as
you
can
.
Even
if
you
are
eighty
years
old
,
or
a
lesbian
,
or
a
strident
feminist
,
or
a
nun
,
or
an
eighty
-
year
-
old
strident
feminist
lesbian
nun
who
has
never
been
married
and
never
intends
to
get
married
,
the
politest
possible
answer
is
still
:
"
Not
yet
.
"
In
the
morning
,
Mario
helps
me
buy
a
bicycle
.
Like
a
proper
almost
-
Italian
,
he
says
,
"
I
know
a
guy
,
"
and
he
takes
me
to
his
cousin
’
s
shop
,
where
I
get
a
nice
mountain
bike
,
a
helmet
,
a
lock
and
a
basket
for
slightly
less
than
fifty
American
dollars
.
Now
I
’
m
mobile
in
my
new
town
of
Ubud
,
or
at
least
as
mobile
as
I
can
safely
feel
on
these
roads
,
which
are
narrow
and
winding
and
badly
maintained
and
crowded
with
motorcycles
,
trucks
and
tourist
buses
.
In
the
afternoon
,
I
ride
my
bike
down
into
Ketut
’
s
village
,
to
hang
out
with
my
medicine
man
for
our
first
day
of
…
whatever
it
is
we
’
re
going
to
be
doing
together
.
I
’
m
not
sure
,
to
be
honest
.
English
lessons
?
Meditation
lessons
?
Good
old
-
fashioned
porch
-
sitting
?
I
don
’
t
know
what
Ketut
has
in
mind
for
me
,
but
I
’
m
just
happy
to
be
invited
into
his
life
.
He
’
s
got
guests
when
I
arrive
.
It
’
s
a
small
family
of
rural
Balinese
who
have
brought
their
one
-
year
-
old
daughter
to
Ketut
for
help
.
The
poor
little
baby
is
teething
and
has
been
crying
for
several
nights
.
Dad
is
a
handsome
young
man
in
a
sarong
;
he
has
the
muscular
calves
of
a
Soviet
war
hero
’
s
statue
.
Mom
is
pretty
and
shy
,
looking
at
me
from
way
below
her
timidly
lowered
eyelids
.
They
have
brought
a
tiny
offering
to
Ketut
for
his
services
-
2
,
000
rupiah
,
which
is
about
25
cents
,
placed
in
a
handmade
basket
of
palm
fronds
,
slightly
bigger
than
a
hotel
bar
’
s
ashtray
.
There
is
one
flower
blossom
in
the
basket
,
along
with
the
money
and
a
few
grains
of
rice
.
(
Their
poverty
puts
them
in
stark
opposition
to
the
richer
family
from
the
capital
city
of
Denpesar
who
will
come
to
see
Ketut
later
in
the
afternoon
,
the
mother
balancing
on
her
head
a
three
-
tiered
basket
filled
with
fruit
and
flowers
and
a
roasted
duck
-
a
headgear
so
magnificent
and
impressive
that
Carmen
Miranda
would
have
bowed
down
in
humility
before
it
.
)
