Yesterday the sun tipped over the eastern horizon of central Java and all was revealed. We have passed the equinox and the days will get longer from here on in the southern hemisphere. It is a new beginning.
I woke at 2:40 AM and couldn’t fall back asleep, staying up until 4:00 AM for my taxi to the Manohara Resort, where my Borobudur sunrise tour departed.
We saw the looming mass of the sacred monument, faintly silhouetted against the dark blue night sky by a lambent glow beyond it. We walked up the steep, widely spaced stone steps under arches of masonry, then along an arcade with flashlights casting rays of weak yellow light across parts of the ancient stone galleries.
Later, at the top as the east grew lighter, we assembled—a hundred or so tourists from around the world—along the parapet walls to await the rising sun. When it tipped over the eastern horizon like a glowing red ember, it gave an even deeper presence to the vast stone fortress of Buddhas sitting within their bell-shaped stupas, and to the glory of Mount Merapi and its smoking volcanic cone to the northeast.
All around Borobudur, I walked along the penultimate level, looking out at the valley below swaddled in morning mist, with high peaks and hills ringing the landscape beyond. On this elevated level of the sacred stone mountain, we seemed to float above the world. Away from the intricate stories and iconography of the ancient relief carvings on the tiered levels below, we entered a much more open and transparent realm. It was a place of lightness, both mental and emotional—a space to wander and float, away from the busy mind, elevated and illuminated by the revealed world around us.
I am glad I spent my money, time, and effort to travel to Indonesia, to Java, and ultimately to Borobudur. Beyond nice massages, food, and a change of pace and scenery, there has been revelation of a kind. Touching an ancient civilization, buried beneath a thousand years of history, felt palpably alive this morning as a curious and sensitive witness. It was build around 1200 years ago, taking 75 years to construct. Then after 200 years of being an important place of worship, volcanic ash covered it and it was lost under soil and roots and mystery. Finally in 1814 the British imperialist Thomas Stamford Raffles heard rumours of ruins and organised its recovery.
Walking the galleries, ascending from the realm of complexity and absorption through samsara towards space and revelation. Walking out into the open on top of the sacred mountain. Seated Buddhas have surveyed this volcanic rim for hundreds of thousands of sunrises, the earth spinning into light and darkness, and back into light again and again. Sky lightening, sky darkening. Happiness coming, sadness spreading, life beginning and passing, leaves growing, tears falling, the hint of a tender smile on stone lips.
Some places on our globe are apexes of culture, spirit, and civilization that float above their landscapes—I think of the Alhambra in Granada, Meteora and Delphi in Greece, the Parthenon in Athens, or the Uffizi above the Arno in Florence. These are moments of sacredness, grace, and majesty in the skies of our spirits. When darkness and a pale shroud cover your emotions, stand up, walk up the hill, or climb the stairs to such places, and you will feel released from your suffering.
These old wise men sit on lotus blooms, moving up out of chaos and decay and illusion to understanding through samsara. Their ancient faces, in darkness for many hundreds of years under volcanic ash, seem to hold a mysterious presence for me.
This relief carving is one of my favourites. Before he attained Enlightenment the prince Siddartha had to undergo many trials. Mara, Lord of illusion, trys to ensnare Buddha by sending his daughters to tempt him, and failing in this he sends his army to attack. Buddha calls upon the earth goddess to testify, thus his earth touching gesture. I am just taken by his stillness in the middle of the maelstrom of chaos and noise and anger and stress and complexity. He is centred. He is peace. Today I think of the added digital and commerical maelstrom a man is prey to and we need to practice the art of mental and emotional peace more than ever.
At the start of 2027 I will teach a course on Ancient Wisdom for a Life Well Lived. We will look at Buddhism, Stoicism and ancient Chinese philosophy. I will talk more about this relief carving then, and advertise details of the course later this year.
Another relief carving that I was attracted to is below.
Here the prince Siddartha relaxes and contemplates under the shade of a guava tree in a rural grove.
On 28 October 2026 I will start teaching a course that will dwell more on such green thoughts in green shades. It is a short course on American environmental literature and will start with Walden by Henry David Thoreau, then move to the autobiography Naturalist by Edward O. Wilson, then consider the poems of Mary Oliver, and finish the course with the poems of Wendell Berry. Berry has just died a few weeks ago and so this course will be taught in his memory. We will reflect on the spiritual dimensions of solitude and wildness; the intersection of scientific observation and literature; and the ethics of land stewardship, and place-based identity.
You can register for this course here.
In the meantime I say hallo from central Java.
