The fragrance of frangipani and a light scent of incense don’t just float in the air in Bali; it is part of the chemical compound of the air. At once it is uplifting and calming with every breath. Water gardens, Hindu devis and devas, decorated altars even in the most unlikely places, delicate cianang overflowing with lovingly placed offerings and the kind warm smiles of the people make the essence of Bali inimitable. Many try to create the same completely sensual experience of warmth, calm and devotion of this island, but it’s jut not possible. This is the real thing. My meager attempts to bring that sense of calm to my home with warm colors, a pond complete with lotus, waterfall and Japanese koi are lovely but fall short. Although it is a soothing little corner, it’s contrived. I worked hard to construct and maintain a little piece of peace. In Bali a tangible tranquility is a cultural part of everyday life. It’s in the colorful aromatic flowers, ponds and waterfalls, the ornate architecture, the abundantly ubiquitous altars of every size, and the daily wave of cianang that spring up in entry ways, on altars and in the odd little corners all around. Delicately cradling their offerings with sticks of burning incense, the cianang are the tangible, scented expression of the intangible – the symbols of the communal commitment to the collective and individual spirit. They are the artifacts of the practice of the Balinese philosophy. 
The feeling I had in Bali of a sense of balance, faith and intention that permeated my being was not just something I conjured up. I found myself randomly questioning anyone and everyone there about this tangible and intangible essence. The answers were all the same when it came to the details of the daily practices and the icons. But unsatisfied (as usual), and wanting to know more (as usual) I Googled it. “It” has a name. “Tri Hita Karana” is the oneness of three worlds – the spiritual environment, social environment and the natural environment and is the philosophy the Balinese in general live by. It’s from the Sanskrit Tri means three; Hita means well being and Karana means cause. The belief is that balance is necessary in three facets of life in order to bring about wellbeing. These are active relationships the people have with other people, with God and with nature. One doesn’t need to be a scholar in Tri Hita Karana, as interesting and engaging as it is, to understand. It’s something you feel on a cellular level in Bali. Even those who are only there for the beauty, the beaches and the nightlife must feel it too. It’s in the air, the architecture and the daily rituals. There’s no escaping it. But, I wonder who would want to.
I’ve realized that I chase the “Tri Hita Karana” in my own life. It’s such a conscious effort for us westerners. We are disconnected in so many ways. In Bali the reminders of this concept of active connection are unavoidable. Every which way one turns there are the black and white fabrics covering altars–black and white represent the “yin/yang” balance of life. They are a reminder that when emotions run hot the only way to ease it is balance with calm. Tripping over the daily placement of cianang, those small handmade vehicles for very personal offerings of thanks, requests for forgiveness and expressions of hope can’t help but force one to introspect about one’s own connection to each other, God and Nature. It’s a strange feeling to inspect the contents of a cianang. They are so personal. It feels voyeuristic but at the same time makes you feel connected to the stranger who lovingly placed them there. You feel like you know the heart of someone you don’t know. The abundance of them leads to a strange heady feeling if you’re like me and feel compelled to inspect each and every one you come across (and that’s a lot!). You’re surrounded by the hopes, dreams and sorrows of others laid out at your feet. It’s so anonymously personal. The task of articulating Tri Hita Karana is deserving of a more skilled ‘writer” than the likes of mois. But the collective and active practice of the people on this “Island of the Gods” had a profound effect on me and gave a new essence to my quest for connection and healing of my body and spirit, so I was compelled to at least try to share what it feels like–this ethereal thing I appreciatively refer to as Bali high.
And everywhere there’s incense. Incense on the altars. Incense in the offerings. The silky scent that takes on weighty meaning for the devotion and intention it represents. It lifts me up and causes me to take pause and have hope that I am more than my struggles with my health. Someone wrapped the checked cloth around the altars out of devotion. Someone made, filled and placed the cianang offering. And someone lit the incense sticks, one by one streaming into the Balinese night one by one filtering the moist air. An unseen reminder that we’re all in this together and that whatever our troubles, worries, hopes, dreams or struggles are we are not alone. 
Suksamah (thank you) Bali!
http://www.balistarisland.com/Bali-Information/Balinese-Concept.htm
