The Eco Lodge was built on the slopes of Bali’s second highest mountain. It was run by a pair of peaceful hippies who wanted people to share in the joys of fruit and veggies picked fresh from their food forest, cold, clear water trickling through a ferny waterhole, and the calm of a tiny mountainside community in Bali.
We’d decamped to read, drift and eat. My mother had passed away only six months’ prior, and on a scale of demented and sad, I was an 11. I desperately needed rest from the voices in my head, from the city rubbish trucks, and from the pressing feeling of sadness in my chest and my bones.
I needed calm, stillness, silence. Continue reading