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It is not important that others have done it, only, that you are doing it.


While riding through the rice paddy fields of Bali in Gusti's sidecar to watch the white-herons, experiencing my first dog bite from a frightened street dog, my heart jumping at the sight of a Javanese Kingfisher on a hike alone, seeing a man masturbating in front of his shop thinking no one saw, finding a dead snake with a full belly in a river channel, falling over laughing after meditation because my leg fell asleep, singing by candlelight with a stranger during a black-out, meeting a frog on my doorstep at midnight, taking tea with a gardner who popped in most days and navigating how little we knew of each other's languages, watching a man wash his rooster in a bucket, getting transcendental during a Kecak chant, riding my bike through warm rain, hunting for used ikat fabrics in the back alleys, holding an orangutan, and hearing music reverberating through the jungle each night, I said this was my experience. In the same territories others have tread, this was mine.  

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