When I read Eat Pray Love I really wanted to meet the famous Balinese medicine man, Ketut Liyer. Throughout the book he tells the author, Liz, "Send your western friends to me for palm reading. I am very empty in the bank account since the bomb." So when I went to Ubud, Bali, where the story takes place I looked into meeting Ketut.
I inquired about him to the owner of the guest house who told me he knew Ketut Liyer, but lately because he is so old he is giving the same predictions to everyone. My host suggested I go see another medicine man in a neighboring village of Negari. He gave me his name as well, but unfortunately I've forgotten it now. I will just refer to him as the medicine man, or MM, here.
My English friend Sam and I tried to visit the medicine man one day, but he was busy at a wedding. The guy whom I presume to be his assistant advised us to come back in the morning. When Sam and I set foot in the medicine man's compound we thought maybe we had walked into a temple. Sam thought maybe we should put on our sarongs as a sign of respect. The place wasn't a temple, but the atmosphere was charged with a certain degree of reverence.
When we returned the next day we brought a friend and found the medicine man already busy with other visitors. We patiently waited our turns. What I found strange about the set up was that when the "patient" met with MM, he or she was on display for everyone else. As we waited we only sat about five meters from the meeting between MM and his visitor. Not always, but sometimes we could even hear bits of the conversation between the two, which was odd because sometimes it was a private moment. Sam told me I had to go first.
We were unsure how the visit to the medicine man would proceed. The famous Ketut Liyer read palms, but from what I could see this man did not. Some of the people ahead of us were asking for help with specific ailments. One Dutch woman had a lazy eye and a local woman seemed to be having stomach problems. Sam asked the Dutch woman's friend how it worked and she informed him that if there was something specific we wanted attended to, ask. Otherwise, we could just ask for essentially a check-up.
After everyone ahead of us had had their turn Sam told me I had to go first. The medicine man was old. I would guess about seventy years, but I am rubbish at guessing the ages of Asians. He was very spry for a man of seventy. He had wild eyebrows that looked as if they would turn to wings and carry him away with the wind. He had smiling eyes and a friendly mustache, too. He sat in a chair and I sat on the bamboo floor facing him. In heavily accented English he asked me my name and where I was from. He didn't ask me why I had come to see him. He just asked me to turn around.
The medicine man instructed me to straighten my legs in front of me and to let my hair out of the pony tail. He then began massaging my scalp and rubbed his hands on my face, muttering all the while, "Blood...OK. Liver... OK...." He tugged on my ears, up and down. I flinched when he hooked his finger in my right ear and pulled up, but not my left. He said that was connected to my mind. He poked around my face a little more, then had me lie down on my back on a mat on the floor. He pulled out a long pointed stick and began poking my feet and pulling on my toes muttering the same as when he worked on my head. I was prepared for pain because he had performed the same procedure on the people ahead of me and they had all flinched or reared back. I felt pressure, but it didn't hurt. That is, until he jabbed a particular spot on the fourth toe on my left foot. That hurt. The medicine man paused briefly, then said, "Mind..." There was another point on my little toe that he poked and made me yelp, to which he said, "Hormones..." Then he repeated the process to make sure he got the same results. I responded the same way the second time.
When the medicine man finished with the pressure points in my feet traced parts of my body with the stick. Up one leg, up my belly and chest, circling my breasts, then back down the other leg. I was a little uncomfortable because of the audience, but because MM had done the same to everyone else I tried not to mind so much. The medicine man told me I had problems with my mind- I worry too much, and with my hormones- specifically my ovaries. He asked me if I had ever had problems with my period, if it was normal, and without giving too much information I responded, "Yes" and "No. Not always." I couldn't help but recall the psychic from the Philippines last month. Maybe it was all a crock, but she sensed something with my womanly hormones as well. She did predict I would become pregnant in the next year...
Then the medicine man stood with his toes on my feet and said a prayer or blessing over me. He closed his eyes and moved his hands in a cross-like manner over my body. Then he knelt down at my feet and began jabbing away again. This time I only reacted once instead of twice. He told me my mind was cured, but not my hormones. He instructed me to take Omega-3.
My friends took their turns and we paid by donation and left. On the motorbike ride back Sam and I discussed our visit. The medicine man had told him there wasn't anything wrong. He said Sam needs to love more before he returns. From what I could tell MM used reflexology, which does have validity. Sam reckons MM could have pressed harder in some places than others to invoke the response he got; then the power of suggestion did the rest. I suppose that's true, but I don't think so. My reaction to the pointed stick was involuntary. Maybe the vague mention of mind and hormones caused me to form my own conclusions, and Omega-3 is beneficial to the body regardless of biological distress. I decided, if only for my own peace of mind, to get some Omega-3.
I inquired about him to the owner of the guest house who told me he knew Ketut Liyer, but lately because he is so old he is giving the same predictions to everyone. My host suggested I go see another medicine man in a neighboring village of Negari. He gave me his name as well, but unfortunately I've forgotten it now. I will just refer to him as the medicine man, or MM, here.
My English friend Sam and I tried to visit the medicine man one day, but he was busy at a wedding. The guy whom I presume to be his assistant advised us to come back in the morning. When Sam and I set foot in the medicine man's compound we thought maybe we had walked into a temple. Sam thought maybe we should put on our sarongs as a sign of respect. The place wasn't a temple, but the atmosphere was charged with a certain degree of reverence.
When we returned the next day we brought a friend and found the medicine man already busy with other visitors. We patiently waited our turns. What I found strange about the set up was that when the "patient" met with MM, he or she was on display for everyone else. As we waited we only sat about five meters from the meeting between MM and his visitor. Not always, but sometimes we could even hear bits of the conversation between the two, which was odd because sometimes it was a private moment. Sam told me I had to go first.
We were unsure how the visit to the medicine man would proceed. The famous Ketut Liyer read palms, but from what I could see this man did not. Some of the people ahead of us were asking for help with specific ailments. One Dutch woman had a lazy eye and a local woman seemed to be having stomach problems. Sam asked the Dutch woman's friend how it worked and she informed him that if there was something specific we wanted attended to, ask. Otherwise, we could just ask for essentially a check-up.
After everyone ahead of us had had their turn Sam told me I had to go first. The medicine man was old. I would guess about seventy years, but I am rubbish at guessing the ages of Asians. He was very spry for a man of seventy. He had wild eyebrows that looked as if they would turn to wings and carry him away with the wind. He had smiling eyes and a friendly mustache, too. He sat in a chair and I sat on the bamboo floor facing him. In heavily accented English he asked me my name and where I was from. He didn't ask me why I had come to see him. He just asked me to turn around.
The medicine man instructed me to straighten my legs in front of me and to let my hair out of the pony tail. He then began massaging my scalp and rubbed his hands on my face, muttering all the while, "Blood...OK. Liver... OK...." He tugged on my ears, up and down. I flinched when he hooked his finger in my right ear and pulled up, but not my left. He said that was connected to my mind. He poked around my face a little more, then had me lie down on my back on a mat on the floor. He pulled out a long pointed stick and began poking my feet and pulling on my toes muttering the same as when he worked on my head. I was prepared for pain because he had performed the same procedure on the people ahead of me and they had all flinched or reared back. I felt pressure, but it didn't hurt. That is, until he jabbed a particular spot on the fourth toe on my left foot. That hurt. The medicine man paused briefly, then said, "Mind..." There was another point on my little toe that he poked and made me yelp, to which he said, "Hormones..." Then he repeated the process to make sure he got the same results. I responded the same way the second time.
When the medicine man finished with the pressure points in my feet traced parts of my body with the stick. Up one leg, up my belly and chest, circling my breasts, then back down the other leg. I was a little uncomfortable because of the audience, but because MM had done the same to everyone else I tried not to mind so much. The medicine man told me I had problems with my mind- I worry too much, and with my hormones- specifically my ovaries. He asked me if I had ever had problems with my period, if it was normal, and without giving too much information I responded, "Yes" and "No. Not always." I couldn't help but recall the psychic from the Philippines last month. Maybe it was all a crock, but she sensed something with my womanly hormones as well. She did predict I would become pregnant in the next year...
Then the medicine man stood with his toes on my feet and said a prayer or blessing over me. He closed his eyes and moved his hands in a cross-like manner over my body. Then he knelt down at my feet and began jabbing away again. This time I only reacted once instead of twice. He told me my mind was cured, but not my hormones. He instructed me to take Omega-3.
My friends took their turns and we paid by donation and left. On the motorbike ride back Sam and I discussed our visit. The medicine man had told him there wasn't anything wrong. He said Sam needs to love more before he returns. From what I could tell MM used reflexology, which does have validity. Sam reckons MM could have pressed harder in some places than others to invoke the response he got; then the power of suggestion did the rest. I suppose that's true, but I don't think so. My reaction to the pointed stick was involuntary. Maybe the vague mention of mind and hormones caused me to form my own conclusions, and Omega-3 is beneficial to the body regardless of biological distress. I decided, if only for my own peace of mind, to get some Omega-3.
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