Prambanan

The first rays of sun ignited atoms inside as they struck stone surface.

A familiar pattern set in; a crescendo of solar radiation that sparks expansion, in every direction, and an equalizing release of heat back out into the air. This will happen for half a day; then the sun will be replaced by a mere reflective sphere, the night air will cool, and this basalt rock will contract inwards again. It had gone through this cycle millions of times, with only very periodic interruptions: volcanic eruptions that clouded the sky, earthquakes that broke land, human displacement into new relationships.

But this day would have no interruption; not even a rain cloud to be seen above. Only sunshine, and moonlight.

Exhale, Inhale.

A strange, pale human approached.
His thin frame dawdled, loose tank-top and loose stride synchronized. He was another specimen of bipedal creature swarming these grounds over the last century or so. The stone remembered the first squat creatures like this almost a million years ago, and their very long transition from one of many
warm-bloods to the dominant and destructive force they are today. A group of these ‘humans’- darker and stronger than this specimen- had moved it some 1400 years ago from volcano shade to its current savannah home.

But this one was strange.
He stopped just above, blocking sunlight, and gently put a pulsating hand on basalt surface. He didn’t say anything or jump up or disregard the touch- he closed his eyes and just...stood there.

And breathed.
Odd.
Well, might as well give the kid a glimpse, the stone thought. It let the veil slip for a moment, a million years vivid in an instant. Great warm-blooded animals hunted and foraged nearby, elephants and tigers and rhinoceroses now only ghosts of this land; lava flows scarred the countryside, transforming and re-shaping along the way. Birds sang above, a most consistent song across many aeons, while cold-bloods slathered themselves directly on top. Monsoons and droughts passed by with violent monotony, a thousand extremes that felt less extreme as time continued on.

And the bipedal creatures slowly took over; they re-structured the land, grew vast amounts of rice plants in flooded green paddies. They worked together more than any other creature, warm or cold; they congregated in larger and larger communities, began to construct complexes of small mountains with similar stones. In these mountains they would burn fires, chant with conviction, cycle through in long lines. The stone was placed in one of these small mountains, a 47-meter spire to something they all called “Shiva” more than 1,000 years ago…but who’s keeping count. It was thrust from organic network to a carefully-ordered world, one purposefully built in what the humans called a ‘mandala’ pattern that mimicked how they said the cosmos were organized.

As if they knew.

For almost a hundred years, they lived here, worshipped here, taught their young ones here. It was a splendid little kingdom, if you’re into that kind of thing.

And then volcanic eruptions scared them away, far to the east; the small mountains of stone disintegrated into individuals once more. Sounds and sights returned to more organic patterns; the humans came back, but in far smaller numbers. Some would come to carry off carved stones, or use the setting for new rituals. They began to tell new stories about what had happened here, spoke of mythic figures that never existed. It was as if they simply needed to keep telling themselves such stories in order to make sense of all that was mysterious around them.

Some time later, a different-looking human began to show up: pale-skinned, like this one. They drew pictures, poked around, and then large groups began to put the stones back together in a similar order- yet in new arrangements. The basalt stone ended up on the edge of the compound, where 260 smaller mountains had been arranged. From there it witnessed new crowds grow larger and larger, and the return of rituals and performances.

Strangely-dressed humans visited far more frequently now, nearly every day. But throughout all the kings, brahmin, sultans, villagers, and presidents, one thing remained profoundly consistent:

The sun came up every day; the stone released heat.

Darkness descended every night; the stone contracted.

The odd man opened his eyes slowly, then took his hand off. He smiled, said “thank you,” and then continued to dawdle away.

Sure. Whatever, kid. Just a stone.

Borobudur

Sheets of mist rise out of treetops in view, an ethereal blanket on predawn landscape. Borobudur lies hidden from me down below, as obscure as it was to most of humanity for centuries. Sunrise remains hidden as well, all of us lost in this fog of time. Ancient volcanoes and roaring automobiles, primordial tree species and selfie sticks. A leaf falls nearby.

I park my motorbike, pass vendors and merchandise stalls and join a constant stream of humanity: foreigners, families, students, all armed with cell phones. We are funneled into a long straight road, dramatic runway between manicured grass and hedge towards a small mountain ahead.

A mountain of carved stone. Human order against vast entropy.

Borobudur.

The largest Buddhist temple ever built by humankind.

This is not how Europeans once approached the structure, guided by rumour and native knowledge; they hacked their way through deep jungle to reach a mound of vegetation and dirt, centuries of volcanic ash and unrestrained growth. It took 21 years to fully unearth, using early 19th century technology.

But that’s probably not nearly as difficult as constructing one of the largest religious structures in the world using 8th century technology.

Unlike Prambanan, the Hindu site I visited yesterday, this massive temple seems fully reconstructed, a vivid, living picture of past and present. It is a temple, and a stupa, an interactive experience with designated pilgrimage path around its mandala shape. 6 square platforms, that lead to 3 circular platforms, centered around one crowning stupa; the universe in its true form.

The true nature of the mind.

I begin at the bottom: the base, realm of desires. Kamadhatu. A ‘hidden foot’ of 160 panels display scenes of daily life in ornate carvings, and examples of karmic law: action and consequence. Cause and effect. Desires and punishment- or saintly acts, and rewards. The lowest level of awareness.

Once around the base, I ascend one level of enlightenment, into the realm of forms. Rupadhatu. 5 square platforms. When one leaves the realm of desire, they see forms but are no longer bewitched by them. The reliefs through this section show the life of Buddha, in all his various forms; another 500 statues of him in distinct poses man the battlements here. Every representation was once decorated with color and foil, but even in bare, cracked volcanic slate they remain alluring. Graceful. I run my hands along curves and etchings, pause to feel moist energy and listen to soft droplets. To feel life in these ancient stones. The real Buddha would have been horrified to find so many idols made in his name, but I am still struck by the beauty of devotion that formed them.

I am alone for most of the square pathways; when I ascend to the realm of formlessness, Arupadhatu, the circular platforms are paradoxically packed with people. I am stopped for pictures by friendly Islamic students, and the ritualistic English interview assignments they complete for class. I find myself caught between my path and the demands of the world. Between formlessness and human forms.

Confining walls with descriptive reliefs give way to open atmosphere and distinct bell-shaped stupas. Twin volcanoes come into focus, dominant on horizon; but morning mist still permeates the earth.

I reach the top platform, aside giant perforated stupa. The apex; full Buddhahood. Awash in the ocean of nirvana, release from samsara in eternal void. 72 stupas surround, fractal representation of this pure essence; from desire to form to formlessness, tapering into empty fullness of air...

Someone taps me on the shoulder.
Can we take a picture, mister?
Sure, kid.