Child's
Play in South Africa new!
by Tracy Villanueva
At
the Ballet
by John Champagne
Manchester,
England Via Bury
by Mark Byers
Roma,
Cittá Aperta
by Tara Kilachand
Bali
by Barrie Lie-Birchall
Gold,
Sequins and Cigarettes
by Sarah Scroope
Buy
A Vowel
by Catherine Skrzypinski
A Family Journey: a photojournal
by Cristine M. Klika
Cosa Pensavo: What I Was Thinking
by Corrie Cook
return to main
Travel Journals page
Sendangsono
by
Barrie Lie-Birchall
On the slopes of the Menoreh Mountains, 45 kilometres from Yogyakarta in Central Java Indonesia, one can find the sacred shrine of Sendangsono.The shrine is a holy place that compares with that of Lourdes in France. It is visited by thousands of Roman Catholics each week - some on a pilgrimage, others seeking solace. It was at Sendangsono that Fatren Van Lith first baptised and converted one of the locals to the Catholic faith.
The name "Sendangsono" has its roots in the Javanese language. Sendang means source or spring, and, Sono means place of origin. It is from under a Sono tree that the spring flows in abundance. When I asked my Javanese friend Sugeng about Sedangsono, he replied “A very beautiful place, but be careful.” His warning was warranted after our vehicle turned off the main road and started making its way up the mountain road. Five kilometres of winding, pot-holed, narrow road lay ahead of us, along side a sheer drop to the jungle floor below. I could only pray that no other vehicles would approach us from the opposite direction. The small dusty area where we parked upon our arrival was surprisingly void of vehicles. As I stepped down from the van, a sense of peace filled me. The air was still, soundless except for a light breeze rustling the leaves on the trees. We asked a local where we could find the shrine. He pointed towards a gradient path leading into the jungle, and then he cackled to himself.
Before
we started the climb, we followed the path through the middle of two rows
of crudely constructed shacks. Each of these had a shop selling all kinds
of religious material – statues, prayer books and Bibles, crucifixes
and rosary beads. After running the gauntlet, we followed the path as
we were told. The jungle was quiet except for the chatter of monkeys,
and we soon came to a clearing, the view in front of us enough to take
our breaths away. It was like walking into the medieval era. Moats (although
dry), bridges leading into other paths, and walls constructed and arranged
almost symmetrically stood before us. We followed the cobblestone path
alongside a shoulder-high wall. Every so often, we came across stone constructions
with various religious scenes, each ornately carved, beautiful for their
delicate nature. Small houses, which I soon found out were retreats, dotted
the landscape here and there. Sendangsono had already captivated me completely.
|
Every
so often, we came across stone constructions with various religious
scenes, each ornately carved, beautiful for their delicate nature. |
Walking down a series of steps leading over a stone bridge, I noticed in the distance a massive Waringin tree shading an area where people had gathered. The closer we came to the place, the more eerie, yet comforting, the silence became. There, where the people were gathered, was a huge stone manmade cave. Just inside the entrance was a three-metre statue of the Mother Mary. In front of the statue were literally dozens of lit candles and flowers. Those who had assembled at this holy place were silent, and, as we approached, we received only an odd glance here and there. Many people were kneeling in deep prayer, while others were seated, in awe of the beauty before their eyes. We sat in silence and meditated. People came and left after praying or walked around enjoying the atmosphere. It seemed as though the jungle had coveted this place in silence. Two hours passed and we decided to wander around in search of the holy spring. We found it behind the stone constructed cave at the base of a Sono tree. There was also a glass-fronted shop selling bottles of the spring water. The shop-owner informed us that the holy spring water was blessed and would cure all illnesses and purify places from evil spirits. I bought a bottle even though I suffered from no illness and had no demons in my house. As we spoke, I asked him who designed and built the sanctuary. He looked up to the sky silently.
The shop-owner did inform me that there was another way up the mountain, a way used by those on pilgrimage. From the main road, pilgrims would follow a steep path through the jungle for nearly six kilometres until they reached the Promosan Church. Then they would take the same path as we did for two kilometres, saying the Rosary until they reached the shrine. May and October were the holy months to worship Mother Mary, and so the path was well trodden. With my bottle of holy water I retraced my steps back to the dusty carpark past the shanty shops selling icons and into the noise of chattering monkeys. I sat in the van and reflected upon my experience. Never before had I felt such peace. I made a vow to return to the silence one day soon.
Some other articles by Barrie Lie-Birchall:
home | in this issue | landscapes/cityscapes | travel journals | the road less traveled | fiction & poetry | spotlight
become a contributor | meet the contributors | what's in a name? | links | editors pick | archives