On our last night in Indonesia, about 5 weeks after our arrival, I dreamed deeply. I dreamed of rice. It was puffy, white. It fell slowly – like large flakes of dry snow during winter. Ever so softly the rice tumbled out of the sky, reaching gently for a surface on which to settle. The green grass. The tall trees. The offerings scattered throughout the land. My skin. As it melted and absorbed into my flesh, I felt the gentleness of true peace and pure beauty. For this is the effect that Indonesia had upon me.