Sometimes I must rely upon images I shot during my visit to remind me of Bali, yet so much of what I saw remained with me once I returned to New York. I will never forget how warm and safe I felt. I saw poverty like I never before imagined in my life combined with such beauty as I’d never before thought possible. Without question, what holds Bali together as an amazing paradise is the people. They remember your name, where you live and what you do. When you return a year and a half later, they remember you, and they tell you how good it is to see you again on their island.

Bali’s surrealistic imagery drips from every inch of this island. It takes you to places you have never been spiritually, revealing things in this lifetime through different eyes. Bali changed me. It added simplicity to my life when I so desperately needed to change directions. It guided me. It took care of me while I was there.

And then Bali returned me safely to New York, rich with visions of a full moon drenching me in her silvery glow as she dangled confidently above the Indian Ocean; of sheer fabrics billowing in a soft breeze; of magenta colored sunrises over the top of the Gunung Batur volcano; of lush foliage wet with brilliantly colored flowers; of smiling people on every corner; of bright turquoise waters mixed with rich blue patches; of soft white sand under my feet; of temples hundreds of years old, rich with history and respect; of the geckos calling in the night as I put my head on my pillow, thankful to have made it back to this place. A place that means so much to me. A place that hasn’t changed a bit, yet has changed me so much.