Why clouds 'kiss' volcanoes

Why clouds 'kiss' volcanoes

JAKARTA (JP): In Hindu philosophy, Leela is the "cosmic
sport", the playful spirit in which the Gods created the
universe.

We see it all around us -- the exuberance of children, bees
flitting from flower to flower, the bubbling brilliance of a sun-
drenched morning, the prancing waves on a long sandy beach. But
cosmic sport took on a new meaning as I began to observe clouds
kissing volcanoes with gleeful abandon.

Across Indonesia there are many mountains, mighty ranges which
are towering edifices to creation or evolution, depending on
where one stands on the issue of Darwinian theory. Unique to the
archipelago is the generous sprinkling of volcanoes on all its
islands.

This is the strongest proof there is indeed a "ring of fire"
strung around the Pacific Rim, and running through Indonesia,
Hong Kong, Japan, Hawaii, San Francisco and Los Angeles. Given
the very liberal availability of mountains, I just could not
understand why each volcanic peak was always kissing a cloud!

The keen observer will quickly make the connection. It is
always a cumulus cloud: white, fluffy, roly-poly and deliciously
rich. Usually it is touching the peak, gently, almost resting on
the mountain and yet not pressing down.

A touch, a caress and sometimes cavorting, slipping away and
then returning as suddenly to reunite, to hold on to, to kiss as
if the volcano were its truly beloved.

Payakumbuh near Bukittinggi in West Sumatra is where I first
observed this heavenly phenomenon. The twin peaks of Merapi and
Singgalang vie for attention, and both were never without a
cloud.

Jokoraya, the local school teacher, ventured an explanation.

"The clouds are our ancestors," he said, the wisdom of the
ages evident in his eyes and long greying hair. "They look over
us and protect us. They watch the mountains to calm them, lest in
anger they destroy us.

"When we see a cloud caressing Mt. Merapi, we know that the
spirits of our ancestors are soothing the peak."

A month later on a trek beyond Kadudampet and Situ Gunung in
West Java, we stopped to take in the awesome sight of Mt.
Pangrango framed against a brilliant blue sky. Again, a single
cumulus cloud caressed the peak.

Yuliyanti, the dedicated naturalist in our team and wise
beyond her years, said: "That cloud is an angel from God. She
gently brings calm and peace to this troubled world.

"Since the volcano is full of rage, full of trouble, the
angels from God bring compassion, bring love. This makes it
possible for the soul of the mountain to merge with the soul of
the universe. In this coming together, this oneness is divine
Santi, and thus the mountain becomes the abode of the Gods."

East Java is the epicenter of volcanic activity in this land
of volcanoes. None is more imposing, more perfect in form than
the mighty Mt. Bromo. Unique in symmetry and magnificent in
being, Bromo inspires awe and wonderment at the sheer power of
the earth.

This time it was to my friend Nahum to whom I turned for an
answer to my search. Tall, wizened with age but clear in eye and
mind, Nahum had been long resident in this area and had a ready
explanation.

"The clouds are the houses for the spirits of the Orang Tua
(elders). They rest therein whilst awaiting their call to
paradise. It is only the spirits of the good, the wise and the
blessed.

"For the spirits of the faithless, the wicked and the sinners
are already damned. The good and the worthy spirits, awaiting the
call, meditate, praise God and rest in these clouds, the ones
that wait by the peak which is where the lesser Gods live."

My search continued. I reached the north end of Sulawesi, and
gazed at another perfect picture of a volcano, Mt. Tangkoko. My
companions on the beach at Bunaken were in the midst of a
vehement argument over the shape of the island of Sulawesi.

Descriptions of the shape of Sulawesi included a hunched old
lady, an amoeba, a scarecrow in a hurricane, a drunken spider
and, more elegantly, the petals of a wind-blown orchid. I was
called upon to adjudge the most apt metaphor.

Diplomatically, I countered with a question on the cloud that
was kissing Tangkoko.

Bonita, a child of the seas of Sulawesi and a marine biologist
to boot, said: "Clouds are the sisters of the powerful mountains.
They love their brothers whom they cover, tease and play. The
sisters exert a strong influence. They carry messages from one
mountain to another.

"They whisper tales of far-off lands, tales of the spirits of
the skies, of the heavens and their serene calmness. Of the power
of the creator and the wonders of all his creations. And the
soothing words of the sisters help to still and calm the anger in
the brothers."

Like all pilgrims in search of truth, I made my way to Bali.
There, late one moonlit night, we sat in the cool of the valley
between Bekasih temple and Mt. Agung. In a glassy cloudless sky,
a lone cloud caressed the mountaintop and tiny wisps of spray
appeared to float away on errant moonbeams. Gentle strains of
gamelan music wafted through the valley.

I turned to Susiyanti in search of an answer. "These clouds
are the newborn of Mother Earth," she said, the full moons'
reflection in her large brown eyes adding a surreal emphasis to
her words.

"They come to suckle, to sip, to play and draw sustenance from
the mother. Their coming together is gentle, serene and as old as
time itself.

"And having supped, having gained strength, the clouds give
back to mother earth in abundance -- in sustenance, in rain. It
is the cosmic cycle of birth, life and renewal, reenacted since
creation."

And still my search continues. I thrill to my spirit joining
in the cosmic sport, the Leela of the clouds and the volcanoes.
The volcano is no longer just awe-inspiring or magnificent. It
is, to me, the house of the spirits of the elders, a brother of
the clouds, an abode of the Gods and the all-sustaining Mother
Earth.

-- A. Abraham