Whenever I stand before an imposing monument, I feel something is missing. It feels like just an abstract.
On this particular day in a town in Central Java, I was walking near a statue of General Sudirman, erect on his horse, surrounded by genitri trees. There was something in its aura trying to become an enduring part of this changing city, almost evicted by the traffic. Someone said that the trees produced tiny fruit that can be used for prayer beads. The transcendent, it seems, gets into the rows of seeds.
But the transcendent, transcending border...