The Climb to Letting Go: Reflections from the Temple of Self-Discovery

Perched on the slopes of Mount Agung at Besakih Temple, I found myself standing still, the vast terraces of the temple sprawling out beneath me. 

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of incense and earth, and as I looked out toward the horizon, I couldn’t help but reflect on the journey that had brought me here.

It wasn’t just the climb up the ancient steps—it was the climb through life itself. I thought about the years spent gathering: experiences, lessons, challenges, and moments of joy. 

Every step I’d taken had added something to me, shaped me, and taught me. 

Sitting here, high above the world, I felt something else.

I thought about the paths I had walked, the sacrifices made, the times I pushed through when I had nothing left to give. 

I had always believed the journey was about achieving, about doing more, about proving my worth through the weight I could bear. 

But now, as I sat in the silence of this sacred space, I realized that the journey was never about that. 

It had always been about finding myself.

The temple’s stillness mirrored my own as I let the memories rise. 

The times I doubted, the times I compared, the times I let others’ expectations dictate my direction. 

But also the moments of breakthrough—the times I trusted myself, the times I chose to follow my own path, even when it meant walking alone. 

Those were the moments that mattered most. They had brought me here, to this place, where I could finally see it clearly.

The journey wasn’t about gathering more. 

It was about learning to release—releasing the stories that no longer served me, the fears that kept me small, the expectations I had let weigh me down. 

It was about making space for what truly mattered: joy, love, freedom. 

I thought of the strength it had taken to endure, to rise, to keep moving forward. But I also saw how much strength it would take to let go.

I closed my eyes, the whispers of prayers and the smell of incense drifting through the air. This moment, I realized, wasn’t an ending. It was a turning point. 

The path ahead would be lighter—not because it was easier, but because I was choosing to walk it differently. 

No longer carrying everything I had picked up along the way, but only what was mine to keep.

Opening my eyes, I looked up at the temple’s highest terrace, disappearing into the mist. 

It felt symbolic, like the unknown future waiting for me to step into it.