On Bali, every stream, rice terrace and ancient banyan tree carries a whisper of the unseen. Balinese Hinduism weaves nature into daily life through the principle of Tri Hita Karana—“three causes of well-being”—which demands harmony among people, the divine and the environment. Water temples, perched like living sculptures on terraced slopes, channel mountain springs into elaborate subak irrigation networks. Farmers believe that honoring the water goddess at each temple guarantees a bountiful harvest, and UNESCO’s recognition of subak in 2012 echoes that ethos on a global stage.

Morning offerings—tiny woven baskets of flowers, rice and spices—land at the foot of coconut palms, beneath curving rooflines of village shrines and even on the forest floor. These canang sari aren’t just decorative; they function as a daily pact with nature’s spirits. When the island’s shorelines brim with plastic litter, locals hold Melasti purification ceremonies at the sea, reciting mantras to cleanse both soul and shoreline—a ritual taking on fresh urgency amid Bali’s push to ban single-use plastics by 2025.

Festivals like Galungan and Kuningan paint the island in bamboo poles festooned with young coconut leaves, symbolizing the ascent of ancestral spirits through nature’s gateway. In village odalans (temple anniversaries), fruit, flowers and betel leaves are artfully arranged as invitations to deities who dwell in groves and rock outcrops. Even modern conservationists draw inspiration, seeing Bali’s age-old reverence for the land as a blueprint for sustainable tourism and reforestation projects sprouting across the island.

When volcanic ash drifts through the air or rains nourish the paddies, every event becomes a reminder: humans are part of an intricate web—no strand overlooked, no creature ignored. Balinese Hindus live out this ancient pact with nature, proving that spirituality and environmental care can walk hand in hand, or rather, treading lightly over emerald rice fields.