Finding Serenity: My Journey Through the Purification Rituals at Bali’s Tirta Empul Temple
I still remember the sensation of cool stone beneath my bare feet as I stood at the edge of the holy springs, heart racing with a mix of reverence and that awkward “am I doing this right?” feeling that follows travelers into sacred spaces. The morning sun filtered through the banyan trees, casting dappled shadows across the ancient stonework of Tirta Empul. I was about to submerge myself in waters that Balinese Hindus have considered sacred for over a thousand years, and honestly? I was terrified of messing it up.
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My fascination with Tirta Empul began rather unexpectedly. While nursing a mediocre cappuccino in a Ubud café about a week earlier, I overheard an Australian couple raving about their “life-changing” experience at a water temple. Normally I’m skeptical of anything travelers describe as “life-changing” (let’s be real, that sunset on the beach probably didn’t actually transform your existence), but something in their description stuck with me. They spoke of ancient springs, ritual bathing, and a sense of peace that lingered long after they’d left.
So there I was, standing at one of Bali’s most sacred sites, clutching a borrowed sarong around my waist (despite having packed three of my own – all apparently the wrong style), wondering if I was about to have a profound spiritual experience or just get really, really wet.
Tirta Empul, for those unfamiliar, is a temple complex built around natural springs that have been flowing continuously for centuries. The name literally means “holy water spring” in Balinese, and locals believe these waters have healing and purifying properties. People come from across Bali and around the world to participate in the melukat ritual – a purification ceremony that involves praying, making offerings, and bathing in the sacred pools.
I didn’t plan this visit because I needed Instagram content or because it was on some “Top 10 Things to Do in Bali” list. Truth be told, I was going through a rough patch – a messy breakup, career uncertainty, the works – and something about the idea of ritual cleansing resonated deeply. Could ancient spring water wash away modern heartbreak? Probably not. But I was willing to give it a shot.
Arriving at Tirta Empul—First Impressions and Fumbles
Getting to Tirta Empul from my homestay in Ubud was its own adventure. I’d rented a scooter despite my limited experience (a decision my mother would’ve strongly disapproved of), and the 30-minute journey stretched to nearly an hour as I navigated increasingly narrow roads, dodged stray dogs, and stopped twice to check Google Maps. I took a wrong turn at one point and ended up in someone’s private driveway, where a kind elderly man redirected me with a smile that suggested he’d seen plenty of lost tourists before.
When I finally arrived, sweaty and slightly frazzled, the parking area was already filling up. It was only 8:30 AM, but both tour buses and local worshippers were streaming in. The temple sits in Tampaksiring, nestled among lush hills that create a natural amphitheater of greenery around the sacred site. My first glimpse of the complex took my breath away – ancient stone structures, intricately carved gates, and the sound of flowing water creating an immediate sense of something special.
I paid the 50,000 IDR entrance fee (about $3.50 USD), fumbling with rupiah notes I still hadn’t quite gotten used to. The ticket included the loan of a sarong, but since I’d brought my own (finally putting one of those three sarongs to use), I declined. Big mistake. Turns out there’s a specific temple sarong different from the beachy ones I’d packed. A kind attendant took pity on my confusion and helped me properly secure the traditional kain, the fabric wrapped tightly around my waist.
“First time?” she asked with a knowing smile as I nearly tripped over the unfamiliar length.
“Is it that obvious?” I laughed, trying to look like I knew what I was doing.
“You tie like you are going to beach party,” she said, deftly readjusting the fabric. “This is for praying.”
My self-consciousness peaked as I entered the main courtyard. Despite having researched Balinese temple etiquette, I suddenly felt painfully foreign. I was clearly not the only tourist – there were plenty of Western faces in the crowd – but the locals moved with such purpose and familiarity, while I shuffled awkwardly, trying to figure out where to go and what to do.
The temple complex itself is divided into three courtyards (mandala), each with specific purposes. The layout follows traditional Balinese temple architecture, with the most sacred areas toward the rear. I wandered through the outer courtyard, past stone carvings weathered by centuries of tropical rains and incense smoke. The air smelled of frangipani flowers and something deeper, earthier – perhaps the mineral-rich spring water itself.
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What struck me immediately was the contrast between reverent worship and tourist curiosity. A Balinese family knelt in prayer near me, the mother helping her young daughter place a small offering of flowers and incense, while nearby, a European couple posed for selfies. I felt caught between these worlds – not wanting to be the disrespectful tourist, but also knowing I couldn’t authentically participate as a devotee. This tension would follow me throughout my visit.
Understanding the Purification Ritual—What I Learned (and Misunderstood)
Before actually participating in the melukat ritual, I wanted to understand what I was getting myself into. I’d read about it online, of course, but those sterile descriptions didn’t prepare me for the living tradition unfolding before my eyes. I hovered near a group with an English-speaking guide, shamelessly eavesdropping (a skill all solo travelers perfect eventually) to gather information.
The purification pools are fed by 13 water spouts, each with its own name and purpose. The first 11 spouts are for the purification ritual, while the last two are specifically for purifying the dead and should not be used by visitors. I made a mental note to avoid those – nothing like accidentally using the death spouts to ruin your day of spiritual cleansing.
What fascinated me was learning that each spout addresses different aspects of purification. Some cleanse you of bad dreams, others purify your speech, while others wash away bad fortune. The ritual isn’t just about getting wet – it’s a systematic cleansing of various aspects of your being.
The Spiritual Significance (Sort Of)
From what I gathered, Tirta Empul has been a sacred site since at least the 10th century when King Indra is said to have created the springs to counter a poisoned water source. The mythology involves gods, demons, and magical powers – the kind of origin story that makes you wonder how much is history and how much is legend, though I suppose that line is always blurry when it comes to sacred places.
For the Balinese Hindus who worship here, the water is truly holy – tirta, as they call it – and has the power to purify both body and soul. The ritual is part of a broader concept called Tri Hita Karana, which focuses on maintaining harmony between humans, nature, and the divine. Water, as the source of life, plays a central role in this belief system.
I chatted briefly with a local man named Wayan (I later learned that “Wayan” denotes a firstborn child in Bali, which explained why I’d met several Wayans already). He explained that many Balinese visit Tirta Empul during important life transitions or when facing difficulties.
“Water washes everything,” he told me with a certainty I envied. “Bad spirits, bad thoughts, bad luck – all gone with the water.”
I nodded as if I completely understood, though in truth, my Western upbringing made it hard to fully grasp the concept of water literally washing away spiritual impurities. And yet, don’t we all seek cleansing in some form? Don’t we all have rituals – whether religious or personal – that help us mark transitions and release what no longer serves us?
I thought about how I’d scrubbed my apartment top to bottom after my breakup, as if I could clean away the relationship’s remnants along with the dust. Maybe the Balinese approach was more honest about what we’re really doing when we seek these symbolic fresh starts.
Water as a purifier seems to transcend cultural boundaries – from Christian baptism to Jewish mikvah to Islamic wudu. There’s something universally human about using water to mark transformation. I was lost in this thought when I realized the crowd was moving toward the bathing pools, and it was time to stop philosophizing and start participating.
Taking the Plunge—My Own Purification Experience
The changing area was a simple, semi-open space divided by gender. Women helped each other adjust sarongs and shared nervous laughs. I changed into my swimsuit, draping the temple sarong over it as instructed, and secured my belongings in a small locker for 5,000 IDR. My heart was pounding as I approached the main bathing pool, a rectangular basin of clear water with the famous 13 spouts protruding from a stone wall.
The proper procedure, I learned from observation, was to enter the water, move from left to right, and stop at each spout to pray before letting the water run over your head. Some locals were reciting mantras, while others closed their eyes in silent meditation. There was a queue forming at each spout, with people patiently waiting their turn.
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That First Shock of Cold
Nothing prepared me for that first step into the pool. The water was COLD – not refreshing-on-a-hot-day cold, but take-your-breath-away cold. I let out an embarrassingly loud gasp that turned a few heads and earned me sympathetic smiles from the locals and knowing looks from other tourists. The stone basin was slippery underfoot, and I moved carefully, conscious of both my dignity and the sacredness of the space.
As I waited for my turn at the first spout, I watched others. Some people moved quickly through the ritual, while others lingered at each spout, deeply immersed in prayer. The diversity of approaches was reassuring – there didn’t seem to be one “right” way to do this.
When my turn came, I stepped under the first spout, the water hitting my head with surprising force. It cascaded down my face and body, soaking my sarong completely. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on… what exactly? Cleansing? Renewal? To be honest, I was mostly thinking about how cold I was and hoping I was doing this correctly. But as I moved to the second and third spouts, something shifted.
Maybe it was the rhythmic sound of the water, or the shared experience of everyone around me engaged in the same ancient practice, but I felt my mind quieting. By the fourth spout, I wasn’t thinking about looking foolish anymore. I was simply present – feeling the cold water, hearing the prayers around me, sensing the centuries of devotion embedded in the stone beneath my feet.
A young Balinese woman next to me noticed my hesitation at one of the spouts and gently demonstrated cupping the water in my hands three times before letting it pour over my head. She didn’t speak English, and I didn’t speak Balinese, but her patience and kindness transcended language. When I successfully mimicked her actions, she gave me a thumbs up and a bright smile that somehow made me feel less like an intruder and more like a welcome guest.
Not everything was serene, though. At one point, a group of loud tourists pushed through, treating the pools more like a water park than a temple. They splashed and laughed, taking selfies under the spouts without any apparent regard for the ritual’s meaning. I felt a flash of judgment, then caught myself – wasn’t I also an outsider? Who was I to decide how others should experience this place? Still, I was relieved when they moved on, and the peaceful atmosphere returned.
By the time I reached the tenth spout, my skin was prickling with goosebumps, but I felt strangely energized. I carefully skipped the final two spouts (the ones reserved for funeral rites) and made my way out of the pool. As I stepped onto dry stone again, water streaming from my clothes, I felt… different. Not dramatically transformed or miraculously healed of life’s complications, but lighter somehow. The word that came to mind was “clear,” as if some internal fog had begun to lift.
An elderly Balinese woman selling offerings caught my eye as I wrung out my sarong. “Good?” she asked simply.
“Good,” I replied, surprised to find I meant it.
Beyond the Water—Exploring Tirta Empul’s Hidden Corners
Once I’d changed back into dry clothes (note to future self: bring a towel next time), I was free to explore the rest of the temple complex. Most tourists seemed to leave after the bathing ritual, making the outer areas pleasantly uncrowded. I wandered past the main pools into gardens and smaller courtyards, where the sounds of water and prayer created a meditative backdrop.
In the innermost courtyard, I discovered a small, unassuming shrine that seemed less visited than the others. A lone Balinese man sat cross-legged before it, eyes closed in deep meditation. I kept a respectful distance, but was drawn to the peaceful energy of the space. The shrine was dedicated to a deity I couldn’t identify, adorned with fresh flowers and small offerings of fruit and rice.
Nearby, a koi pond shimmered in dappled sunlight. I sat on its stone edge, watching the orange and white fish glide beneath lily pads. It struck me as the perfect metaphor for my experience – beneath the surface activity of tourists and ceremonies, there was this quiet, continuous life flowing. I must have sat there for twenty minutes, just watching the fish and feeling my thoughts settle like sediment in still water.
I kept thinking how much my sister would love the carvings here – she’s an artist with a thing for ancient stonework. I made mental notes of details to share with her, like the moss-covered guardian statues and the way the light played through the banyan trees. It’s funny how even in our most solitary moments, we’re mentally collecting experiences to share with those we love.
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The contrast between the spiritual and commercial aspects of Tirta Empul became more apparent as I made my way toward the exit. Vendors selling everything from bottled water to wooden masks lined the path, their colorful wares creating a market atmosphere that felt at odds with the temple’s tranquility. And yet, there was something authentic about this juxtaposition – sacred and secular have always coexisted in Bali, where daily life is infused with spiritual practice.
I ended up buying a small silver pendant shaped like a water droplet from an elderly vendor. Probably overpriced, definitely touristy, but I wanted something tangible to remember this place by. The woman who sold it to me tied it around my neck with a red string, murmuring what sounded like a blessing. Whether it was a genuine ritual or a savvy business practice didn’t really matter – the sentiment felt real enough.
Reflections After Leaving—Did I Really Feel “Cleansed”?
The ride back to Ubud was easier than the journey out – amazing how places become familiar after just one visit. As my scooter hummed along the winding roads, past rice terraces and small villages, I tried to make sense of my experience at Tirta Empul.
Did I feel spiritually purified? I’m not sure I’d go that far. The rational part of my brain knew that spring water, however ancient and revered, couldn’t literally wash away my problems or heal my heartbreak. My ex wasn’t going to magically disappear from my thoughts, and my career uncertainties weren’t suddenly resolved.
But something had shifted. There was a calmness I hadn’t felt in weeks, maybe months. Participating in a ritual that has comforted people for a millennium put my own troubles in perspective. There was something powerful about physically enacting the metaphor of cleansing – standing under flowing water and allowing it to wash over me, joining countless others who had stood in that same spot seeking renewal.
Maybe the real value wasn’t in some mystical transformation but in the simple act of pause and intention. In our rushed modern lives, how often do we consciously stop to release what’s weighing us down? How often do we stand in cold water, uncomfortable but present, and just be with ourselves?
I found myself wondering about other Balinese rituals. I’d heard about a fire cleansing ceremony in one of the temples near the coast that sounded fascinating. Probably not something I’d have time for on this trip, but maybe next time. It’s funny how travel works that way – each experience opens doors to possibilities you hadn’t considered before.
As I pulled into my homestay, the afternoon rain began – one of those sudden, dramatic Balinese downpours that transforms everything into a glistening, dripping version of itself. I sat on my little porch watching it, thinking about all the forms water takes in our lives. The sacred springs of Tirta Empul, the rice fields they irrigate, the rain returning to the earth, the tears I’d shed over recent losses – all part of the same cycle.
I can’t say I left Tirta Empul magically healed or transformed. I didn’t have a spiritual epiphany under those sacred spouts. But sitting there in the rain, I felt a connection to something larger than myself – not just to Balinese Hinduism or ancient rituals, but to the universal human search for meaning and renewal.
And maybe that’s enough. Maybe the most authentic spiritual experiences aren’t the dramatic, lightning-bolt moments of transformation, but the quiet recognitions of our shared humanity across time and culture. The simple understanding that people have been standing in cold water, hoping for cleansing and renewal, for thousands of years – and will likely continue long after I’m gone.
If you’re ever in Bali and find yourself drawn to Tirta Empul, my advice is simple: go early, bring a change of clothes, and leave your expectations at the gate. The magic of the place isn’t in some guaranteed spiritual experience, but in opening yourself to whatever emerges when you participate in something ancient and ongoing.
And yes, you’ll probably feel a bit foolish at times, a bit cold, a bit unsure if you’re “doing it right.” But that’s part of the journey too – the vulnerability of being human in a place that has witnessed countless humans before you, all with their own hopes, fears, and prayers carried to the same flowing waters.
About the author: Jack is a passionate content creator with years of experience. Follow for more quality content and insights.
