Dreaming Of Danzan Ravjaa

Independence Day

I know at least our American readership is probably baking on the beach, grilling up burgers, or getting ready to accidentally set the roof on fire with an errant bottle rocket, but today seemed as good a day as any to issue the following announcement: this will be the last post on Dreaming of Danzan Ravjaa.

When I began this blog back in February of 2005, it was meant as a personal adjunct to my deployment in Mongolia to serve Kunzang Palyul Choling’s Mongolian Buddhism Revival Project. It was not an official organ of KPC, but rather a way of sharing my impressions, discoveries, and images from a fascinating land that many will probably never visit in their lifetimes.  While I feel that under different conditions much more could have been accomplished in our partnership with the Mongolian Buddhists, still I have a sense of satisfaction that true benefit was generated in a number of ways: sponsoring many young Mongolians to travel to India for deeper Buddhist training; printing and offering the only complete set of the Nyingma scriptures that exists in Mongolia; translating and offering instruction on basic chanting, meditation and visualization practices within our tradition; offering teachings to lay Mongolian Buddhists from Patrul Rinpoche’s The Words of My Perfect Teacher and then underwriting the printing of the very first translation of this classic text into modern Mongolian; building a teaching throne to offer for the new temple being built at Danzan Ravjaa’s Khamar Monastery in the East Gobi Desert; facilitating the first Mongolian translation of Longchenpa’s chod text, “The Bellowing Laughter of the Dakinis”; rendering timely assistance to several individuals in need; rescuing a handful street dogs and cats, two of whom now enjoy a very posh life in America; and many other minor efforts along the way.

But now the institutional relationship which made this work in Mongolia possible has dissolved and I find I must seek a somewhat different way as a monk within the broader universe of my Palyul lineage. On July 10 I will join Palyul’s annual 30-day summer retreat in New York State, at which time I will clarify the next phase of my dharma life. I hope one day it includes a return to Mongolia; I really did love my time there and feel strongly there is much more beneficial work that can be done. More than that, though, I really hope that pure lamas upholding any dharma lineage will turn their minds to Mongolia and travel there to bring to life latent practice traditions, and enhance the Buddhist education of the Mongolian laity.

I will leave DODR’s comments open until the morning of July 9, after which they’ll be closed for good. Because Typepad’s annual fee was recently paid, the blog and all its archived posts will remain live until May, 2010. At that time, as with all compounded phenomena, Dreaming of Danzan Ravjaa will dissolve into the primordial space from which it arose. This is, after all, what dreams do, do they not?

I want to offer the gratitude of my heart to all of you who unstintingly offered your support, whether it was material, personal or prayerful; those who amused, provoked, and educated us with your comments; the lurkers who simply enjoyed what was offered here; and, most of all, the love and hospitality of my Mongolian brothers and sisters. May all our minds be liberated within the one pristine mandala of wisdom and compassion!

I Have Absolutely Nothing of Significance to Say About the Untimely Passage of Michael Jackson...

...and as one friend put it, my Ma and I really chose the right days to be on retreat, avoiding yet another outsized American media orgy.

It was weirdly satisfying spending five days meditating in the sanctum sanctorum of the former Monastery of Mary Immaculate, now the stately Garrison Institute, high upon the eastern bank of the upper Hudson. The retreat was quite well-run, Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche proved an unusually excellent and entertaining young teacher with very cool support staff, the veggie cuisine was eye-openingly scrumptious, and really the only jarring note was the sound of automatic gunfire and artillery that occasionally drifted across the river from West Point. Pretty sure they were aiming the other way, but it added a little urgency to our practice.

Between sessions (and in place of a couple, I confess) I devoured a large portion of The Nectar of Manjushri’s Speech, the English translation of Khenpo Kunpel’s exquisitely detailed commentary on Shantideva’s nonpareil volume, The Way of the Bodhisattva. His many stories drawn from the sutras about negative karma and its effects is enough to really scare the pants off you. Fortunately I don’t wear pants, but still. It’s helping me with a cold-eyed assessment of the state of my path. Let’s just say there’s ample room for improvement.

OK, two mighty, mighty links:

So many of the greatest Tibetan Buddhist lamas of the 20^th century cite one lama as the most significant inspiration in their spiritual lives: Jamyang Khyentse Chokyi Lodro. The folks at Remembering the Masters (h/t Blazing Splendor) have put together a fantastic memorial video. One of the most personally satisfying aspects of it, as far as sharing it, is the presence of Alak Zenkar Rinpoche, so you can finally get a glimpse of why he made such a huge impression on me during his visit to Mongolia.

And via Shambhala SunSpace, I see that some good souls have expanded on the subject I was so taken with before, Tsoknyi Rinpoche’s 3000 remarkable nuns and yoginis in the Nangchen region of Tibet, in a longer documentary film simply called “Blessings.” Turns out Tsoknyi Rinpoche also happens to be Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche’s older brother. Their father, Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche, also brought into this world Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche and Chokling Rinpoche. That’s called being seriously fruitful, man, and brings things nicely full circle.

Big announcement on Saturday, if the current deluge we're having here in Vermont doesn't somehow dislodge us from the mainland and float us off into the stormy North Atlantic.

Double Hmm

Well. That’s weird. I thought for sure the previous post would summon a couple of “Hey! Neat-o!” comments. It’s not every day that someone goes to the trouble and expense to arrange a live webcast from the Gobi Desert of the unearthing of some of the greatest trove of Mongolian Buddhist treasures that were concealed with death-defying courage nearly 70 years ago. But I suppose my version of neat-o isn’t everyone’s. Or perhaps you felt it, but didn’t feel like expressing it. That I definitely get, this blog notwithstanding. Ah well, once again I must declare the human heart and mind a nearly impenetrable mystery.

Off in a few hours with me mater to spend five days in “The Heart of Meditation” with Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche. You’re most welcome to chat amongst yourselves, but I’m not packing the laptop and won’t pop back up until five days from now, hopefully a wee bit kinder in my outlook.

Virtual Gobi Treasure Hunt

Well, there, did you feel that? The weirdness just lifted, like mist off the bay. And no, Mr. Comedian in the previous post's comments, the promised announcement was not about Jon and Kate. How do you even know about Jon and Kate in Outer Mongolia? Why do I even (vaguely) know about Jon and Kate? It is so time for an off-the grid retreat, man. My re-introduction to American media ‘culture’ has been shocking, and not in a good way.

At any rate, some friends of ours over the pond in Europistan seem to have it much more together. What I have to tell you about is bittersweet – sweet that it’s happening, a little bit bitter that I won’t be present to witness it.

In late 2004, I read a two-part article in the Tibet Foundation’s Newsletter about an extraordinary Buddhist lama who had made his seat in Mongolia’s eastern Gobi Desert in the 19^th century. His name was Danzan Ravjaa, and the article went on to detail the curious, parallel hereditary lineage of takhilch, the caretakers of Danzan Ravjaa’s spiritual legacy. Apparently, one takhilch in the early 20^th c., Tudev, possessed unusual foresight and courage. In the face of an advancing Red Army intent on demolishing any sign of Mongolia’s Buddhist culture, he had singlehandedly spirited away 64 crates of Danzan Ravjaa’s writings, texts, sacred objects, and other treasures. Painstakingly preparing the crates in traditional ways to withstand damage from the elements or critters (horse fat was somehow involved), he buried these crates in remote areas of the desert and committed their locations to memory, fearing any written list that would lead to their discovery and destruction. Then he went about his ordinary life, keeping his secret for decades.

The article then introduced me to Altangerel (Mongolian for “Golden Light”), Tudev’s grandson and the living takhilch. He had been rigorously trained from childhood to memorize not only the crates’ locations, but also the history and meaning of every single item contained within them. Tudev passed away just as religious freedom was dawning again in Mongolia in 1990 and never got to see the first crates of treasures Altangerel unearthed. But the Mongolian public and foreign travelers did. With some of the treasures from 32 of the crates, Altangerel re-established a version of the museum Danzan Ravjaa himself had maintained during his lifetime. Due to the lack of secure storage space, however, the rest of the crates were left in their sandy crypts.

It was this tale that fired my imagination like nothing had in ages, and inspired the title of this blog. A few months later, I would be on a plane to Mongolia and soon to travel many times to the East Gobi and develop a real love and respect for Altangerel, who I consider the finest person I met in Mongolia.

Now there is a new, expanded Danzan Ravjaa Museum, and Altangerel is slowly, year by year, bringing the rest of the crates out of their desert hiding spots. This year, however, is unusually special, because if you have a computer anywhere in the world you can be virtually present for this summer’s excavation!

I’ve been bursting to share this information for months, and now I can: On August 1, my friend Michael Eisenriegler and his team will be present in the Gobi with Altangerel to provide a free, live webcast of the unearthing of three of Danzan Ravjaa’s treasure crates and the disclosure of their contents. No one except the takhilch has seen these for more than 70 years. Brother Michael is Austrian, and has created this amazing event to coincide with the city of Linz, Austria being 2009’s “European Capital of Culture.” Michael made me swear to shut up about this until all the t’s were crossed and he had his website up. Well, now it’s up, so I urge you to go visit Gobi Treasure Hunt 2009, bookmark it, and circle August 1 in red to tune in for the webcast.

Now, are you more ambitious than that? Good! Michael is encouraging folks to organize live viewing events like those happening in Linz and Vienna (Ariel? DC Friends of Mongolia?), which will also give people the opportunity to contribute to the Danzan Ravjaa Museum and Khamariin Khiid Monastery. Please note you can also do that from the website, and I really encourage it. Michael’s a straight shooter and the funds will be delivered as promised and used as intended, I can assure you.

Michael’s also still seeking corporate and individual sponsors to help underwrite the costs of this event. The details are here. Please consider supporting this very worthy effort.

And as an added bonus, Altangerel has agreed to allow my Brazilian friend and accomplished photojournalist Haroldo Castro to be present, taking stills and notes for an article he’ll generate afterward.

Me? Sigh. I have had a standing invitation to attend these excavations for a couple of years now. But I will be deep into it at Palyul Retreat Center on August 1. However, if I’m reading the timing right, I think the broadcast begins at 6am US Eastern Time, so I’m going to do my best to join y’all online.

Hmm

The event I was going to announce today has encountered a bit of weirdness. I know Hunter S. Thompson said, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro,” but the truth is I’m a rank amateur. If things sort themselves out, we’ll have the announcement later this week.

Ecstatic Skronk

Before anything else, I should mention that Sister Tana dialed in with the news that a more professional video of the ceremonies for HH Penor Rinpoche’s mahaparinirvana and the attendant miraculous phenomena has just been posted in four parts on YouTube. There’s some astounding footage of more private devotions. Here’s Part I and you can find your way from there.

After a 12-hour car journey, I have arrived in Vermont for my mother’s birthday today – verboten to say which one, but I can safely report we’re still just in double digits. If you like, you can skim through my previous paeans here and here. My sister Laura’s arriving later and there are rumors of dinner out and cake.

The trip took so long first of all because I stopped by at my friends Chris and Crystal’s wooded home in North East, MD to check in on how Nita and The Mooj were faring at Mongolian Kitty Summer Camp. I’m happy to report that their conditions are marvelous – a spacious split-level home on a tidal inlet near where the North East River empties into the Chesapeake Bay; two adorable bright-blond children who think Mongolian kitties are just the koolest; a grizzled 16-year old salt of a tolerant tomcat to show them the ropes as far as tracking squirrels, skritching oak trunks, and teasing the neighbor’s dawg; and copious amounts of attention, love, and snax from the humans. In short, they’re in heaven.

The seemingly endless traffic afterward between the George Washington Bridge and Bridgeport, CT was made bearable only by the greatest radio station in the universe, WFMU, and its generous servings of American free jazz (Pharaoh Sanders, Marion Brown) and Euro free improvised music (classic FMP recording of Manfred Schoof and his all-star orchestra), all engaged in what the DJ eloquently described as “ecstatic skronk.”

I eventually rolled into Worcester, MA, on a mercy mission to deliver a comfy desk chair and homemade cookies to my nephew George, in between semesters there at Clark. I dug his new digs and met his roommates – apparently it was built into the lease that only those with full facial hair and standing 6’5” or taller were allowed residency. He regaled me over iced coffee with tales of his rockin’ summer internship with the wonderful Seven Hills Foundation (kid has the biggest heart – he’s truly happy when helping others) and later showed me how he was trying to make friends with the snarling, slavering, thankfully fenced-in Chow that lives across the street from him. Needless to say, scant friendliness was in evidence. Just before I left, the dog’s owner emerged from the house.

“That’s quite a dog you’ve got there,” I remarked.

“Who, Cracker?” he replied with a snort and a flat Mass accent. “That dog’s dumb as a pickle.”

Yes, well, that's why some of us have cats. I’m still laughing about that phrase this morning. Gonna steal it in the future at just the right moment.

Big announcement about Mongolia on Monday.

Wish I Were There

I see that Brother Don is reporting on Lama Erdenebat’s release event for the book we cooperatively produced – the first Mongolian translation of Patrul Rinpoche’s classic, The Words of My Perfect Teacher – with pix. Makes me wistful that I couldn’t have been there, but so pleased that we accomplished this. I was tipped to the event by another friend, one of Mongolia’s best dharma translators, who took time to contact me, praising both the quality of the translation itself and the print job. As to the latter, we must again thank the generosity of the Khyentse Foundation, a grant from which allowed us to opt for a high-end hardcover edition that can retail at a very affordable price, as well as the ability to give many copies away for free. My hope is that this will merely be the first of many such translations we can publish for the benefit of the Mongolian people and their re-emergent Buddhist culture.

Mysterious Ways

Well, after all that official fuss about Moojie and Nita on the Mongolian side, US Customs didn’t even ask to see their papers, just waved me through. I thought to say, “Hey, come on, I glued the photos in their kitty passports myself!” but summoned my habitual distrust of authority, nodded, and schlepped the beasts over the border into their new homeland. Not that they showed any appreciation. Nita may have set some new world record by meowing in outraged protest for 27 continuous hours (thanks for the headphones and wide movie selection, Korean Air Lines!). At Dulles, The Mooj looked like he’d just stared into the chasm of hell itself and wasn’t speaking to, or perhaps even recognizing, me.

But they’re troopers, and recovered quickly with some overnight TLC at my sister’s, only to be stuffed back in their cages this morning for another long ride. I felt like I was delivering illicit contraband as I met their new foster mommy Crystal in the parking lot of The Mall at Columbia (MD) for the big transfer. I assured my little babies that they were going to the coolest summer camp, a house in 11 acres of woodland on a Chesapeake Bay inlet. Shoot, I wanted to stay there! They appeared unconvinced, but they’ll thank me some day, or some life. I’ll look in on their situation Thursday morning on my way to New England.

Now, on to much more serious matters. Many of you generously responded to my pleas earlier this year for help in getting my Mongolian friend to America and I’m sure have been wondering what happened. As it turned out, with our trip getting turned upside down with the passing of Penor Rinpoche, and other factors beyond my understanding, she was unable to meet my teacher. But this may not have been the most beneficial route for her. When I returned to Mongolia, she stayed (legally, having been given a six-month stamp at the border). Her internal situation had always been disturbed, but about 10 days ago, I learned she had a real breakdown and was admitted to a psychiatric facility where she remains. In one way, this sounds like bad news, and of course she is suffering. On the other hand, if this had happened in Mongolia, there really would have been no adequate care for her. As it is, she is in many ways in the best possible situation to receive the care she needs. I’m working with friends and Mongolian Embassy officials to help as I’m able, but there may be little I can actually do at this point. To preserve her privacy, that’s probably the last I’ll say about this.

OK, seriously jet-lagged so I must stagger off in search of nourishment. More later.

Oh! Just quickly, the Mongolian edition of The Words of My Perfect Teacher turned out fantastic; the printer did an excellent job. As soon as I can get to a working camera, I'll show pix.

High Feline Drama

Well, the timing’s good for getting out of town, anyway. Yesterday began everyone’s favorite annual event – when the hot water gets cut off for two weeks while they service the pipes, and what does issue from the hot water tap attains a hue somewhat akin to weak, day-old coffee.

Lots to do today before the midnight flight since yesterday was dominated by cat drama, generated by the usually serene and accommodating Korean Airlines. Onon (no biblical jokes, please) at KAL’s Ulaanbaatar office was seeking permission/confirmation from Seoul for my feline baggage. I had gotten one largish cage to put both of them in, thinking they’d be a comfort to one another on the long, scary ride. It’s big ol’ Moojie, actually, who tends to be the cowering baby in these situations. Nita just hunkers down and you can almost see the thought bubble: “If I can survive being abandoned on the street in Mongolian winter, I can weather this, too.”

My phone rings. “Mr. Thomas?”

“Um, sort of, yes?”

“Korean Air says your cats can’t be in one cage.”

“Why?”

“The rules say only cats between 6 weeks and 18 months can be in a cage together.”

“Why? They’ve lived together for years. They really love each other. I mean, you know, in a brother sister kind of way.”

“That’s the rule.”

The Rule. OK, I agreed to exchange the large cage for two smaller ones once she got confirmation from Seoul of this plan. That was Thursday. Yesterday at lunch my phone rings.

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Yes.”

“Korean Air says you can only take one cat.”

Aroo? “But, hang on, yesterday two cats were OK. They need to be with each other and there’s nowhere here for them. My plans are all set. I leave tomorrow for heaven’s sake.”

“That’s what they say.”

I can hear that Onon is abashed and kind of sympathetic. “Um, Onon? Please, there must be some way to do this."

Onon ponders a moment. “Is one cat small? Less than five kilograms?”

“Nita? So small. Practically fits in your shirt pocket.”

“Less than five kilograms?” Onon was all business.

“I’m sure, yes. We weighed her at the animal doctor last week. In fact, she seems to be shrinking.”

Pause. “I’ll call you back.”

“Za.”

I’m in frantic Plan B generation with my friend Dolgor, who’s been my indispensable translator/helper this week, when the phone rings.

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Eeeyello.”

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Ahem. Yes.”

“Mr. Thomas, can you bring your cats in?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Can you bring your cats to the office so we can see them?”

“You’re joking.”

“No. Is it possible?”

Pinching my eyes. “Of course, Onon. Be happy too.”

So off we trooped to stuff Moojie and Nita in their carrying case and haul their carcasses over to the 2^nd floor of the Chingghis Khan Hotel. On the way I whispered, “Hey, Nita. Contract yourself some, OK? Look waifish and tiny. And Mooj? Just try not to barf on the office carpet, buddy.” I summoned whatever persuasive charm I could manage, and in we marched.

First I brought Nita out for inspection. The issue at hand was whether I could bring her into the cabin and stow her under the seat. This had become, apparently, a whole office project and they all came to look Nita over, one even taking her from me, hefting her a bit and, I swear, setting her on a desk and measuring her with a plastic ruler. Nita struggled only a little and was mostly stoic, and I had enough Mongolian to get that they were remarking, “Say, she is kinda petite.” I sensed victory and assured them I could get a smaller cage for The Mooj and a canvas animal tote bag from the pet shop for Nita in Economy. I didn’t show it, but I wasn’t at all happy about this, thinking about Moojie all alone and frightened for the very long flight in the baggage section when there seemed no good reason that we couldn’t have executed Plan A. Nonetheless, there we were. Onon punched the phone buttons for the Seoul office and did an admirable job of laying out a positive case for two beasts on the plane. Seoul put us on hold and Dolgor and I held our breath.

After Seoul clicked back on I could tell they’d relented. Moojie and Nita were on for their Big American Adventure. My elation was to be short-lived, however, when I asked through a fading smile, “Now, how much is this going to cost, exactly?”

Onon nodded thoughtfully. “Well...” said she, and proceeded to outline all sorts of Korean Airlines baggage regulation minutiae while earnestly poking at her calculator. It boiled down to this: beyond two pieces of luggage, other bags are extra and animals are double. $400. When we had talked the very first time about both cats in one cage, it was $200.

“So,” I inquired, “two hundred extra dollars to bring a tiny cat into the cabin?”

Onon nodded sadly. “Yes.”

All out of options and not wishing to push my luck, I nodded sadly in return. “So be it.”

With the final vaccinations and de-worming, production of all the necessary letters and documents for the Mongolian government, and the issuance of government health certificates, earning the right to schlep my little babies to America set me back more than five bills and required a solid two weeks of fairly constant bureaucratic negotiation. But I love them, and feel confident their lives will improve dramatically stateside. And I do look forward to their elaborate service in some future lifetime.

Many, many thanks to Chris in Maryland and Todd in Massachusetts for happily agreeing to be American foster daddies. I’m hoping that by September my life will stabilize some and the three of us can finally download Peaches ‘N’ Herb: “Reunited, and it feel so good...”

Satisfaction in Seven Lines

Last night our darling 105-year old Amaa’s main disciple Enkhtsetseg dropped by to wish me farewell for both of them. During our chat she confirmed something I’d heard a couple days earlier that brought a truly satisfied smile to my face. Jhado Rinpoche, a former abbot of the Dalai Lama’s Institute of Buddhist Dialectics, has been teaching at Gandan Monastery on one of his frequent visits. About two weeks ago he offered an empowerment for the Eight Manifestations of Guru Rinpoche. During the explanatory portion, he apparently spent some time extolling the manifold virtues of reciting the Vajra Seven Line Prayer to Guru Rinpoche. When he chanted it, there was just a handful of people chanting along; most had never heard of it. Guess where they learned it? Yep, from yours truly. I had about 500 cards left of the Mongolian translation we printed of this prayer. I gave it to my original informant and they will be distributed to the assembly the next time Jhado Rinpoche teaches. Thus, we’ve given away all 2000 we had printed. A good first step, methinks.

 

One treat in these last days before I leave has been the arrival of longtime DODR reader and frequent commenter Vedran from Croatia. On my good buddy list at the moment, since he just bought me pizza – I’m terribly shallow that way – I had wanted to share a photo, but the lens on my durn camera is refusing to budge. Luckily, Brother Don has just posted an update the project Vedran came to loan his construction skills to, the renovation of the house occupied one winter by Nicholas and Helena Roerich to open this July 6 as the Nicholas Roerich Residence Museum and Buddhist Art Institute. Before he offered a limited edition freebie of Roerich’s classic Shambhala tome, he uploaded an image of Brother Vedran’s handsome mug. Learn and enjoy.

 

And if you’d care to see my shameless promotional scribbling about Mongolia, dig our friend Ishee’s site for his unconditionally DODR-recommended tour company, Steppe Horse. I helped a brother out with a little tweaking of the text.

 

OK, back to purgin’ ‘n’ packin’.