The Circle Of Life

The first gift for Mongolia I received was underwear from a nun. And not just any underwear. A kind of space-age fabric long underwear. Well, thank you, Ani Dorje. I know you were concerned about icy winds blowing up my shantab (our lower robe). Turns out that’s a fairly relentless occurrence in “the countryside”. But my high-tech underbritches kept me nice and toasty.

What a mind-blowing 24 hours. But before I get into it, I should say something about the night before. I stayed at the home of Robert and Zaya and we had barely arrived when a high-decibel Mongolian phone conversation sent everyone into excited activity.

Hmmm. The grass in the park outside my window seems to be on fire. It’s even going up a tree a little bit but everyone’s walking by like nothing’s happening. This place is surreal sometimes.

Anyway, it seemed that their daughter had a singing gig in Singapore (yup, I see the joke in there, but I’m passing. Oh, OK, once she gets there, the place’ll be Singarich). Whoever rigged it up called to say he needed her there Monday. On Friday night. So, Zaya was put in charge of frantic phone calls, while Robert and I hoofed it over to Nomin’s rehearsal space.

The news was received by Nomin as just part of the normal course of life. She’s been a performance pro for four years (she’s 15 now). So, we settled in to take in the rehearsal of her new ensemble. Nomin’s idea is to blend contemporary pop with trad Mongolian elements. A recorded track provides the rhythm and break effects, and then these are her live musicians. The long stringed instrument on the right is a yadak (big in Korea, too); the square, dulcimer-like instrument is a yochin; the ubiquitous horse-head fiddle is a moriinhur; and the big fella with no instrument provides backing vocals using the amazing khomeii overtone throat-singing technique. There’s also an acoustic guitarist.

I thought the sound was really cool and worked most effectively on the original tunes. They’re catchy and have great heart in the lyrics. This girl has the chops and personality to go big. You heard it here first. Check it out for yourself. She records and performs under the name Nominjin, which means Blue Turquoise Princess. Her website’s here.

OK, ready to go to the countryside? Well, c’mon then!

Yikes. Fire outside’s grown a bit.

It was a boys-only excursion as Robert and I were met by Munkhbaatar, a Gandan monk trained some in India who speaks very good English. Threw some provisions in his Toyota truck and off we went. Heading west, we quickly left the more industrial section of UB behind and suddenly sped into endless grassy hills. After some time we turned onto what must read on the map as “Dirt Track On The Left”. About a bumpy mile later, there was Robert’s pride and joy – the red-roofed country dream home he and Zaya completed last summer. Here’s one of the two Mongolian horses he owns.

After a quick tour of the house (palatial bathroom that we couldn’t use because the septic tank was frozen), it was decided we’d take a walk and visit the neighbors. After humping up a substantial hill that revealed yet again how pathetically out of shape I am, here was the vista into the valley where the neighbors live, with Munkhbaatar heading down.

I say “live” and should probably say “stay”. To my delight, the neighbors are a traditional nomadic herding family headed by Munkhbayar, and this was their winter camp. As we approached, the inevitable hound dogs came barking at us (one customarily hails a ger one’s visiting not with “Yoo-hoo!” but with “Hey! Hold your dogs!”) but it was all show and anyhow was quickly drowned out by dozens of bleating sheep and goats and a couple of milk cows.

Munkhbayar greeted us and invited us into his family’s ger. I was both excited and nervous. This was the first time I would experience the legendary hospitality of a far-flung, nomadic people, but at the same time I knew there was quite a bit of etiquette and ritual to be observed and though I’d been studying up, still worried I’d make a major boo-boo. Luckily, I could ask for and receive instructions sotto voce in English from Robert and Munkhbaatar.

The first things I knew – step over the threshold, not on top of it, and proceed clockwise. Within the circle, guests sit from about 9 o’clock to 12, and the family from 1 to 6. Once seated, the first move among adult males, monks or not, is to exchange snuff bottles. It’s OK that I didn’t have one; I just had to open his, smell it, and make appreciative expressions. The non-monk snuffed up a little. Then you return it with the top open a tad.

Knowing the translations of the Mongolian names, I found it secretly funny that the men in the ger were Everlasting Hero, Everlasting Happiness, Supremely Rare Jewel, and Bob.

Butter tea and a bowl of biscuits and candies are served, then there’s small talk, asking about the family, the livestock, agreeing that the winter hadn’t been too bad, etc. Somewhere in here the small table in front of me started emitting tiny bleats. For a sec, I wondered what was in the snuff bottle, then I remembered that newborn animals don’t have the fat or fur to withstand the cold and are brought inside. At one point Mrs. Munkhbayar cradled the baby goat and fed it a bottle. Too precious. I didn't take pictures, though, because it just didn't feel right on my first visit.

The family talk then took an unexpected turn. Robert had told me that Munkhbayar’s father, Lanchig, had been a Mongol prince pre-communism and was one of the only ones left. I was eager to meet him, but we discovered he had just recently died. I had noticed the Buddhist altar so I wasn’t surprised when Munkhbaatar translated that the man was asking me to say some prayers for his father. Yes, of course I will, I said, nodding sympathetically. No, said Munkhbaatar, like right now. Ah. Really? Me? OK, um, sure. Tell him sure I will. Gulp.

Luckily, there was a little time while they got out a butter lamp and some incense made from the local pines to light as offerings to the altar. I hastily rehearsed a melody in my head, and when the time was right, spoke a little about Amitabha Buddha and his commitment to helping sentient beings make auspicious transitions at the time of death. I then sang the mantras and prayers from Tertön Migyur Dorje’s Amitabha practice which really have a lovely tune, recited a mala of the mantra, and did a short dedication prayer. I then said that the mantra was not just for monks to recite, but that his family could also do so, and not just for his father, but for any being that dies, including their animals. The man then asked Munkhbaatar to write the mantra down in Cyrillic letters, which he did. The whole process seemed to satisfy the family and we were asked to stay for lunch.

From my side, it was one of the more poignant moments in my life as a monk, experiencing this ancient and profound exchange that members of my order have been participating in for 2600 years. Devoted lay followers offer some physical nourishment, and the monks offer some spiritual nourishment in the form of prayers and encouragement in the Buddhist way of life. It didn’t matter that I was American. I was wearing the robes of the Buddha and that was enough.

While lunch was being prepared, we went outside to admire the animals. As three puppies tumbled around our feet, we watched activities as old as time. Here, a daughter cleaned twin lambs that had been born the night before while Mama Sheep gently fussed around her. There, the sons combed out the wool of cashmere goats, a somewhat risky move this time of year since it left the goats more vulnerable to a freak cold snap. In the front yard, Papa greeted a man who had trotted over on his horse to discuss something of mutual importance. Small children ran around, playing as much with the lambs and kids and calves as with each other.

Going back in the ger, Mama remarked that it was auspicious to come in just as food is being served, and happily handed us bowls of mutton and rice stew. Over lunch we discussed deeper matters. Mama asked us about her concern that one of her sons wanted to go to a Christian church and was it OK to pray to Jesus? I said of course it was OK, as long as it was helping him increase good qualities like compassion, humility, and loving-kindness. Then Robert suggested she ask the Christians if it was OK to pray to Buddha. I thought that was pretty shrewd. Talk then turned to politics and the upcoming presidential election and then Mama had a lot to say.

Two bowls of stew and some more tea later, I have to say it was one of the best meals of my life. I was really pleased when, on the walk home, Robert said I made a very good impression and they had asked him to bring me back. I hope he does.

When we got back the other two napped while I roamed about searching for birds. Virtually none were in evidence, so I found a sunny spot in the forest sheltered from the wind and meditated some, just so in love with this land.

During an early dinner, the caretaker came in to report there was a grass fire, so we drove the Toyota to the scene. Turns out the day’s high winds had whipped up some embers from a dung fire at an abandoned winter camp that had been burning about a month. We joined the two men there in shoveling and dispersing the embers onto the burnt patches and stomping out the ones we could see.

After chatting a while around our own fire in the house we all slept a deep country sleep. The harsh reality of life intruded on our morning coffee, however. The caretaker again came in and took us to the window. Not 100 yards from the house, wolves in the night had killed and partially eaten a horse from a local herd. I went out to take a close look, simply because I have never seen the effects of large carnivores. I mean, wolves? It was so Brothers Grimm. It was gruesome, of course, but it made me reflect on how much birth and death I had encountered in just 24 hours. It made me understand how naturally Mongolians understand the Buddha’s teachings on non-attachment, their lives being suffused with the immediate experiences of impermanence.

Well now, look at that. A soft rain shower just came through and put out the fire.

Mongolian Birding

Birders will understand how pumped I was to encounter a brand-new habitat, and will also understand how I had to resign myself to the fact that non-birders were conducting the pace of activities. Like way too fast for proper birding. Nonetheless, I picked up five new species for the country, four of which were lifers. Common Kestrel (also called Eurasian Kestrel) I’d seen in France, but the new ones were Great Grey Shrike (my birding friends in Arizona will laugh, since this is the very same Northern Shrike we unsuccessfully searched so long for this winter), Hill Pigeon, Isabelline Wheatear, and Black-eared Kite. There were larks aplenty, but we were moving too fast to ID them. I suspect I also saw Merlin and Cinereous Vulture, but didn’t get good enough looks to call them for sure. Heard woodpecker drumming this morning, which makes me hanker to get back in those woods.

Comments

[Annie]

This is an amazing journey. We are so blessed that you allow us to be a part of it. Each posting turns into a "family night" adventure. Thanks so very much!

Annie, David, and Marissa

[Janine]

Let me say it again: Thank you, Cuzzin Tom, for introducing us to this most amazing land and people.

[Joan Barradale]

Hi Tom: Your Mother and I do weight training at the gym and she has told me all about you and your wonderful experience! You write so well! I hope you do a book some day on all of this. Keep your reports coming! Warmest regards, Joan P.S. I live in the country (Guilford) just outside of Brattleboro.

[Chris H.]

Gonchig... you are doing an amazing job of keeping us all on this adventure with you. I am up way too late after finally diggin'into this blog. Nomin has an amazing voice! I had visions of a joint effort between she and Tara M someday...

Miss Belle sends her love. I stop by occasionally so she doesn't think that last room on the left is up for grabs! Today she crapped in Zippy's bed because it was so windy in Sedona that the bedroom door blew shut. (Her litter box is in the laundry room now)... she and Sarah are pleasantly unaware of each other so keeping all doors open works just fine!
Tashi Delek and keep tickling the keyboard... this is just awesome! I laugh at the thought of a number of Google searches for "ejaculation" or "tits" landing readers in the middle of your dharma adventure... skillful means my friend!