Jerry Falwell's Next Rebirth & Other Paeons To Life

What a week. Just as I’m processing Tsenguun’s passing, I get back-to-back emails telling me one sister’s beloved family dog, Beenie, went to what she called “The Big Buffer Zone in the Sky” and my other sister’s equally beloved and ancient family cat, Fritz, finished up life #9. Yes, Fritz had a brother named Hans, but no, you philistine, they weren’t named after the SNL skit. They were named after the two incorrigibly naughty boys in The Katzenjammer Kids.

Tsenguun’s funeral service was painfully sad. There was chanting over the body, completely enshrouded except for his face, after which the assembled circumambulated him three times and had the opportunity to express final farewells. I’ve rarely felt my whole being wracked with grief as it was seeing Tsenguun’s mother and father raining tears down on their son as they cradled his head.

The assembly then left the viewing room and I saw Tsenguun off with a couple of others into the crematorium. Elaborate prayers in the main temple followed while the ashes were prepared in an urn fashioned as a large tsa-tsa, which resembles a stupa. More prayers, a monk adding nine sacred substances to the ashes, and then placement outside in a larger stupa.

The head of this temple is Lama Erdenebat, who is scheduled to go with us to America. I was deeply impressed by the professionalism, tact, and dignity of the proceedings and told him so. It’s the only such facility in Mongolia and tremendously comforting and valuable to this country’s Buddhists.

There were two details I observed that morning, though, that were so appallingly morbid and inadvertently tasteless they careened into blackest humor that I suspect no one else caught but me.

We gathered at Tsenguun’s parents’ apartment at 5:30am. Various friends and family were helping make and serve tea, etc. One came into the kitchen where we were seated. She wore pink sweat pants. As she faced the stove it was revealed that these were the kind of sweats sporting words written on the rear end, a terribly unfortunate trend. Bad enough, but in this case, given the circumstances, the display rose to the level of completely atrocious: arced across one bun blazed a large, white syllable “CAN,” and on the other, the syllable “CER.” I sincerely hope we were merely witnessing an astrological declaration on this young lady's part; it was all I could do not to bark out in shocked laughter.

The other stranger-than-fiction moment occurred when the mourners had gathered in the chapel to listen to the chanting that preceded the sealing of the urn. Everyone had been advised to shut off their cell phones’ ringers, but there’s always one, isn’t there? Of course, this one’s ringer went off loudly and instead of some peppy melody it played, I swear, Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.” You know, the ominous organ piece you always picture Count Dracula playing in his creepy Transylvania castle. Unbelievable.

OK, last thing about transitions, this time about the “Rev.” Jerry Falwell being called home. Brother Palzang writes in to say that he and others are busy praying for his auspicious human rebirth – as a black lesbian. Amen!

Now. I’m sick to death of talking about death. Let’s segue to the living, shall we? And what better way to start than with a recent pic of new BFF’s, Mooj and Nita. I know they don’t exactly look too lively, but there’s the undeniable “nawww” factor, no?

This past weekend I made another lightning-quick journey to Kharkhorin, the previous epicenter of the Mongol empire and site of one of Mongolia’s first monasteries, Erdene Zuu.

It’s a six-hour drive through vast, grassy emptinesses. At one point, we noticed a gathering of four hawks on the ground near the road and one of our party shouted, “Hey! There’s also a puppy there!”

“Oh, turn around! Turn around!” I rejoined, and so we did.

There was indeed a puppy, cowering against a concrete mile marker, with the hawks, practically drooling, lurking no more than twenty feet from her (given my recent canine gender education, I'm sure it's a "her"). I got out and when she saw me she bounded across the road to me, literally peeing all across the pavement in her wagging, whining relief. She was healthy, seemingly recently abandoned, but would almost certainly not survive the dangers of the steppe one more day if we left her. What to do? I picked her up, gave her a reassuring hug and cooed soft words, skritched her little ears and let her lick my nose, and plopped her in my lap in the car.

We fed and watered her and took her all the way to Kharkhorin. Getting there, we met Baasansuren, the head lama, and he said, “Well, hmm. Let’s give her to the monks at the monastery to take care of.” And so. This little girl went from nearly certain hawk/wolf food to a monastery dog one magic karmic instant!

Did I get a photo? Um, no. I went to do so, but the monks couldn’t find her; she was sleeping in some hidey-place somewhere. But she was the classic Mongol Dawg – “four-eyed” they call them because of the tan eyebrows on their black faces – and looked exactly like the ferocious guardian of the stupa factory I photographed last year.

Speaking of dawgs, high on my agenda, of course, was a reunion with Floki. This we did right upon arrival. We entered Baasaa’s compound and this huge fluffy enormousness galumphed across to me in full-butt-wagging joy. Floki had grown, in all directions, clearly a bit too well fed. Here’s the happy reunion:

I’m happy to report that while she was clearly pleased to see me, she had also become content where she was. She had a big doggy companion and a large, multi-family yard to run around in. But that didn’t prevent her from trying to pull that mournful-eye business and charm her way (unsuccessfully – there are rules) into the ger:

Comments

[kmkat]

Floki -- awwwww! The BFF felines -- awwww!

I'd like to quote your Jerry Falwell paragraph in my own blog -- with propert attribution of course -- if I might. It sums up his truly deserved reincarnation.

[Rinchen Gyatso]

I just love seeing the pictures of your animals. Keep 'em comin'!

By the way, I'm blogging again. :)

[Samaya]

I went to Smithville Flats, N.Y.,(Rod Serling did a Twilight Zone about this town 20 years back)to get a haircut last Thursday so that I wouldn't look like a shaggy dog for HH Penor Rinpoche's arrival at the nearby Palyul Center the next day.

The town's faded facades, rusty old trailers and dusty main drag make it clear that it was never a boomtown. In fact, you couldn't even say that it had seen better days.

Smithville Flats has a general store, (ammo and oreos, beer and butter), a few trailers, a post office,a haircutter, a haunted house, and two bars.

Owing, I am sure, to the spread of Dharma in the West, and HH affect on the local karma, Seeber's Bar has a Bodhisattva in residence. (leave out the part that he's a big sweet, German shepard) probably named after a Steely Dan song, but a Bodhisattva nontheless.

OOPS!Back to the haircut, (well, sort of)...

I sat in the chair, chatting about with Holly about this and that as she cut away the excess.

During a moment of silence,
my thoughts drifted to Gnosis......

..Who is our fat,friendly ground hog.Gnosis (Nosee)has made great inroads into our foundation this spring. Each evening, just before sunset, we hear her (him?) digging the proverbial hole to China in our mud basement. It had gotten to the point that I was sure I would soon see him (her) pop his (her)head into the dining room through the heating grate. Should I set an extra place for dinner? Or more, if Gnosis turned out to be a mom?

I asked Holly about where I could locate "have a heart" traps, thinking I could relocate my chubby chewer where he (she) could do no harm.

Holly, ever the saleswoman, said I could pick-up her trap when I came to pick up the kittens.

WHOA..."What kittens?" you might say, as I did. Did I miss a line or two?

NO, your reading skills are still intact.... Mike and I wanted a pair of kittens, but we never asked Holly about one. It was just that she was trying to get rid of her excess.

So, cutting done, we took off for Holly's place, picked up the trap and two adorable, black and white,grey-eyed babies, Nyima and Dawa. Nyima, a boy, with a tail. Dawa, a girl, without one. Hmmmm, very Freudian.

Freudian comments aside, it is wonderful that Lama Erdenebat has such tact and skill, in addition to his sweet singing voice. Lama and his group sang for us at our wedding this year in Tso Pema. I think the song was by Danzan Ravjaa, "Perfection of Qualities"

Having sat with many in mourning, (family, friends, and as a hospital Chaplain)I know how difficult a task it is. It is a blessing for those around him that he has perfected the qualities needed when comforting those who have lost a loved one.

When I met Lama Erdenebat at Tso Pema this year, I offered my home to him if he ever visited the states. Little did I know that he was planning to come to the Kalachakra.....with you and others from Mongolia. We have planned a little tent city in the yard here, and are eagerly anticipating the visit.

About the can...cer, no, I think I'll butt out of that one.

[Samaya]

And about Jerry's next life...I wish him the best. What was that bumper sticker?

Dharma-Sooner or Later.

[Judy]

Amen to the good wishes for Mr. Falwell's rebirth! A friend and I were just speculating on his amazement as to what and whom he may have found in the afterlife.

[Tom Robertson]

May Mr. Falwell never be separated from the happiness that is free from sorrow.

And may he be a FABULOUS transgender lesbian whilst experiencing that happyness!

[Jim]

Thanks for the pictures of the cats and Floki. She is starting to actually look like a St. Bernard!

[rho]

I have to agree with Jim -- I really think Floki has some St. Bernard in her.

I always feel so bad for families left behind at funerals - no matter that we know the person is no longer suffering and have gone on to the next great adventure -- it doesn't make it any easier when you are missing the person you love.

Love the pictures of the BFF and of course love Floki pictures.

[Palzang]

Nawww, they are cuties! And Floki looks like such a different doggie since you saved him. Thanks for rescuing the puppy as well.

Interesting how new life seems to arise in response to death, isn't it?

[Carol currently in Mongolia]

Murf... what nice kitty pictures! I can't wait to see them in person! Read your email, I sent you an invite for tomorrow.
And how funny is it to be in the same town and the most effective way to communicate is still email?

[Sarah]

Your "lighter moments of a funeral" stories made me think of the last lines of “The Horse’s Mouth,” when the hero is on his death bed, attended by a nun who’s worried because he keeps talking and getting himself “into a state.” He scolds her for taking it all so seriously, saying:

“I should laugh all round my neck at this minute if my shirt wasn’t a bit on the tight side.”

“It would be better for you to pray,” she admonishes.

“Same thing, mother.”