Dreaming Of Danzan Ravjaa

Konchogi's Bliss

When we got to Palyul Ling in New York, it was really hot and humid. How hot and humid? This hot and humid.

That's Dawa, one half of Nyima and Dawa, brother and sister kittens (whose names mean "sun" and "moon" in Tibetan) recently brought to my friend Samaya's house, where we're staying. Dawa's easy to identify. If you look carefully, you'll see she's bob-tailed. I figured maybe a kute kitty pic might provoke some commentary since y'all've been either awestruck or indifferent to the previous two posts.

A cold front and its accompanying thunderstorms have cooled everything off and now, to me, it's just bucolic bliss here. Spending time abroad, sometimes one forgets how truly gorgeous much of America is. And wild. Palyul Ling is such a peaceful oasis. Here is the newly-prayer flagged road up to the retreat center:

...and the main temple itself.

Somehow, as everyone's preparing for today's invasion of about 600 people for the start of the actual Kalachakra initiation, there's activity everywhere but it never seems frantic or neurotic. Justs steady and productive. Inside the temple, under the watchful eye of Guru Rinpoche...

...the retreat group has been chanting while some of the monks have created the Kalachakra sand mandala. This requires, of course, remarkably sustained concentration and steady hands:

Enkhtsetseg's capturing it all on film for her television program...

and Darisuren's capturing the atmosphere in her own special way. Her first remark when she got here was, "Wow. We need one of these places in Khovsgol [her home province in the sub-Siberian north]."

One great pleasure for me has been catching up with old friends I haven't seen in years. Like John Ward, the Master at the Controls who's been producing Jetsunma's new music (though not all the clips you can download at the link)...

...and so many others. To Darisuren's right in this photo is Tara Middleton, whose robust voice interweaves with Jetsunma's on many of the tracks they've recorded. Just wait'll you hear the new stuff. Soon, soon...

One Giant Step

I'm up in New York at Penor Rinpoche's retreat center now -- the Mongolian ladies will come tomorrow -- and though it's late and I'm tired, I wanted to quickly share some pictures from last night's Shower of Blessing ceremony. It was a fantastic, really aupicious occasion.

Prior to the ceremony, however, Enkhtsetseg had the opportunity to conduct a sit-down interview with Jetsunma to incorporate into her television program. Afterward we took the inevitable group photo, with Uyanga the translator...

...and then had a coupla yuks:

The Shower of Blessings tsog was well-populated; about 60 people came. Jetsunma led us in a long accumulation of the Seven Line Prayer:

Then she blessed malas:

Following this, it was time to present her with the offerings, invitations, and personal letters I had carried from Mongolia. Unfortunately, I was the presenter (as well as the chant leader during the ceremony), thus the dearth of certain photos. I'll have them soon from other sources. But in the meantime, you get a sense here of the joy and pleasure that accompanied this exchange when Darisuren made her presentation and I could snap pics:

One amazing gift Darisuren gave had a funny story attached. Apparently she recently went with a friend to a special place in Arkhangai province where there are 108 springs. They had gone to see an old woman with a reputation as a real dakini. The friend offered an ancient, very rare blue khatag (ceremonial scarf) to the old woman. She expected to get it back, but much to her surprise the old woman turned around and gave the khatag to Darisuren! She explained to Jetsunma that it was at least 300 years old, woven with a pattern depicting Shakyamuni Buddha and his two disciples. Jetsunma accepted it with great happiness:

But the best part of all by far was Jetsunma's declaration from the throne that she had formed the firm intention to make a short trip to Mongolia this September. She made it clear, though, that this was dependent on Penor Rinpoche's OK, which we'll seek later this week. But we just moved one giant step toward a great blessing for Mongolia.

Cookin' with Mongols

Ever wonder what Brother Konchog looks like when creating these silly dispatches? What? Well, I’m gonna show you anyway, even though I’m a little mortified at the evident loss of my chin, inspired, apparently, by my hair. Good Lord, age 41 and I’m already turning into my father. What I’m listening to is an advance copy of the music CD Jetsunma’s about to release. All I can say is…look out.

In the middle now of a small Mongolia whirlwind at KPC.

I labored almost non-stop the past three days to create a PowerPoint presentation about our Mongolian Buddhism Revival Project. It’s the first time I’d messed with this program but I have the 2007 version and it’s quite intuitive. I tried to think of it as a live version of the blog – you know, brilliant, hilarious, profound. About 30-40 people turned up and they seemed to dig it.

The aspect they responded the most strongly to was this year’s effort to get young Mongols to India for intensive Buddhist training. Why? Cuz this year we’re sending the ladies.

I met with Altangerel before I left and asked what he most would like us to cooperate with this year. He said he felt the time had come to launch a project to rebuild Khamar Monastery’s women’s temple. This complex had been called Toinag Datsan – the temple of the wrathful black dakini Tröma Nagmo, who’s the central figure of devotion in the practice of Chöd. While he’s secured a sponsor to rebuild the physical structure, he asked us to see about underwriting the ten young women and two older chaperones he’d indentified as candidates to be sent. They’ll be trained for many years at His Holiness Penor Rinpoche’s Tsogyal Shedrup Dargyeling Nunnery.

I already have two sponsors committed and explained that it costs about $1000 to sponsor one nun’s travel. Darn if at the end of the talk I didn’t have pledges for four more, getting us halfway. Not bad for an hour’s work. But we still have six more to sponsor before the summer's out. If this sounds like a way you'd like to contribute, drop me a line at konnorbu at yahoo dot com.

That afternoon my friend Enkhe, the owner of UB’s esteemed Silk Road restaurant, turned up with Enkhtsetseg who had the time of her life in Indianapolis and Chicago. As I mentioned, he’s on a tour to film episodes of his weekly Mongolian National TV cooking show that will be broadcast under the umbrella title “Cooking in America.” He got right to work while the ladies filmed:

As I looked through my photos I thought this one was hilarious. He’ll kill me for putting it up, but doesn’t it look like he’s mocking the lettuce leaf to make his Mongol viewers laugh?

To be fair and balanced, here's a picture Ani Dawa took which is the mood in which you usually find Enkhe, hence my fondness for him:

Unfortunately, Jetsunma wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t make it. But she sent her attendant Alana over with gifts and a beautiful message for Darisuren. She first talked about their connection saying she felt sure she had been Darisuren’s teacher in the past (Darisuren told me later she felt the same the second she saw Jetsunma's photo back in Mongolia). She said she was conserving her energy for the most important event, which was the Shower of Blessing tsog we’ll hold tonight. But she praised Darisuren’s efforts and affirmed she would not forget or abandon Mongolia. She told her in no uncertain terms, “I will come.” Darisuren seemed pretty pleased to hear this:

The central gift she offered was this necklace of hers, which Darisuren promptly donned:

If you’re in the DC area, the ceremony tonight is open to the public and will begin at KPC Maryland at 7pm.

DC Events

Been a big slacker in the promotion department. Let us take up the slack forthwith.

"The Rise of Mongolian Buddhism and the Role of the West"

This is the title of a talk and slide show I'll be giving at KPC Maryland this Sunday, June 24, at 11am. I hear I'm doing same in Olympia, Washington next month, but details I have not. Carol of Seattle?

Then, on Monday night at 7pm, we'll offer a special Shower of Blessings with tsog offering, also at KPC Maryland, to honor the Guru Rinpoche Day. This will be a wonderful event, as afterward my Mongolian companions and I will present Jetsunma with the letters and offerings we brought for her.

And...well, that's it. After Monday, we'll make our way to NY for HH Penor Rinpoche's Kalachakra initiation. This whole trip has been very seats-of-our-pantsy, but somehow everything's working out fine. If you're in the DC area, hope to see you this weekend!

Birthday Girl

One of the main reasons Brother Konchog planned to return to these American shores just now was to be present to fete his mother on the grand occasion of her 80th birthday. She reached and passed this august milestone yesterday amidst feasting and gifts proffered from near and far, and it is here that I’ll cease referring to myself in the third person (just rented a DVD of The Queen) and share a couple pics with you.

Ma requested fish, so out we trooped – immediate family with Darisuren as special guest – to Legal Seafoods for dinner. Here’s the gang, stuffed to the, um, gills:

And a nice shot of Ma and Darisuren:

Afterward, we repaired to the house for strawberry shortcake. Not wishing to provoke the Hot Shots into smashing through the door with axes, and to ensure Ma got her wish, we set strict limits on the candles:

Before I left Mongolia, I was deeply touched by the many friends who knew it was a special birthday for my mother and pressed upon me gifts to carry to her with their warm greetings. One of the most adorable was Amarjargal, the nine-year old daughter of Baljinnyam. Remember her from the Khamariin Khiid pilgrimage?

She made four drawings before I left, two for my teachers, one for me, and one for Ma, depicting a pastoral Mongolian scene with their five main animals admirably depicted: goat, camel, cow, horse, and sheep:

My Mongolian language teacher sent these funky felt slippers…

…and she and my friend Saraa helped me select this gorgeous cashmere sweater:

Darisuren herself presented Ma with a lovely golden khatag, symbolic of the wish for long life, along with several lovely gifts – yet another cashmere garment, a bolt of exquisite royal purple fabric, and a small thangka of Shakyamuni Buddha:

It was a lovely evening, and made up somewhat for my regret that I can’t attend the big shindig in Vermont next month that my sisters are organizing for all Ma’s friends and family.

Love you, mama. May there be many, many more.

Gifts

OK, I know DODR has been neglected terribly just as we’ve launched on a big adventure. Lemme wield the feather duster a bit, clear out the cobwebs…there. Much better, don’t you think?

Though there’s sometimes little evidence from your side, I actually think about the blog all the time, like a fretful daddy. Two considerations dominate: Is what’s happening worth writing about? And do I have the time/strength/faculties to write about it properly?

At first I thought the answer to the former was no – do you really need to see pics of my travel companions in the UB airport? Well, OK, yes you do, because they were so adorable in their unrestrained excitement:

But do you really need to see them posed in front of the White House? No, because you-know-who lives there, and anyway it’s corny. Or at the Natural History Museum among what seemed like three quarters of America’s adolescent population? Not really. Or shots from our visit to the zoo? Maybe just one, cuz it captures something of Enkhtsetseg’s endearing goofiness and her sheer pleasure that day – Mongolia, for obvious climatic reasons, has no zoo and we had a real ball gawking at all the critters:

But as the inevitable tourist jaunts came to an end and more important events shaped up, the second consideration came into play – my debilitating jet-lag morphed into a nasty cold complete with fever. I needed rest so badly and there never seemed time.

But yesterday was a magic day, and I suddenly feel much improved this morning, so let’s git to it.
Though KPC Maryland is open 24/7, Sunday is our big public day. I really wanted to go because I knew it would be my chance to reconnect with everyone I hadn’t seen in so long, promote next weekend’s events a bit, etc. But it didn’t look good at first. I woke up feeling awful, the original plan to go out with my mother seemed to be dissolving, and I wasn’t rousing any enthusiasm among others in the house to ferry me there.
I thought, “Well, maybe I should just sleep off the cold today.” And an inner voice responded, “No. You have to go.” So I called the one person from the temple I knew lived close. Oddly, he was home, and willing to take me. Off we went.

What hadn’t even occurred to me was that I might see my teacher that day. But it soon became clear that she would teach at 2pm. Darisuren was there, and my young friend Oyungaa to translate, so I made sure they had front-row seats. Once I’d taken care of those I needed to care for, I sat and let my own eager feelings rise as I waited. I had not seen my teacher’s face in nearly four years.

When she arrived, and I first saw her, I spontaneously felt just as the texts describe – all my hair stood on end, tears streamed down my face, and I was suffused to my core with such devotion and love as to resist description. Jetsunma ascended her teaching throne, saw me, lit up, and beckoned me over for a big Italian lama bear hug. I introduced Darisuren, and then we settled in for her teaching.

Jetsunma has been making music. She’s deep into a process of creating really smoking hot tracks bearing meaningful lyrics and the sound of mantra – dharma you can dance to. But at the same time, she has also turned her mind to more contemplative, devotional music based on our traditional chants and prayers. And just this week, she released her latest creation, a new way to sing a prayer to Amitabha Buddha, from a practice called Phowa, the method to achieve an auspicious transition at the time of death. She described Amitabha’s special qualities, the melody’s genesis, and the benefits of playing it for those approaching the time of their passing (not just people – animals, too). The teaching was so gorgeous in its hopefulness, even in these strangely dark times.

You can hear the prayer online here on a continuous loop or as a download, and there’s a click over to Palyul Productions, where you can order a free CD. Please take advantage of this. The prayer, and this melody, provides a blessing for those approaching death that has nothing to do with being Buddhist or not. And it’s even nice to listen to while we’re still very much alive! And, you know, it’s totally free.

Interested in the hipper side of Jetsunma’s music? Dig it here. And here.

After the teaching ended, Darisuren made an offering of several gifts – a carpet for sitting, a silver bowl, bolts of exquisite fabric, and they had a very sweet conversation.

But after, that was the surprise. Jetsunma came down and began to leave, but then stopped next to Darisuren. She then took off her upper robe (called a zen) and told her she wanted Darisuren to have it. I spoke with Jetsunma’s attendant later, who said Jetsunma remarked that it was a totally spontaneous gesture, and she’d never offered her Dharma clothing to anyone before. It seemed a strong indication that a visit to Mongolia was all but assured. And I managed to get a fantastic photo of the moment:

Bless My Seoul

At Incheon Airport and cursing the fact that this computer has no photo processing software. Coulda done it on my laptop but now it's an (immaculately clean!) mile away. Stay tuned.

Got the midnight flight from Ulaanbaatar with Darisuren and Enkhtsetseg. At the airport saw Sean, a Peace Corps volunteer I know. He'd made arrangements for his brightest student, a young woman named Tsetsgee, to spend the summer in America learning English. She, like Enkhtsetseg (some of you may have noticed that an awful lot of Mongolian women have "tsetseg" somewhere in their name. Means "flower"), had never been on an airplane before, and was also going to DC. Would we look after her? Mais oui! Now we are four.

Boarding the plane, I saw a group checking in, all similarly uniformed, that at first I thought were Boy Scouts, tho a tad on the old side. Sitting on the plane and watching them file in, however, I saw that their insignia, emblazoned on cap and shirt and everything else, was a stylized, blood-red cross on a black background. Yikes! It was a Korean Jesus Army! I tried to let my tattoos show and look tough. I mean, the imagery was militant to the edge of fascist.

Then after everyone settled in and the plane pushed back, I heard the guy behind me try to strike up a conversation with the Mongolian woman to his left. After some broken small talk, the inevitable, "Do you go to church?" To which the Mongolian politely inquired, "Huh?" "You know," he repeated, "church?" Blank stare. "Church," he persisted and then went on to say the word, seriously, about a dozen times, with what I imagine were an increasingly inventive set of hand gestures, line drawings, and perhaps a puppet show complete with diorama for all I know.

Then he started in with the other words (maybe this time intertwining his fingers in front of the pin light to make shadow figures) -- "Jesus," "Christian," etc., at which point the Mongolian made a noise that after two years I now recognize as an artfully vague combination of "Ooooh, I get it" and "Holy moly am I glad this isn't the transpacific leg stuck next to this yahoo."

My eavesdropping continued apace, and it was revealed that this group of Christian soldiers were Korean, yes, but lived in L.A. They had come over to Mongolia with the urgent mission of building an entire church in 6 days. Surefire way to feel smug about your virtue (It's just like God! And the universe!) and ensure you never actually meet a Mongolian on their terms, learn their language, or anything about their culture. Good thing for him the sweet pumpkin porridge we were served was quite delicious, because I entertained fantasies of turning around and dumping it on his head. After we landed, I did turn to look at the woman he had been accosting. She took in my robes and rewarded me with a radiant smile, which I happily returned. 'Nuff said.

OK, my internet hour's almost up and I think I have a plane to catch! So, just two quick things:

1. I'm a little surprised no one in my family at least took a stab at the previous post's prizeless contest. Maybe it was really too obscure. The phrase "The fan is bust!" was meant to recall the hilarious sequence that ensued in Pogo Comics after the turtle Churchy LaFemme hollered "The dam is bust!" So obscure I can't even find a link to a drawing; there was only one faint reference in the Harvard Crimson. At least my obtuseness is in exalted company.

2. While I'm on the endless flight from Seoul to DC, do go look at the exquisite photography my friend Gaz has put up at his Flickr site. I mean, click through all four pages; he's a rare talent. He was the Leedsman I misidentified as Irish, who accompanied me on one of the Gobi trips. A couple photos from that trip grace the site, including one immortal one on the first page from our ger camp, entitled "Gobi Soccer Pitch." Enjoy; more soon. As my friend Tod would say, "Korea desk out."

...over teakettle

There’s an inconvenient truth here in Mongolia just now – it’s utterly, revoltingly, bloody scorching hot. It’s been spiking above 90 for days and tomorrow it’s supposed to top out at 102! What is this, Riyadh? This coupled with a relentless wind that hurls dust onto your perspiring skin until you feel like some kind of Swamp Thing when all you’ve done is slog out to the corner store for some bread. And, of course, my cheap Chinese fan has chosen just this moment to crap out (at which point I made myself laugh by saying, “The fan is bust!” – this is another prizeless contest to guess the reference; I suspect someone in my family will grab the ring on this one).

Ah, but no matter. In three days I’ll be winging my way to America, at which time…the forecast high in UB is 69 and I’ll be landing in Washington DC. Well, at least when I return in late July it’ll be almost Mongolian winter again.

Everything’s moving at the speed of light and it’s all topsy-turvy and here’s an update. Ready?

{deep inhale}So I open my email yesterday to see how it’s going arranging lodging and translators and such for my Mongolian ladies when I get a new message from one of the temple event coordinators saying, “Just got word that His Holiness has cancelled his visit to Maryland. Does that change things?” and I say to my monitor, “Well, yes. Yes it does a bit” and maybe I also say “Duh” and I’m thinking, “Oh, great. What am I going to do with two Mongolians for two weeks while we wait to head up to the Kalachakra initiation? There are only so many Smithsonian museums, and my mom’s coming down for her 80th, and…” then I get a call from Enke, you know, Enke who owns Silk Road restaurant and speaks English with an Italian accent? that Enke, and he says, “Hey Konchog! When’re you going to be in DC? I’m there on the 10th” and I say, “How come?” and he says (cuz he’s also a chef) that he’s touring around to film a show he’s calling “Cooking in America” and first he says, “I want to film a segment at your temple” and I’m like, “Awesome” and he says, “Yeah but my cameraman didn’t get a visa” and oh boy do Konchog’s lights go on and I say, “Hey! I’m traveling with a young lady who works cameras for TV1 and suddenly has nothing to do” and he’s like, “Dude!” and I ask what are his plans and he says he’s going to Chicago and then Indianapolis where, he boasts, he’ll be cooking in the infield at the Indianapolis Speedway because they’re racing Formula 1 cars and he’s been a Formula 1 nut forever and then he’s back to DC and up to New York where we’re also going and I say, “You know Penor Rinpoche’s giving the Kalachakra, right?” and he says, “No way!” being a happy Buddhist guy and we think the same thought, ie, why not come up and cook there and take the initiation and suddenly I’m like, “Wow. What I thought was pretty much a disaster…” oh yeah I forgot I also got a brief cell phone message yesterday from Erdenebat that read “Dear goncig I can’t go sorry usa” after the considerable trouble of securing him a rare and precious American visa but he has good reasons and feels terrible so yeah, anyway, I’m thinking I have a real disaster in the making but then it seems my 23-year old companion who’s never been out of Mongolia is suddenly going to be driving through a good chunk of my lovely country and will hang in the infield at Indianapolis and take in the Windy City and her little mind’s gonna be blown (oh I should mention that Enke’s wife is also going so this isn’t some elaborate hanky-panky ploy) and there’s now room for Darisuren at the temple who’s much more contemplative-minded and can view her time as semi-retreat and then we’ll all come back together and whip up a feast for the cameras at KPC, I’ll give my talk with Darisuren on the 24th, we’ll hop in a car, zoom up to Samaya’s place in NY and experience all the lead-up – sand mandala construction and what-not – to the Kalachakra and then it’ll be over and I’ll put the Mongolian ladies in a southbound car, certain that they will get to the airport July 4 and head back to Mongolia full of fabulous American memories and I’ll head up to my mammy’s in Vermont, kiss her on both cheeks, and sleep for three days.

Constant Change

One recent bucolic afternoon basking on the windowsill...

Ah, sweet summer lub...

Sigh. I wish this moment would last forever. Thaaaat's it. A little more to the right.

Your other right, you worthless hairball! Yer mama! No, yer mama! No, yer...

It's funny. I can't get that Fleetwood Mac song out of my head. "Did she make you cry...make you break down...shatter your illusions of love?"

Life conspires that way. Also to highlight impermanence, but not always in ways that set the fur to flying. For example, yesterday morning my last three remaining applicants still had not heard one way or the other about their US visas. But this morning? Visafied!

It's official. Lama Erdenebat, Darisuren and Enkhtsetseg will form my posse for three weeks in the good ol' US of A. The anchor events are His Holiness Penor Rinpoche conferring empowerments at KPC Maryland, and performing the Kalachakra Initiation at the Palyul Retreat Center in McDonough, NY.

There'll be more, and I'll post details soon, but right now I gotta get offline and catch a call from my mama. That's right, I said my mama.

Pilgrimage

Our pilgrimage to Khamarin Khiid almost didn’t happen.

On the morning before we were to leave, I got a call from the folks down there saying, “Oh, it’s very busy. There are no cars.” As in, no vans to get us from the train station to the ger camp, and none to get us to the monastery and sacred sites.

“Um, you know I’m coming with 25 people who all have bought their train tickets already, right?”

“Yes, we’re trying. Very sorry. The governor ordered some of our cars for a scientific group. We couldn’t say no.”

Ah, adventures in petty fiefdoms.

I figured I’d start at the top to work this out, and got in touch with Sharavdorj, who’s an MP from there as well as born and raised. Sometimes I’m smart. Within an hour he’d hooked us up. The next day we left breathing easy.

But the breathing easy part didn’t last too long. The deeper the train plunged into the Gobi, the more the wind kicked up. Then the car attendant had us close all the windows.

“Ikh shoroo orch baina.” Big dust storm coming.

She wasn’t exaggerating. First the gray-brown clouds billowed up from the horizon, then they obscured the sun, and then the train curved around and got swallowed by the sand.

The car windows revealed total, violent brown-out. City Mongols stared out in wonder and not a little fear. We could barely see the power poles that run parallel to the track. I recalled Altangerel’s response when I asked him if I could do another short cave retreat this spring.

“Not a good idea,” he said. “This time of year the storms come suddenly. If you’re caught outside, you can get really disoriented and lost. Also, the dust and sand can be so thick you can barely breathe. Either way you risk your life. Seriously.”

Noted. Retreat re-scheduled for October.

The storm was still raging as we pulled into Sainshand. No choice but to disembark and eat it. Literally. I swaddled my head in my upper robe, but still sand blew into every orifice. Passengers huddled on the lee side of whatever shelter they could find, including each other. Everyone looked so insignificant, fragile. It was a good lesson, a typical Gobi lesson.

Fortunately, our drivers were right on time. We enthusiastically piled in and zoomed off, racing the impending sunset. Even so, we temporarily lost the desert track a couple of times, but not too alarmingly. One only has to follow the electric lines to get to the camp. After a small hot meal, we turned in early. It was going to be action-packed the following day.

The day we had come for was Saga Dawa Duchen, the most important holy day on the Buddhist calendar. It honors the extraordinary events of Shakyamuni Buddha’s birth, enlightenment, and parinirvana (passing into “remainderless nirvana,” ie, no body anymore). It’s said that due to the colossal merit generated by these events, any action performed by the faithful on these days – positive or negative – increases in force by 10,000,000 times. We wuz good boys and girls, natch.

Having a ger to myself, I woke up early, roused by a truly welcome five minutes of rain just at dawn. I started the day with the confessional ceremony the ordained perform on the new and full moon. Then I read aloud the longish Ariyapariyesana Sutra (“The Noble Search”) in which the Buddha describes how one should abandon, as he did, seeking after that which is subject to birth, ageing, sickness, death, sorrow, and defilement – impermanent worldly phenomena – and instead seek the “unborn, unageing, deathless, sorrowless, and undefiled supreme security from bondage, Nirvana.” Solid advice, that.

The group had decided on a meatless diet for the day, so we dined on milk rice and these fabulously addictive twisty cruller things they make. A short intro from yours truly and off we went.

First item on the agenda was a feast offering in the Padmasanbhava Temple. They were already rockin’ out in the “yellow tradition” temple, so I went there to pay my respects to the head honcho, Dush Lama. I told him what we were up to and was shocked by his response.

“No!” he said “No way. That’s only to be done on the 10th and 25th days. No. Everyone should be in here joining with this chanting.”

“Um, but, I cleared this with Altangerel several weeks ago…”

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?!”

So I quietly said OK, you're the boss, and went to tell the group. We had just started dismantling our offerings when Baatar Lama came in and said, “Dush Lama wants to know how long this will take.”

“Ninety minutes, two hours max.”

“OK then. You can do it.”

And so we did. The highlight for me was that one of our oldest members, a deeply devout Buddhist named Chulundulam, oversaw the ritual aspects. I’m afraid that as the chant leader, I really couldn’t take photos. Afterward, however, I got a very nice portrait of Chulundulam and her granddaughter Sugar (I swear; pronounced “soo-gar”, tho).

They look positively regal, don’t they? Dig this: Sugar has lived in Istanbul for the past eight years training as a competitive bodybuilder! Not the usual track for a Mongol woman. She’s returning there very soon, just as my nineteen-year old nephew will be visiting. Think he’d like to meet her? Hmm…

Her appearance was most welcome also because regular DODR reader and commenter Carol of Seattle is here and joined us on this trip. It just so happens Carol lived for four years in Turkey and before you knew it, the two of them were happily chatting away in fluent Turkish.

Here’s Carol (on the right) and the other ladies paying homage at the Dakini Ovoo where it’s ladies-only and us fellas have to stay to the side and just snap pics. Chulundulam’s got a particularly stylish way of tossing on offerings, huh?

Well, check out Darisuren (in the orange). Looks like she’s throwing out the first pitch of the season!

From there it was off to Shambhala. Given the still-brisk wind, the group elected to drive rather than walk. Once inside, the first stop was depositing lists of one’s bad deeds into the “Stomach of the Hungry Ghost” to be set on fire and thus purified. Here, Carol burns hers up while Sugar prays that it really works and one diligent pilgrim in the back furiously scribbles a few more naughties that she just remembered.

As always, vodka offerings toward the sacred mountain of the Third Noyon Khutagt (Danzan Ravjaa was the fifth) were hurled into the air with great gusto. Unfortunately, the wind often blew the liquid back and all of us got such a vodka shower that I secretly rejoiced we had no smokers on the trip. It would be hard to convince the group that self-immolation was a positive sign.

Then to the power center, the “brain ovoo” at the back of the site. It’s here that Danzan Ravjaa said if one sang his song “Perfect Qualities” just once it would be like performing 1000 Green Tara pujas. Needless to say, the ladies belted it right out. These pictures crack me up for two reasons. One is that there is this idea that if you raise your arms you get the full jolt of cosmic energy available here. But honestly, doesn’t it look like a come-to-Jesus revival meeting? The other funny thing is how the two guys on the right are too cool to raise their arms.

I had suggested after they sing that we all just sit and meditate, resting in our natural minds, free from discursive thinking. That went great – for about 60 seconds. One dubious quality of this ovoo is that it seems the only spot for miles that you can get cell phone reception. So very quickly several in our party were excitedly shouting into their phones. I found out later that the gist of all their conversations was like this:

“Dude, you’ll never guess where I am! I’m at the energy center at Shambhala in the Gobi! Totally, dude! I called you to send you some of the energy! Can you feel the energy? Raise one of your arms! What? Speak up! I can hardly hear you! Praise Jesus!”

It was annoying to the point where it became hilarious.

Carol said she had had this thing to go to the Gobi Desert since she was small. To my mind, there’s no more classic Gobi vista than the expanse behind Shambhala. So I took her picture with her new friend Saraa so she’d have the memory back in Seattle.

Last stop was the meditation cave site. Not much to say about this, but I will share a fabulous photo in which I captured the exuberant silliness of my young friend Amarjargal, while her loving mama Baljinnyam (in pink short-sleeve) looks on.

Back to Sainshand, where we were surprised to encounter a host of fancy, classic cars until I remembered that I had met the Swiss guy last year who was organizing a Peking-Paris road rally to commemorate the same event from 100 years ago.

The group took in the Danzan Ravjaa Museum while I met with Altangerel to get everything squared away with him before I leave for America.

The most touching part of the whole journey came on the train platform before we boarded. The grandma, Chulundulam, came up to me and said it had been her life’s dream to come to Khamariin Khiid but until now there had been every kind of obstacle. It was one of the highlights of her life, she said, and she would be devoted to Guru Rinpoche until the day she died.