Hot, Strong Coughing

Why? Why can I connect to Dr. Dick’s Dub Shack, empirically the most ferociously fabulous internet radio broadcast ever, here in Korea and not in Mongolia? Why, for that matter, can’t I get some kind of hyper-tech thingy surgically implanted into my medulla oblongata or thereabouts and have it beam directly into my cerebral cortex as the permanent soundtrack to my life?

At any rate, life’s not fully fair, but then again I am cozily ensconced in the sunny front parlor of DODR commenter Christian and his wife Hyun Hee’s stylish high-rise flat in Seoul, Jah Batta & Bullwackies All-Stars cranked to 11, belly fulla espresso and brioche, having had my first coughing-fit-free sleep in weeks, resting up to fly to Australia, so what could I possibly complain about? (“Oh, he’ll find something”...I heard that...) Dare I hope my recent inconvenient karmic episode is gasping its last? Hope it is, fear it’s not (joke for the Buddhists)...

Like life, it was a little nasty and a little hilarious there for a while, often simultaneously.

The good women of Dald Zasal hospital brought my fever down in a hurry. Once I broke the surface of the accompanying full-body sweat drench (I mean through my heavy robes and everything – I know we’re mostly water, but the volume that can be released is shocking sometimes, no?), I felt way better.

Except for the coughing. Man, the coughing. Sudden, relentless, absolutely indifferent to any and all suppression efforts, day and night, forcing tears out your eyes and leaving you helplessly gasping like a fish on a dock. The simple act of forming a spoken word or sitting up to get out of bed could set off a fit; forget about laughing. Which was especially tough because, as you well know, I have funny (to me) notions all the time. For instance, I considered the bit of weight I was dropping due to sweats and low appetite, and the punishing workout my abs were getting with the coughing spasms, and thought, “Man, am I going to be ripped when I hit the Australian beaches!” (Yeah right. Like I’m going anywhere near the sharks and stingrays and lethal jellyfish and 50-foot saltwater crocodiles and death clams and saber-toothed seagulls or whatever patrols the Aussie coastline, alert for newly-lean monastic morsels)

The solution to this hack-inducing, pnasty pneumonia? An antibiotic shot in the butt, every six hours. My daily decision-making boiled down to, “Right cheek or left?” Then, once a day, an alarmingly enormous shot in the arm, which flooded the body with moist-seeming heat and produced the uncomfortable sensation that one had peed the bed, followed by an IV drip for an hour, amped up with a vitamin mixture. These ladies weren’t fooling around and my attitude was, frankly, “Bring it on. Spike the glutes every hour on the hour if you want to.”

But here’s what’s weird. The hospital had this stuff, but when I asked for some cough medicine, the nurse shrugged apologetically and said, “Baikhgui.” “Don’t got none.” Cough medicine! I had heard this about many Mongolian hospitals. They’re on such skeletal budgets that they will diagnose the problem and prescribe the medicine but relatives/friends have to zip out to the pharmacy to obtain the goods. So I phoned a friend and ordered the khamgiin khuchtei em – strongest possible medicine – for coughing and was rewarded with a box of codeine-laced tablets from Russia (I sent a text message to Don Croner that read, "Guess what I'm having for dinner? Pizza and codeine!"). Not only could I sleep a little for the first time in three days, but my dreamlife became much more entertaining.

The situation with the lack of basic medicines is also true about food. You’re not fed (not even jello!) and everyone must rely on his or her family/social networks for nourishment. Fortunately, over the past two years I’ve cultivated many sweet and devoted friends who gave up so much of their personal time to care for me. Of course, this also had its funny moments. Such as person after well-meaning person leaning in and telling me, as if it were a newly-revealed truth, “You know what’s really good for you when you’re sick? Hot soup.” Guess what I downed buckets of?

More than my friends, I was profoundly amazed when two virtual strangers visited with home-cooked meals. One was Zoloo, a friend of Daka’s and hot soup evangelist who organizes tours of Mongolian singers in Germany and Austria, as well as Mongolian tours for those countries’ travelers. She met me with Daka on New Year’s Eve (stomped right in and kissed me on my two startled cheeks, very Euro but very un-Mongol), then showed up at ten the next morning (I was dead asleep and in my groggy confusion almost offered her my bare rump for a shot) with a thermos of hot tea made from Khovsgol Lake-area healing herbs; another of meat, mushroom and ginger soup; handmade vegetable and legume dumplings; and a still-warm, small loaf of five-grain bread she’d also just whipped up from scratch. Unbelievable. A certain Germanic intercultural specialist (who struck me physically as the cosmic Mongolian twin of my girl Alexandra in SF) is so my new best friend.

But a monk has no better friend than his lama. I awoke early on the 31st, the morning of my 42nd birthday, thinking this trumped my other odd, far-flung birthday, struck down by Ramses’ Revenge on my 25th in Cairo, just before plunging into Mother India for the first time. My cell phone rang at 8, and I could see it was an international call. I picked up, figuring it was my mama. I tried to let out a hearty hello, but found that day after day of incessant barking had finally strangled my voice into a strained whisper. So I mostly listened in grateful delight as Jetsunma’s attendant, Ani Alana, greeted me and then put my incomparable teacher on the speaker.

For the most part, I consider that one’s spiritual relationship with one’s teacher ought to be a private, inner matter. But I will tell you this: I have the most peculiar and automatic response to Jetsunma’s voice. I don’t mean with what she says. I mean just its tone and vibration. Somehow it lasers in and ignites the most secret core of my heart, beneath the rough layers of intellect, concept, and doubt. In there, I just know her. I always have. And this morning was no different. As soon as she said, “Hey buddy, how you doin’?” I was in tears. Not sad tears. Devotional tears. There’s a qualitative difference that’s impossible to describe, because it’s beyond mere words.

My mother and both my sisters did call later (including my niece Mary, with whom I’ve always been so delighted to share a birthday – she’s 18!), icing on what was the sweetest cake. After these four calls, my voice and energy were so shot but, believe it or not, I had made a promise to Daka that I would teach her the basic techniques of shamatha meditation before I left. She visited later, along with my Mongolian language teacher Oyunaa, and I’ve no idea how I rallied, but I did. I showed them the seven-point posture of Buddha Vairochana, guided them in cultivating concentration on the breath, and we sat together in silence for a time. And you know what? As my mind settled, my body relaxed and balanced out a bit, and the coughing stopped. I suspect that meditation just might be good for you!

So anyway, I got sprung on the afternoon of January 2nd, bacteria-free but very easily winded. I was accompanied by one of our UB students, Baljinnyam, who had just returned from a journey to India where she, and at least 250 other Mongols, attended a 5-day teaching with HH the Dalai Lama that had come about due to the request of Mongolia’s Gandan Monastery. While she excitedly related all the details of this for me, my other companion, Delgermaa, received a call from Lama Purevbat for me to come on over. I wanted to say no, but really couldn’t, and glad I didn’t.

For some months now, I’ve been privy to knowledge that Purevbat, head of the Mongolian Institute of Buddhist Arts, has been commissioned by the Mongolian Government to produce a mammoth, 18-meter appliqué thangka of the deity Vajrapani. “Why?” is a fair question to ask. The answer’s pretty interesting, and perhaps controversial.

From the Buddhist point of view, little is truly as it seems to our ordinary senses. So certain parts of the planet are regarded not just as populated landscapes, but in an inner way as the enlightenment fields of certain Buddhas. India is the field of the Buddhas’ activity display, Arya Tara; Tibet of the Buddha of Universal Compassion, Avalokiteshvara; China of the Buddha of Transcendent Wisdom, Manjushri; and Mongolia of the powerful enlightened protector of the highest tantric teachings, Vajrapani. Now, Vajrapani’s a pretty fierce fella, and for centuries there have been Mongolian lamas who believe that Chingghis Khan was an earthly emanation of Vajrapani, enacting the very wrathful aspect of enlightened activity. Thus, the thangka will feature Vajrapani as its central figure. Under him will be an enthroned Chingghis Khan, flanked by Ogedei Khan and Khubilai Khan. Above will be Shakyamuni Buddha flanked by Avalokiteshvara and Manjushri, all with elaborate decorative elements.

Until I came to Mongolia, I didn’t know what appliqué was. It’s a representational art form where the figures are rendered in skillfully cut, juxtaposed, and layered fabrics. Mongolians have preserved mastery of this art for countless generations, but it was almost lost. Purevbat and his wife Kim have been traveling all across Asia purchasing bolts of exquisite silk and other textiles. He had called me because he wanted to show me the beginning of the work before I left and I was more than eager.

Under Purevbat’s direction, a team of 27 has taken over one of Gandan Monastery's auditoriums. I was introduced to a woman there, at least 80, mostly responsible for the appliqué revival, under Purevbat’s patronage. She learned her skills as a child but was compelled to apply them to fabric banners of Lenin and Stalin and such during the Communist decades. She’s now a master teacher at MIBA and senior advisor on this project. I wandered in awe from table to table, watching women creating every exacting detail, including decorative embroidery, all by hand, no machines. They’d really just begun, but mark my words, when this is complete in about six months, probably unveiled in a ceremony on the day commemorating the Buddha’s enlightenment, it will be hailed as a global masterpiece. It seemed inappropriate and intrusive to take photos that day, but I should be on the scene in May or June to document the result for y’all.

Kim treated me to a healing Korean lunch and then I had to rush off to meet the UB study group and dispense some last-minute advice and instruction so they could stay on track during the two months I’ll be gone. Then, to the great joy of Mooj and Nita I spent the first night in my new apartment (Daka will be living there and caring for them while I’m gone, so don’t worry). Next day, I had an unavoidable, arm-long list of pre-travel errands to accomplish, before gratefully pouring myself into a Korean Air seat and winging my way to my current refuge.

Tomorrow night I fly to Brisbane, from which much, much more. Thanks from my heart to all of you for your prayers and kind wishes during this dopey illness. Seems I’ve mostly mended in record time, and can attend to my most crucial current preoccupation: what will be the first new Australian bird I see?

Comments

[Vedran]

I'm very glad you are feeling better Konchog. Have a nice trip to that land down under :-)
Excellent news about that huge Vajrapani thangka, thanks!

[Carol of Seattle]

Be sure to splint those ribs when you cough... it isn't too hard to actually break one when you're that sick!

[yeshe lhamo]

Dear Brother Konchog..
How kind you are to share all the stories of the glorious generosity and kindness of your Mongolian friends. They sound like absolutely wonderful people and I'm more glad than I can say that you all have each other.

The hospital stories were both scary (at the start) and moving (in the middle...e.g., the Director's office for your stay! Complete with Medicine Buddha and offerings)...and so heartening to read toward the conclusion, to hear of the amazing good care you received from the medical folks.

Absolutely very, very loud LOL reading the part about almost presenting your groggy butt to you new best friend in Mongolia.

It is wonderful to know you have such a nurturing refuge in Seoul with Christian and Hyun Hee.

The recounting of your call from Jetsunma brought immediate tears to my eyes as well. She is the best medicine, the Triple Gems incarnate.

Thanks so much for telling us about the Vajrapani applique and the amazing work of the women involved. You are eyes and ears for the rest of us about such a far-away place from most of us...thank you for sharing in such detail so we can be there too in some way.

Can't wait to read about the Australia visit. So glad to know you will be soaking up clean air and warm sunlight.

Take good care.

love and hugs,
yeshe

[Rinchen Gyatso]

My goodness. I've been out of touch. I haven't looked at a blog (or posted an entry on my own, I'm embarrased to say) for weeks.

I'm glad to hear your getting better. I was feeling whiney about a bad cold, but then I read about your illness and, well, I should just shut up.

Looking forward to hearing if you've been able to get out and about in Seoul, and about your tour through Austrailia. I'll be in Seoul myself for at least a year starting in June. Already collecting my new robes.

Be well and I wish you (and all sentient beings) good health and happiness in the new year.