Dreaming Of Danzan Ravjaa

The Light in Your Window -- Updated

This post is a bit long, so if you absolutely don't have time for the effervescent prose and thought-provoking details, at least make sure not to miss the photo at the end – KN

Thanksgiving...is such a bizarre concept for a Buddhist monk in Mongolia, even as an American. First of all, there’s the little hitch we don’t talk about much, that Buddhist analysis of, well, reality disallows the existence of a creative, omnipotent, merciful deity to whom one would give thanks. So there’s that. But leaving aside esoteric theology (atheology?), it’s 19F/-7C (you’re welcome, Christian) at 12:30PM with air pollution so thick I can see maybe four blocks down the street; I’m totally listless after two days of food poisoning (bad mutton dumplings! bad!) have resulted in a purge of all of my body’s effluvia in every way imaginable; I’ve been forced to recall that cats, though I love them, are about the least empathetic beings when you’re sick (“Excuse me! Get your barfy butt out of bed and get with the Friskies distribution, stat!”); and the morning’s news tells me another clear-thinking group of homicidal maniacs has unleashed its fury in a city I quite like, Mumbai, on such pivotal political targets as railway passengers and frigging hospital patients.

{pant, pant}

But. Sustaining this Mr. Whiny routine is boring, is it not? I’ve had quite a lot of time to think the past few days, and there’s actually so much to be grateful for, and not just that I discovered Penguin has recently announced August 2009 as the release date for Thomas Pynchon’s new novel, Inherent Vice.

Yesterday, I hauled my sorry carcass up to the Mongolian National Broadcasting building, answering an invite to be interviewed for a TV program called Gereltei Tsonkh. This means “Lit Window,” and refers to the late-night TV glow. It’s the last show they air before signing off, meant to offer something positive at the end of the day. “Oh, what time is it on?” asked I. “When the movie’s over.” Right.

Anyway, I feigned health and vitality and taped a 15-minute segment with the friendly host, Sara, on the subject of Buddhism in America and our MBRP project here. (If you’re in UB, and so inclined, it’ll air next Tue., Dec. 2. After the movie.) As we talked, it really struck me – I have a lot of freedom, and for this I am grateful. This is especially true in terms of pursuing my spiritual path.

Is this true for you, too? Just in general?

Yeah? Excellent. But aren’t these also the times when we consider others who are not as fortunate, who are struggling for the most basic rights for themselves and their people?

I’m particularly thinking of Burma. There are such brave Buddhist monks and nuns there, trying to secure the simplest humane changes to benefit their fellow Burmese, and currently they're getting crushed by the military junta for their troubles.

Monk Ashin Gambira (amazing biography here), a leader of so many others, has been slammed with a total of 68 years in jail.

Many other Burmese monks are fugitives in their own country, on the run from intelligence units, for the unspeakable crime of mass street chanting of the Metta Sutra (the Buddha’s short discourse on loving kindness – oh look, I’m in tears just typing that, the irony is so brutal) in the streets.

Shoot, they’ve tossed Burma’s most famous comedian, Zarganar, in jail for 45 years. 45 years! (updated) Now a total of 59 years "...for helping Nargis cyclone victims and speaking to foreign media about the situation of millions of people left homeless in [the] Cyclone devastated Irrawaddy delta."

The UN reaction? An extremely cowardly and weak resolution condemning the Burmese government’s gross human rights violations: 89 nations in favor, 29 opposed (guess who? coughChinacough), and 63 abstentions. I’m happy to report Mongolia voted for it, one of only four Asian nations to do so.

The email alerts I receive from the heroic U.S. Campaign from Burma are urging folks like you (yes, you) to keep sending messages to UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon, via this site, to personally visit Burma, and to support an all-important arms embargo (did you know Burma has the world’s largest number of child soldiers, often being bought and sold by military recruiters?).

So let’s work together to try to make an impact on this, whaddya say?

And so we don’t end on this sour note, in the spirit of “Lit Window,” I want to share an amazing photo with you. It’s of a young Australian woman named Sophie who is now Venerable Lozang Wangmo. She and her mother (a Chan Buddhist meditator) came to my Dharma talk in Brisbane earlier this year. We chatted afterward, and even though I gave Sophie the cautionary rap about getting ordained so young (she’s maybe 20?), she went and done did it anyway. Now curiously, her brother and wife are Muslim, and they so kindly sent me this, about the most radiantly beautiful picture I’ve ever seen. Isn't this what you'd like the world to look like? For that, I'd give thanks.

Best of everything to you, Ven. Lozang, and I hope we meet again. May you attain supreme enlightenment swiftly, cuz look around. We really need you.

What a Croc!

OK, waxing on about marmot cuisine is entertaining, sure, but it quickly fades into irrelevance when compared to an animated Crocodile Cowboy singing a twangy song about meditation instruction, complete with some kind of Thai yodeling. It's over at The Worst Horse (of course, of course) and you really have to see it right now. No, seriously, put down that budget report and click here. I had the barfs all night due to some bad mutton dumplings, and still it made me laugh for 15 minutes.

Marmot is a Dish Best Served Cold

I forgot to mention that on Sunday, after birding, in addition to being served mutton ribs and some concoction of tea, rice, milk and more mutton bits, I was offered a delicacy for the first time in my Mongolian odyssey: chilled marmot. Um, not the whole thing, mind you. Just a couple of fatty slivers, presented as if they were nightingale tongues. They might as well have been. As I gently chided my hosts (good friends), poaching of the Siberian Marmot has resulted in a severe decline in its population over the last couple of decades.

Oh, and marmots are the primary vector in Mongolia for outbreaks of bubonic plague (that whump you just heard was my mother hitting the floor).

Nonetheless, as a monk I’m obligated to sample what is offered to me, even if it’s cold marmot fat. And you know what? I pronounced it pretty darn tasty, provoking much laughter at the table, along with variations of, “Ooh, Gonchig’s a real Mongolian monk now!”

I did decline the fermented mare’s milk, though. By this time of year (airag is fresh in June/July), the alcohol content would present a pretty clear transgression of my precepts.

Free Mental Health Clinic -- Updated

There’s plenty to share with you and write about this week, but I’ve been feeling so out-of-sorts the past couple of days and in that condition, little of any value gets written. This morning I’m going out to my friends’ summer home on the outskirts of town (yes, I know it’s not summer; for heaven’s sake, as I type this at 9AM, it’s 5F/-15C outside – it’s autumn) for a bit of a mental health break. I’m gonna gorge on buuz, see what birds are still about (please, almighty Zeus, send me a White-backed Woodpecker), suck in a couple lungfuls of clean air (then go inside and thaw out my lungs), chat with my buds in front of the fire, nap, so forth.

Update: Birding last year's burn area in the valley above Nukht truly satisfied my winter woodpecker jones and yielded a gorgeous lifer, Eurasian Bullfinch, as well as a surprise newbie for the UB area, Siberian Accentor.

And just in case y’all need a mental health break of your own, here are a couple new shots of Little Miss Padma (not making the world’s most convincing case for her pregnancy; if things aren’t moving along by the end of the week, we’re marching back to the vet for a second opinion) luxuriating in yet another sunbeam. She look pregnant to you?

You're welcome. See ya in a day or two.

Shakyamuni Buddha Was A Mongol?! -- Updated x2

I know I’m a bit late to the party, but the situation in Burma has really crawled under my skin. The near-daily meting out of outrageous prison sentences after secret trials to lay and monastic leaders of 2007’s Saffron Revolution – monks Ashin Gambira and Ashin Kelasa just got 12 and 35 years respectively –  has drawn a United Nations condemnation (h/t Tricycle Blog), for whatever that’s worth. Lord knows they’ve earned it, but man.

Update I: Ashin Ganbira just got another 15 years tacked onto his 12, and his case is apparently still open. Maybe the junta is gonna try to imprison him in future rebirths as well.

What does history show us? How can we effectively support a people struggling to emerge from such abominable oppression, especially when the 800 lb. gorilla in the room is China and its voracious appetite for Burma’s resources? I’m seriously asking. Online petitions seem such a futile and ridiculous gesture.

So how does this relate to the post title? Well, when I’m trying to wrap my head around something like Burma’s complex politics and culture, the first thing I do is gorge on information. Yesterday I was reading up on the history of Buddhism within Burma – it’s so much more profound than I realized and I’ll drop tidbits in here once in a while. But one passage I read yesterday just blew my mind. I was skimming through Roger Bischoff’s Buddhism in Myanmar: A Short History (pdf here) and my eyeballs popped when I read this on pp. 15-6:

“A tradition of Myanmar says that Tagaung [in northern Burma] was founded by Abhiraja, a prince of the Sakyans (the tribe of the Buddha), who had migrated to Upper Myanmar from Nepal in the ninth century BC. The city was subsequently conquered by the Chinese in approximately 600 BC, and Pagan and Prome were founded by refugees fleeing southward. In fact, some historians believe that, like the Myanmar [one of Burma’s major ethnic groups], the Sakyans were a Mongolian rather than an Indo-Aryan race, and that the Buddha’s clansmen were derived from Mongolian stock.”

What?! I never heard this before, and I’ve no idea who “some historians” are, but intend to find out. I know it’s a long shot, but if any of you can shed some light on this matter, please do so in the comments. I know my Mongolian friends would just love to claim the Buddha as one of their own!

Update II: I asked the same question over at E-Sangha, and got a very informative discussion rolling, that not only addresses the issue in a really fascinating way, but also veers off into tangents about cool subjects that folks like Don Croner love, such as Caucasian mummies in the Tarim Basin. Yow!

Of Ultimate Reality, Buddhist Mother's Day, and Mutton Dumplings -- Updated

Update: OMG. Scarily apropos of the following, I was just wasting time playing with this anagram generator, and discovered that my full Buddhist name, Thubten Konchog Norbu, is an anagram for "Beckon Unborn Thought." This is a vast improvement over my Western name, which yields "Ashram Fray Month" and "Fart Harmony Mash." If you go play, and I know you will, use the advanced search to limit the possible results; otherwise you get, like, 50,000. And please share yours!

Original post: So how’s this for bizarre? My yahoo email account is working fine. Everyone’s getting the messages I send, except for one: my reply to the query from my mother’s Buddhist study group about ultimate reality (wish they’d just asked for the recipe for mutton dumplings!) and the story behind tomorrow’s Buddhist holiday, Lha Bab Duchen. Neither could she retrieve the file when I sent it through Skype. So I have no choice but to post it here, also honoring Lama Kunzang’s request (though maybe he was being facetious; he’s vastly more learned than I) in previous comments. I feel quite shy about this, since I know so little and can only mouth the words I’ve heard from good teachers. Therefore, I offer this with the caveat that any of you are welcome to challenge or correct my words in the comments:

“Hi Ma (and everyone),

It was great to connect with your group last Tuesday. I hope it’s a regular date! Remember to tell Pete, or whoever, that you need to get your external speakers functioning, and to hook up an external microphone, with long enough cables so both reach into the living room. Explain what it’s for; it’s really not difficult to hook up. Then we can all meet in ease and comfort.

Regarding Joan’s query concerning ultimate reality, emptiness, the absolute, Buddha Nature (many names for the same thing), I always start with a quote from Shantideva:

‘Relative and absolute,

These the two truths are declared to be.

The absolute is not within the reach of intellect,

For intellect is grounded in the relative.’

In other words, we can talk about ultimate reality all we like, but so long as there is an ‘I’ (the subject) thinking about a separate object termed ‘ultimate reality,’ we’ll never really get it, cuz there’s no ‘it’ to get. Nevertheless, we can approach the subject like this, quoted from the Heart Sutra:

‘Form is emptiness; emptiness also is form. Form is no other than emptiness, emptiness is no other than form.’

Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche’s comparison with modern quantum physics was simply pointing out, I think, that as physicists study phenomena in more and more minute ways, they are coming closer to understanding what the Buddha understood:  there have never been any fundamental, irreducible building blocks to matter. Everything arises in dependence on something else, so there is no fixed reality. If there were some fixed element, seen from the opposite angle, we would never see things change. But of course things change all the time. Impermanence is the rule because things are empty; empty of inherent reality.

Now this is important to realize so we can reduce and finally eliminate our attachment to the things around us. We can relax into the truth of impermanence, no longer falling into frustration and depression when things change, as they inevitably do, or cling to what we consider the positive parts of our experience. But perhaps more importantly, this same principle applies equally to us and our minds.

We must examine the ‘I’ that we cherish so much, that we seek to adorn, parade around, defend, and accumulate pleasurable experiences for – our slave-master, in other words! This ‘I,’ according to the Buddha is simply a mental concept we project onto the temporary, and ever-changing, complex of our body and mental states. We can, and should, verify this for ourselves through our own contemplation and meditation. Every arisen aspect of our physical and mental being is dependent of something else; no aspect of our personal reality has unchanging, independent existence. If it did, we would not experience change in our bodies or our minds. But can we agree that we do? I hope so!

Therefore, look closely. Where is this ‘constant’ we term ‘I’ and then extend to ‘my,’ with all the grasping and trouble that comes from that? Look at every element of your body and ask, ‘Is this “I”?’ Look again and see if you can identify an ‘I’ that might be separate from the body, or one that somehow pervades the body. Do you find it?

Sit, as Rinpoche suggests, and calmly observe the arising and passing away of thoughts, moods, feelings, sensations. Where do they come from? Where do they go? What is their essence? Is ‘I’ this mind? What is mind? Where is mind? Try to identify a ‘thing’ that you can definitely say ‘this is mind and it looks like this and it resides right here all the time.’

Such timeless and crucial contemplations serve to bring us closer to the experience of ultimate reality. It’s a state free of the false concept of ego, or ideas of separate phenomena, that, as the Buddha said, are at the very root of every problem we have ever experienced or will experience. If we want stable happiness, and an end to suffering, which is completely possible for all of us, we absolutely must consider these matters, and meditate.

Then, we must consider that such slavery to the ego-concept is the plight of all unenlightened beings, exactly the same as us, in fact inseparable. From this point of view, a strong steady flow of compassion arises, fueling our quest for the enlightened state, with all of its power to bring about the liberation of others. But this is another topic; maybe that’s enough for you guys to chew on for now.

As to Lha Bab Duchen ("The Great Time of the Buddha's Descent from the God's Realm"), the 10,000,000 Day coming up this Wednesday, the story is as follows:

The queen of the Shakyas, Mahamaya, gave birth to Prince Siddhartha, in the pleasure grove at Lumbini, now just inside Nepal on the modern Indian border. Amazingly, she passed away seven days later. But, due to the strong merit of being the conduit for a future Buddha to enter the world, she was reborn in the very highest of the god realms, called the “Heaven of the 33.” This is a place of great pleasure, and nearly perfect contentment, except for one thing: it’s still a dependently arisen state within samsara. So while life there is extremely prolonged, it is ultimately impermanent, with the next rebirth likely to be much less nice. And because of the constant pleasure and length of life, beings there aren’t very motivated at all to pursue the path to enlightenment. They think things are mostly fine as they are.

So. At one point after the Buddha’s enlightenment, he considered his mother with compassion, and formed the resolve to bring about her liberation, as well as the others in that realm. To accomplish this, he simply disappeared from this world and reappeared in this god realm to teach and lead the beings there to enlightenment.

Needless to say, his disciples here on earth were pretty freaked out by his sudden disappearance. They prayed and prayed for his return. After three months of our earth time (time is apparently experienced quite differently in the god realms), the Buddha did return. The texts say three ladders appeared from the sky, the Buddha descending on one made of lapis lazuli, flanked by the gods Indra and Brahma of ladders of gold and silver, fanning the Buddha and issuing praises.

Whether or not you choose to believe the story as told, the holiday on Wednesday commemorates the Buddha’s return to complete his teaching career on earth, after this brief sojourn to liberate his mother and her companions. As such, it has a special place in my heart. I call it the Buddhist Mother’s Day!

Due to the power of the merit accumulated by the Buddha on this day, those connected to him with faith (like us) who accumulate virtue on this day are said to store merit multiplied to a factor of 10,000,000. Now, be careful! The opposite is also true, with non-virtue also increasing greatly in strength. I will spend the whole day in practice, and hope you too can find the time for some prayer, mantra accumulation, meditation, and/or ordinary acts of kindness.

In any case, at least be mindful of how you speak and act with others; generate compassion and good will as much as possible. Your future lives will thank you!

I’m really looking forward to being with all of you again through the magic of the internet!

Love,

Konchog”

One Small Good Deed -- Updated x2

Things are dreadful in Myanmar. But you can do one small, good deed this weekend.

It seems Myanmar's illegal military junta is tightening the stranglehold on its people through long jail terms for dissidents rounded up after last year’s protests. This includes many of my brave monastic brothers. The Buddhist Channel reports that, following the sentence of Ven. Ashin Saddhamma to 19 years in prison, five other monks have been handed 6 ½ years each for “unlawful assembly, participating in illegal associations, inducing crimes against public tranquility and committing disaffection towards the state and government.” (The Buddhist Channel maintains an invaluable news archive documenting Burmese atrocities here.)

I just discovered that one incredibly brave Burmese monk (if he’s living inside Myanmar; it’s not clear -- update: I see from his bio at this site that he is in exile, probably in Sri Lanka), Ven. Ashin Mettacara, is blogging about the repression within his country. Please bookmark and read him.

He reports that the monks got off relatively easy;  23 leaders of the protests, from the pro-democracy group "88 Generation," were each slapped with 65-year sentences (of at least 60 jailed altogether) and 28-year old blogger Nay Phone Wat got 20 years for “creating public alarm” and possession of a banned video.

And just to add what will probably not be the final insult to anyone’s sense of humanity and justice, 24-year old journalist Ein Khaing Oo was just sentenced to two years in jail for publishing critical coverage of the junta’s tragically corrupt response to the aftermath of Cyclone Nargis.

In a detail too perfect for fiction, Ms. Oo is being held in Insein Prison.

It seems this mass suppression of dissent is being executed to create mass intimidation before next year’s show election.

So. Your one small good deed. The U.S. Campaign for Burma is collecting signatures for a petition to be presented to UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon, insisting that he put pressure on the Myanmar government to release these political prisoners. Please go sign it here.

Update II: I should have done this some time ago, but I've added a Burmese resource links section at right. What kind of world do we live in where Buddhist monks are jailed for peaceful protest? Can we change it? Yes we can.

Shafts Of Light

The past couple of weeks have been light on meaty, project-related blog posts because I’ve been having some truly bizarre and upsetting obstacles that I can’t write about just yet. But, as often happens, we are surprised by shafts of light slicing through the storm clouds.

For example, my mother. As I’ve mentioned, Ma’s become a Buddhist herself and hosts a small group of her like-minded friends for Buddhist study and meditation each Tuesday night. They begin, Ma explained, "with prayers and dessert." My kinda crowd! One woman had been serving as a kind of facilitator but alas, things happened, and they have parted ways. So, through the magic of free PC-to-PC communication via Skype, much to their wonder and delight, I was able to join them direct from Outer Mongolia to Brattleboro, VT. We had a couple of technical glitches which limited what we could accomplish that night, but I was so tickled the next day when Ma sent me an email, which read in part:

“Thanks for last night. The ladies just love you.  Please email 1) the gist of your reply to Joan's query about ultimate reality and 2) an explanation of next week's 10,000,000 day.”

Can you stand it? My mother asking for a recap so she and her lady friends can understand ultimate reality a little more clearly! It’s just the joy of my life. She'll think I'm being sarcastic saying that, but I'm not. Garbled response coming atcha tomorrow, Ma!

Then, today, I visited a small temple, Jangchub Tegchenlin, on the north side of town that has Padmasambhava as the main focus. I like the young lama, Shinen Denzel. I got this great pic by saying to him, “Listen. This is a Mongolian picture so NO SMILING!”

His mother is a lifelong Buddhist practitioner, having maintained secret ceremonies with her lama and a select group throughout the Communist years. It’s hard to convey how risky this was, how your entire social and economic world could have collapsed if you were discovered by the wrong people. She’s returning tomorrow from a long visit to Hungary. I can’t wait to meet her. We’re hoping maybe we can do our own rituals on the 10^th and 25^th lunar days in this temple.

And, finally, another cute shot of Miss Padma. This evening I found her deep in meditation, Princess and the Pea style, on the stack of four cushions underneath my altar:

I think I found the perfect taker for the kitten once it appears. But you know how I am. It’s gonna be a severe test of non-attachment to let it go, I’m sure. As it is, the wait is killing me!

Happiness is a Warm Sunbeam

Padma is settling in nicely, deciding that life off the street ain’t too shabby. Especially with south-facing windows.

I, on the other hand, bolted out of bed at 1:30AM because she was restless and making funny noises and I thought she was going into labor. Had the water half-boiled before I realized she’s just a nocturnal creature, up and about making funny noises. If this is a glimpse of what my approach to fatherhood might have been, perhaps we can all be grateful I chose a monastic vocation.

Mongolian Home for Wayward Girls

Listen, the post title wasn’t a cheap attempt to score traffic from drooling geezers searching for “Mongolian girls,” and if that’s you...well, keep reading, DODR is a big tent. Then turn yourself in.

No, this tale is headed in a slightly different direction.

Last weekend, my friend Sara had arranged for me to be interviewed for a newspaper called Ardchulal, which mean “Democracy.” The interview was fine, I suppose. You can read it online here if your Mongolian skillz r sharp. 

Afterward, Sara and I were strolling down the sun-dappled lane and chatting when I stopped short and said, “Hey! A cat!” Sara looked at the cat and cocked an eyebrow at me to commend my astute powers of observation.

Well, in my defense, cats on Ulaanbaatar streets are rare, and this one was rarer still. She didn’t bolt for cover when I paused; in fact, she trotted right on over to my proffered hand. I skritched her tiny head and muttered mantra while she purred up a storm. Even though she was quite grubby, I was emboldened and picked her up. Little miss settled right into my cradled arms and purred louder. Man. We were due elsewhere. I simply couldn’t take her and reluctantly set her down.

The next few days I thought about her a lot, and really thought about this picture I had of my beloved Nita, frostbitten and nearly dead when she wandered into Dolma Ling nunnery:

 

And that was taken after she'd been to the vet, had her frostbite treated, and gotten a bath and some real food. What could I do? It’s been unseasonably warm, but I know that won’t last. On Wednesday, I returned to where we saw her, in front of the Golden Bridge English Learning Center, and looked around. Much to the amusement of Mongolian passers-by, I made squeaky come-hither noises at the hole in the wall where I suspected she lived. I poked around back, alerting the not-altogether-friendly curiosity of at least one security guard. Nada.

Then I walked a little north and peered into a small residential playground set back from the street. Well, glory be. There she was, fruitlessly trying to entice a mother and her swaddled newborn into petting her. In fact, it seemed the mother was poking her away with the baby’s foot. I swear. Mongolians really don’t like cats. I came up, squatted down and administered the love myself.

“Hmm,” said the mother. “Goë muur.” Nice cat.

I agreed and asked if she belonged to anyone. She didn’t think so. I picked her up and went into the Golden Bridge building and asked around. She wasn’t theirs, but they showed me a trap door in the floor of one of the first floor classrooms and said not only did she usually stay under there, but not too long ago there had been kittens. I called several times, but there was no kitten response and it was clear mama was no longer nursing. It was also filthy and gross and buggy under there.

That was it. I was taking her. I hailed a taxi and off we went, straight to the vet. My driver was boisterous and chatty and guffawed as he explained with elaborately demonstrative gestures that if we were in China, they would have just killed and eaten her. I clutched her a little tighter and tried to psychically press down the accelerator.

Once at the clinic I drew nice Dr. Welch from Tulsa. My little charge, weighing in at only 2.7 kilos, impressed us both with her absolute fearlessness. She lay down on the examination table, crossed her paws and glanced up with a “Well? What’s next?” look. Dr. Welch gave her the once-over, including palpating her abdomen, at which point he let out a little chuckle.

“What?” I asked. “Everything OK?”

“Oh fine,” he replied. “It’s just that, well, unless one of her organs has grown legs...”

“No!”

“Yep.”

“Kittens?”

“Well, kitten, actually. There seems to be just one.”

Wowzers. I asked was that odd? He said no, the body is intelligent and if her diet is limited, etc., a litter will be likewise attenuated. I expressed my joy that the kitten wasn’t going to be born in winter.

“You got that right,” he said. “Almost certainly wouldn’t survive.”

Then I knew I’d done the right thing. I paid up and took her home, thinking how to manage things with Nita and Mooj. I have a spacious bathroom, so I decided to put her in there at first, fixing up a towel bed, laying out the chow and milk, one of the litter boxes, all that. She settled right in, kinda grinning...

...and sorta prim:

That evening it was bath time, and again she was remarkably unfussed, no fighting, no biting. I took Dr. Welch’s suggestion and used dish soap to get off the grease and oil. After a thorough scrub and rinse, it seemed that about one kilo at her weigh-in was comprised of dirt and a coupla fleas. Check the aftermath in the bathtub (this picture's still making me laugh as I paste it in here):

And here’s the little one looking as wet cats do, anywhere from deeply annoyed...

...to downright demonic:

She dried off quickly enough, and the next day took to the top of the kitty tower, a happy fluffy girl:

I’m crazy about this little cat (Nita not so much, but Mooj, the sweet lug, just wants her as another playmate, though we're not quite there yet), and I’ve been mulling over names. At first, since Dr. Welch said she was very young, I considered “Bristol,” but then thought, forget that. What happens in Juneau should stay (and should have stayed) in Juneau (Juno?). Aaaanyway, I then played with the Mongolian for Golden Bridge, turning “Altan Güür” into “Altan Grr” or “Altan Purr” or something, but nah, too far fetched. She has three funny spots in a line. Maybe Orion? Nah, too butch and hunter-y.

Then it hit me. Padma! You see, padma is Sanskrit for “lotus.” But in a Buddhist context, its deeper meaning is something unstained that emerges from the dirt of this world. Refer back to the bathtub photo and it’s perfect! So. Miss Padma it is. What’s even funnier is the founder of my tradition is Padmasambhava, which means “born from a lotus.” Guess what the kitten will be named?

America Once Again -- UPDATED X5 -- More Pix, Linx

UPDATE I: Dig this!! (via Tricycle Blog)

UPDATE V: His Holiness sent a personal message of congratulations to Obama. Excerpt:

"May I also commend the determination and moral courage that you have demonstrated throughout the long campaign, as well as the kind heart and steady hand that you often showed when challenged.  I recall our own telephone conversation this spring and these same essential qualities came through in your concern for the situation in Tibet."

UPDATE II: And sure, Obama's election was awesome, but is it as cool as being crowned king of Bhutan, Land of the Thunder Dragon,  Asia's last independent Himalayan Buddhist monarchy? According to the BBC, Oxford-educated Jigme Khesar Namgyal Wangchuck, 28, will receive three modern titles at his coronation today, all of which I would bestow on Obama too, if I could, especially the third one!

Protector Of The Nation's Security

Guardian Of The Constitution

Inspiration For Gross National Happiness

UPDATE III: Click coronation pix for more

 

UPDATE IV: Wow. Read what I wrote below if you like, but Roger Cohen in the NYT really nails it.

Original Text: Burnt out from endless clicking between election and commentary websites throughout the day, late this afternoon I napped for an hour. When I awoke, I sat up, blinked a couple times, and thought to myself, “Did my country truly just elect a brilliant, inspirational black constitutional scholar named Barack Hussein Obama as its 44^th president?”

Yes we did.

As an American, and as a Buddhist, I’ve been wondering what has moved me so profoundly today. I soaked a half dozen Living Tissues (scroll to the bottom) with my tears during Obama’s acceptance speech in Grant Park. Why?

When I was in the States this summer, I rented “John Adams,” the HBO series about the birth of America. So well done, and it drove home for me how the idea of America, its political framework, was wrought by men of such expansive intellect and deep humanity as to beggar belief that they all appeared in the world at once to accomplish what they did.  As a result, Americans, at their best, are compassionate, generous, optimistic, inventive, hardworking, and peculiarly preoccupied with fairness, honesty, and equal opportunity.

The past eight years (ten, if you fold in the Lewinsky circus) have not seen Americans at their best, to say the least. The two overriding qualities of our recent leadership – arrogance and ignorance, ugly separately but hideous in combination, especially when lashed together with fear – were specifically cited by America’s founders again and again as the very antithesis to a healthy democracy, and a global actor. Education begets wiser decisions, from below and above, and there is little more dangerous than too much power concentrated in the hands of too few.

As a Buddhist, I see the truth of the Buddha’s observation that nothing is ever inherently good or bad. Everything has as its nature the capacity for change (including, if not especially, beings’ perceptions), and therefore there’s always hope. And so much depends on the intention one has before one acts. Given the right supporting conditions, good seeds produce good fruit, every time.

I was not an Obama supporter early on. I felt, as many did, that he was not adequately seasoned to handle the domestic and international complexities and dangers made so much worse by the abominable Bush/Cheney policies (may they rest in peace forever). I voted for Hillary in the primaries. But then, of course, Obama won the nomination. I took a closer look and when he took the stage at the Denver convention, I thought, “Huh. He’s different somehow, better. He’s learned, and adapted, and grown. Imagine that.” I found his words inspiring, and my BS meter didn’t go off at all; he felt authentic. I heard a man who really cared, and had the gift to move others not just to care as well, but to believe in their capacity to act in the service of a greater good.

Then it struck me further: the very fact of this stable, smart, loving family – who just happen to be black – in the White House, will create a seismic shift in the way Americans see themselves and the way the world sees America. 

Before I was a monk, I was a huge music fan and worked as a concert producer, mostly avant-garde jazz. As such, I had to push against the stubborn currents of racism in the music industry all the time (in a perfect world, Charles Mingus, Amina Claudine Meyers, and Henry Threadgill would be household names in America). With this election, we may not have overcome altogether, but man we took some giant steps.

After Denver, it was awfully hard not to notice and be impressed by the steady elegance of the Obama campaign in the face of the GOP smear machine. Again, it was like you saw him grow into President Obama before your very eyes, at the same time as the diminishing of the nastier politics of John McCain (who made up for a lot with his gracious concession speech) and that insufferable gnat from Alaska.

Thus, I happily mailed in my vote for Obama from Mongolia a couple weeks ago. One might think this is a little odd for a monk, church and state and all that. But a Buddhist’s prime directive is to do all he or she can to reduce suffering for others. I’ve been mortified by how much suffering my nation’s policies have inflicted recently, and have been aching for change. A Buddhist's choices are guided by our sense of whether or not what we do will help move things in more positive directions. I had no doubt, finally, that helping get Obama elected would accomplish just that.

As an American, I want to urge other nations’ citizens who might read this to reconsider one thing I know about my people – no matter what, in most of our hearts, we really want to do the right thing, and we want to be good guys in the world. I swear. This is deep in the American character, and it’s why Obama’s extraordinary victory, and his towering acceptance speech (if you haven’t seen or heard it, you simply must), were so uplifting and emotional today. He exemplified America at its best, and I feel such relief after so many years of frustration and tension, and have a greater sense of hope for this world.

It seems I have so much more to say about this, but maybe that’s enough for now, because I really want to hear from DODR readers. In the comments, please share with us your observations, stories, and feelings about this remarkable turn of events. We’ll get back to our Mongolian themes soon enough, but I couldn’t let this historic moment pass without offering a few thoughts, however awkwardly expressed.

Sloughing Off Tyranny

“ ‘One fancies a wee fry-up at this hour,’ Aychrome somehow between huge mouthfuls greeted Lew, who, smiling grimly, went looking for some coffee, a fool’s errand around here on the best of mornings, which this already wasn’t. These English were a people of many mysteries, none more peculiar than their indifference to coffee.”  Thomas Pynchon – Against The Day

There are very good reasons America broke away from the motherland in ’76 and formed its own democracy, you know.

It’s Wednesday morning in Mongolia, the sun hasn’t yet risen at 7am, and I’m gulping Dean’s Beans’ Ahab’s Revenge (funny, if you think about it closely) and clicking around the ‘net like a mental patient, panning for news nuggets of the impending US election results. I am trying to settle my mind. What? With meditation? Shirley, you jest. Who could sit still right now? My prescription comes straight from Dr. Dick. Dub Reggae seems just the right soundtrack for this momentous occasion.

There are few days, frankly, when I wish I were back in the States. This is one of them. I can feel the positive, hopeful energy from here, have felt it building for some time, and I’d love to have been there to be a part of it. I voted (or, “votted,” – see my cuzzin’s blog post for the funny), mailing my ballot from UB to Maryland a couple weeks ago. Since DODR is clearly connected to my temple, I can’t say for whom, as that would violate our non-profit status. But I’ll post again tomorrow to discuss the outcome.

In the meantime, to my American readers, be kind to a monk who’s feeling far away from his people just now. Take a moment to share in the comments anything on the positive side you’ve felt or witnessed on this election day where you are. And leave the negativities and nasties of the campaign alone, if you would. We've all heard too much of that, haven't we? And other nations’ readers? I know you’re there, too. Feel free to chime in. I'll be around to be part of the conversation, if a little jittery.

Now if you’ll excuse me, my coffee mug’s empty and the kitties are crying for a wee fry-up of their own.