Dreaming Of Danzan Ravjaa

This Fragile Flame

Beloveds, I’m afraid I do not have good news to share (though there is a little at the end).

Early this afternoon, I got a call from our little puppy’s veterinarian. She reported that while the 90 minutes of surgery went fine, all vitals normal, just as they were awakening her from the anesthesia, her heart inexplicably started to weaken and fail. Nothing they did to stimulate it, including CPR, had any positive effect and she died.

I’m enough of a “pro” to hold myself together and do the appropriate prayers on her behalf. But as is my habit, most of the rest of the time I’ve been guilt-ridden, reviewing the situation again and again from every angle to see what mistakes I made that contributed to the death of another. This is the second time we’ve brought a street dog in for surgery and she’s died on the table.

The motivation was OK, I think. She didn’t exhibit signs of illness, not even elevated temperature, and I relied on the opinions of professionals in deciding to do the procedures. The vet explained afterward that distemper and worms, both common in street dogs, can sometimes evade immediate detection, and the animal will mask its constitutional weakness as a survival instinct. We talked, and decided if there was a flaw in our approach, it was in being too hasty and not going slower and observing the dog more carefully over several days, her appetite, stool, other indicators.

Was I impatient to be the Savior, and display it in front of all of you, as the self-congratulatory tone of the previous post indicates? Maybe so, and it’s a harsh lesson, but now I’ve learned it. Patience and care in all things.

I’ve sent individual messages to the contributors for the vet expenses, in order to reimburse their very kind donations.

In happier developments in our animal welfare efforts, yesterday an article on our temple’s parrot rescue project, Garuda Aviary, was featured on the front page of The Washington Post’s Metro Section. Again, if you had had the virtuous thought to contribute, this is a very, very worthy cause. I can tell you that caring for the parrots is a time-consuming, expensive gig, and they do it with such love.

To put all this in some perspective I offer you the well-known story of Kisa Gotami from the time of the Buddha, as told in the Dhammapada:

“Kisa Gotami lived in Savatthi. She was known as Kisa Gotami because of her slim body. She married a rich young man and a son was born to them. The son died when he was a toddler and Kisa Gotami was stricken with grief. Carrying her dead son, she went everywhere asking for medicine to restore her son to life. People thought she had gone mad. But a wise man seeing her pathetic condition, decided to send her to the Buddha.

“He advised her: ‘Sister, the Buddha is the person you should approach. He has the medicine you want. Go to him.’

“Thus she went to the Buddha and asked him to give her the medicine that would restore her dead son to life. The Buddha told her to get some mustard seeds from a home where there had been no death. Overjoyed at the prospect of having her son restored to life, Kisa Gotami ran from house to house, begging for some mustard seeds. Everyone was willing to help but she could not find a single home where death had not occurred. The people were only too willing to part with their mustard seeds, but they could not claim to have not lost a dear one in death. As the day dragged on, she realized hers was not the only family that had faced death and that there were more people dead than living. As soon as she realized this, her attitude towards her dead son changed; she was no longer attached to the dead body of her son and she realized how simply the Buddha had taught her a most important lesson: that everything that is born must eventually die.

“She buried her dead son and told the Buddha that she could find no family where death had not occurred. Then the Buddha said: ‘Gotami, you should not think that you are the only one who has lost a son. As you have now realized, death comes to all beings. Before their desires are satiated death takes them away.’

“Perceiving the fleeting nature and impermanency of life, Kisa Gotami decided to renounce the worldly life. She requested the Enlightened One to admit her to the Order of bhikkhunis. Accordingly, the Buddha sent her to the community of nuns where she was admitted as Bhikkhuni Kisa Gotami.

“She was hardworking and always mindful and conscientious of her religious duties, and strove diligently for her spiritual development to purify her mind of all mental defilements.

“One night, she lighted some oil lamps and sat down a short distance away. Then she started looking at the flames. She noticed while some flames flared up, others flickered out. With her mind concentrating on the flames, she meditated as follows: ‘Even as it is with these flames, so also is it with living beings in this world: Some flare up, while others flicker out; only those who have attained Nibbana are no longer seen.’

“The Buddha, through his supernormal power, saw Kisa Gotami from the Jetavana Monastery. He sent forth his radiance and exhorted her to continue meditating on the impermanent nature of all component things. The Buddha also commented: ‘One who lives a hundred years without perceiving the Deathless State; a life of one day is better if one has perceived the Deathless State.’

“After the discourse, Kisa Gotami attained Arahanthood.”

Dog Days of Winter II -- Updated

Project activity during this holiday period has really slowed to an extra-dull crawl, but once in a while an urgent task comes up. Like saving a mangled street puppy.

Early last week I visited Lam Rim Temple to oversee transfer of the teaching throne to the Mongolian Institute of Buddhist Arts where it will be painted, as well as make preparations for weekly teaching that will start January 11. In the temple courtyard, one usually finds a big, very shy, yellow mommy-type dog. But on this day, further in, I spied a puppy of the classic Mongolian ‘four-eyed’ dawg variety (so-called because of their cinnamon-on-black eyebrows), who hobbled right over on three legs to see about some lovin’. I doled out the love, of course, and inspected the favored leg.

Yikes.

Little miss (it’s always the female dogs that are abandoned) had suffered some kind of trauma to her leg just above the paw so severe that the paw itself had been wrenched 180 degrees; the bone must have been shattered all the way through. The lower leg was swollen and there were open abrasions; it smelled faintly of decay. I’m no vet, but I suspect the frigid weather actually helped the wound and limited infection. Not for the squeamish, but here’s what she was dealing with (you actually can't quite see all the damage here, but you get the idea):

The dilemma for me, like with Padma, was that I just couldn’t take her right then. I checked with the resident lamas who said she’d just wandered in the day before, and they were feeding her. I thought she’d be OK overnight and I’d get her the next day. Dopey Konchog, however, forgot about the Christmas holiday and the fact that our vet is a Christian missionary (the very best kind; I honestly can’t say enough good things about her). Sure enough, the clinic was closed through the weekend.

Like the sap I am, I couldn’t stop thinking about the poor thing, and as soon as I could get out today I returned to Lam Rim. There she was, smartly curled up in the sunshine outside the kitchen door. I bundled her up in a blanket, and off we trouped to the V-E-T.

When we arrived, I heard one dog inside piteously crying and whining. Concerned, I asked what was wrong, and was told, “Oh, she’s just in for a bath.” My little charge and I shared a look and chuckled. I mean, she’s one of those “there but for the grace of karma go I” cases, abandoned as a puppy on Ulaanbaatar’s winter streets, having to fend for herself with a potentially life-threatening injury. And did she utter a single yip, even tremble? No she did not. Just as unfussed as Padma. In fact, with all the new and strange things happening to her, including being posed for photos, her main thought was to give her guardian monk puppy kisses (which is maybe how she got in this karmic jam to begin with, but that’s another story...):

So after vet Boloroo had a good look under her hood – all healthy, not even a fever – in consultation with Dr. Karen, we decided she was good to go for a full tune-up tomorrow. That means she will have to have her lower leg amputated. She’ll also get spayed, she’ll be de-wormed and get all her puppy shots, and she’ll get a big ol' warm bath, with blow-dry, of course, maybe even highlights.

“Wow, are they doing all that for free?” Um...glad you asked! In a word, no.

An American friend emailed me earlier, saying she wanted to make a donation for animal-related stuff we do, but I don’t want to ask her to foot the whole bill. With the food I’ll have to buy while she recuperates at my place (cats are going to be oh-so-thrilled), it’ll be around $300. Not bad, considering. So if you’re inspired to use the 20 bucks grandma stuffed into your Christmas card in a virtuous way, just click the Magic PayPal Garuda below, and please write “Mongolian Puppy Repairs” in the comment box, so we can track it properly. I'll drop in an update when we reach our goal. And, truly, bless you.

UPDATE: Once again, I'm overwhelmed by your unstinting generosity, and concern when it comes to these little critters. We made our goal, and then some. According to the Buddha, such compassion will pay big dividends in future lives. But we don't do it for that reason! We do it because we must, right? As the Dalai Lama says, "If you can help others, do so. If you can't, at least don't harm them." Thank you, thank you. Surgery starts in an hour. Send good vibes! If you were going to give, consider your local shelter; I'm sure in these times, they really need it.

After li’l superpuppy regains her strength, I’ll return her to Lam Rim. It’s a great place and I know she’ll be such a happy temple dog.

Feeling pleased with the day’s work, and considering the fact that it never got above 0F (-18C) while I was running around, I decided to reward myself with a hot mugga at the newly-opened Coffee Empire:

Frankly, if a horde arrived at my fortifications under the heart logo banner of hyper-caffeination and gooey goodies, I think I would submit to their rule without a fight. Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear this empire’s destined to last quite as long as Chingghis’ mighty domain. The pleasure I was deriving from the fascinating history of Buddhism in China I’m reading was starkly offset by a latte that could only be described, out of kindness, as appalling.

So I escaped the empire and hightailed it to my aerie, pausing just briefly to capture this bit of weirdness, a pair of Mongolian street reporters interviewing an elegant older couple...in Santa costumes. Yes, Miss Santa is passing a cell phone to the other; urgent call from Prancer, maybe:

Such A Gift

Remember my young Mongolian friend who secretly used her tuition money for her father’s medical bills and who therefore could no longer attend classes in her last year of university? How y’all came through in a flash, with a righteous sleighful of cash? Well, I don’t know what kinds of gifts Santa brought you, but I got only one, and it felt like real Christmas. And what good is that if I can’t share it with you, too? My friend sent a message to my phone this afternoon, and it took a mighty effort not to blubber when I read it, since I was in a public place and had to be all cool and monk-like. Here it is verbatim:

“Hi. thank you very much. i met my school director. he accepted my request [to resume classes] with some situation. I bought some good and expensive drugs for my dad. also bought warm and needed clothes for my dad mom sister and brother.”

So many Christmases past are forgotten. The feeling I got reading those simple words is one I’m gonna remember.

Elsewhere, Ani Sangye takes a uniquely circuitous route through the Buddha’s teachings to arrive at her Christmas miracle.

May this spirit stay with us all year long, and beyond and beyond and beyond.

How about you? Any special Christmas story big or small you’d like to relate in the comments? Don’t be shy.

Local Warming

OK, so with the exception of Northmoon, y’all don’t want to talk about what you’re reading (the cold truth, probably, is that most of you didn’t make it to the end of the last lengthy post). Too full of nog, or Hanukkah yummies, or general holiday madness, I understand.

So let’s up the ante: can I interest you in an ecotopian graphic novel created by Aaron Birk, described as “equal parts Buddhist, ecologist and unrelenting optimist,” who laughs that in his work, “There's soil, there's water, there's Mongolian Buddhist superheroes”? (thx for the tip, Worst Horse!)

Read all about The Pollinator’s Corridor here, complete with serialized panels.

Elsewhere, I see that it’s pretty chilly in much of the States, and my family in New England will be having quite the White Christmas. No need to mention how it is here. One of my kitties, Nita, recalling how she fared one winter on the Mongolian streets...

...spends every morning post-breakfast, but pre-sunbeams, snugged right up – obviously, quite contentedly – to the kitchen radiator:

Amazing the difference a little TLC can make, eh?

I hope those of you in the Northern Hemisphere are similarly warm and happy, and for those of you south of the equator...may your sunscreen be the proper SPF, or something.

Hey, I’m curious: what do those of you DODR readers who are “convert Buddhists” do at Christian/Jewish holiday time?

Real Monks Stay the Winter or A Long Night's Reading List

Today, the Mongolian climate gods were through fooling around. All week, Weather Underground was promising that the high today would be -23F (-31C). Well, we got a little reprieve, as the mercury struggled up to -17 (-27). But the wind, careening out of the north! North being where there are two things: Siberia, and Chez Santa. As I type, it’s back down to -20 (-29) but it feels like -47 (-44).

So I stayed bundled up inside, right?

No, of course not. I’m like those guys on The Weather Channel who stand there and holler into the mike about how it feels getting pummeled by the hurricane. I want to feel it for myself. I have several fantasy alternate lives for what I would have done if the Buddha’s teachings weren’t true and the monastic calling weren’t so powerful (poker pro, global birding guide, dissolute trust fund baby), and one of them is storm chaser.

A couple hours ago your intrepid reporter piled on the layers and ventured out in search of lunch. To and from I walked maybe a mile total, and I can now draw upon all of the eloquence my Ivy League education has afforded me and relate to you the following about the experience: Dag.

Coming home, I walked north, into the wind. Only the top half of my face was exposed but I could feel my cheeks quickly freezing on a cellular level. Sort of involuntary cryogenics. A clear thought formed: “Huh. Under just slightly altered circumstances, this weather would kill me.” It was educational.

I was instant messaging with my monk friend Palzang yesterday, anticipating all this. I told him that next spring I want to be presented with a t-shirt (or, maybe, parka) that says: “Mongolia: Real Monks Stay the Winter.” He retorted that he could think of a couple words to replace “monks” with.

And we’re still two days away from the date Mongols consider the official start of winter!

So I ducked into a warm shop and picked up a pirated DVD of the new James Bond flick (don’t judge, that’s all we get here), hustled home, and gave my rescued street cats extra-toasty squeezes. I’m anticipating a long night. The only bummer about my apartment is it’s directly above the building’s “Party Room.” And tonight they’re having a party. In the room. I already heard them testing the sound system with ABBA so I’m prepared for the worst. Thanks be for Dr. Dick and padded headphones.

Besides dopey movies to pass the long, dark days and nights, I recently raided Brother Don’s scriptorium (Don just put up a very interesting post about the Trans-Asian expedition of Nicholas and Elena Roerich that included a stay in Ulaanbaatar during the winter of 1926-7; there's a strong movement afoot just now to turn their temporary home, amazingly still standing, into a Roerich Museum) for some winter reading. It’s an eclectic batch:

·         Daniel Pinchbeck’s 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl, a neo-psychedelic exploration of indications that we’re headed for an elevation of planetary consciousness on or about December 21, 2012, the end of the intricate Mayan “long count” calendar. Gotta work out whether to pack a lunch that day or not.

·        Roger Crowley’s 1453: The Holy War for Constantinople and the Clash of Islam and the West – just finished this and found it so depressing how much slaughter and abomination has occured in either defense or ‘advancement’ of ‘the Faith,’ no matter whose. Very good overall argument for a Buddhist way of life. Oh! There was the coolest article the other day in the Boston Globe called "When Jesus Met Buddha." It’s about the little-known spread eastward of the Nazarenes and the Nestorian Christian church and the 1000 years of generally peaceful and mutually curious co-existence with the Buddhists they shared space with. It tipped me off to a symbol widely used at the time, that of a cross on a lotus. One image from an ancient headstone is below and you can see a few more mixed in here. The article also contains this unfortunate line: “What ultimately obliterated the Asian Christians were the Mongol invasions, which spread across Central Asia and the Middle East from the 1220s onward.”

·         Naguib Mahfouz’s The Journey of Ibn Fattouma – just started this and it’s gorgeous

·         Hugh Schonfield’s The Essene Odyssey: The Mystery of the True Teacher & The Essene Impact on the Shaping of Human Destiny

·         Kenneth Ch’en’s Buddhism in China: A Historical Survey

·         Elaine Pagels’ The Gnostic Gospels – I know this has been out a long time, but I never got around to it

·         Mishi Saran’s Chasing the Monk’s Shadow:  A Journey in the Footsteps of Xuanzang in which the author re-traces the pilgrimage to India made by the 7th c. Chinese monk and chronicler

That ought to keep me out of the pubs. And you? What are you reading these days that’s good? My mother the retired librarian tells me about a Brit mystery writer, Michael Walters, who’s set his first novel, The Shadow Walker, in none other than Mongolia (hey, it seems he lives here in UB and writes a blog). I can tell you that if the action’s set in winter, and there’s a murder involved, the corpse’ll keep ‘til spring.

Gift of the Season -- Updated x2

A friend of mine, a young Mongolian woman, asked to meet me today, and over coffee told me a tale at once so sad, and yet so easily fixable, I felt I should share it with all of you. This friend (who I’m not naming to respect her privacy) is in her last year at university here in UB. Her father is a construction laborer and her mother cleans at a school, both in a northern province. If this woman finishes college, she will be the first in her family ever to have done so.

As you might imagine, this family has little money. Because this woman’s mother is technically employed by the State, the government pays 55% of her tuition. Even so, the other 45% is hard to scrape up.

This summer and fall, both parents experienced physical problems that necessitated coming to UB hospitals. I’m not sure about the mother’s condition (better now), but the father is suffering from some dissipation of the fluid between a couple lower vertebrae that causes the bones to rub together in a chronically painful way. He’s just in his mid-40’s but cannot currently work.

This woman told me she was so worried about her father, not just about his condition and the pain, but paying for treatment. At the beginning of her semester, her parents sent her money for the balance of her tuition. Unbeknownst to them, she used the bulk of it to pay for her father’s hospital bills. She fibbed to her family, saying the money came from selling some stuff she bought in China this summer. In reality, she has had to leave school since mid-October and work part-time to make up the shortfall.

I urged her to be honest with her family, but she was so afraid of the shame it would bring to them. Everyone is looking forward to the proud day when their eldest daughter graduates from university. They all think she’s still in school now, and she’s torn up about it.

My friend could meet me because her English is so good. She was one of the best in her high school class, and dreams of returning to a countryside school where quality teachers are in short supply. I know her to be such a good, sincere person, a dedicated student with no bad habits and a real wish to make her parents happy and proud. She takes these setbacks so hard and told me of ongoing stomach aches and sleepless nights from the stress.

And the kicker? She didn’t ask me for money, didn’t even hint. That was not her purpose. She just asked me if I could teach her meditation so she could calm her mind and sleep! I told her yes, I could, but really she mostly had to deal with her practical problems. Then maybe they’d be off her mind and sleep would come.

Anyway, I’m writing all this to give you some backstory to my proposal that we collectively do a small good deed this holiday season. In the course of our talk, I casually asked how much she owed her school. She said it was 300,000 tugrig. Know how much that is? About $250 (the exchange rate is very favorable to the dollar just now). Can you imagine? So. I want to give her this money, but I’m in a bind. I can only use funds for the purpose they’re donated for; I can’t use MBRP funds for this. But last week I did a little job grading a paper and made $50, so I’ll chip that in first. Who will join me? If we raise a little extra, good. I’ll tell her to use it for her parents’ medical bills, and I know she will scrupulously do only that. She’s that kind of girl.

Let’s help my friend be the first in her family to earn a college degree, prevent her early ulcer, and let her get a good night’s rest. Whaddya say? The button below will take you right to PayPal. If there’s a place to say what your donation is for, just write “graduation gift” and we’ll keep careful track.

UPDATE I: OK, I'm hereby outing DODR readers as a bunch of compassionate, generous saps! You really touched a frozen monk's heart this morning. We needed about $200, and in less than 24 hours, a dozen of you offered gifts totalling $435! No need to donate more; maybe just offer to the charity of your choice. My friend will be speechless, and I promise later, if I'm here, to post pictures from her graduation ceremony. Big love to all of you!

UPDATE II: Oh, y'all. If I could have captured the look on my friend's face this afternoon when she understood what we were giving her. You remember in I Love Lucy when Ricky Ricardo's emotions would unleash a flood of Spanish? The same thing happened here, except in Mongolian (and, um, not exasperated). With eyes brimming with joyful tears of relief and gratitude, she kept repeating, "I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do!"

I explained to her about Christmas as a traditional giving season, and how so many of you spontaneously pitched in, but then I fixed her with a stern look and said, "Now, I'm giving you this on one condition." She eyed me uncertainly. "What's that?" "You must invite me to your graduation ceremony in June," I replied, at which point we both broke into laughter and she said, "Of course!"

She needed 300,000 tugrig, but when I went to the exchange place, the dollar was at an all-time high. She was the beneficiary: we gave her 600,000 tugrig. She understands the balance is to help with her parents' medical expenses. The parents who now don't need to know what a sacrifice she made out of love and concern for them.

After we finished our tea, she said, "Please tell everyone on your website that I really, really appreciate this." Outside, she asked, "Is this the right way to say: 'I'm walking on air'?" I laughingly assured her that it was and then I asked where she was going. She firmly replied, "Right to the library to study."

It really is the most marvelous feeling to do something unexpected that truly helps another, isn't it?

Just before typing this, I got a message from her on my phone that read, verbatim: "THANK YOU FOR HELP and BELIEVE IN ME!" We do, my friend, we do.

Always Hungry For Another Animal's Meat

You need to know something. I’m on the verge of a relationship, but nervous as a gazelle. I still bear the scars of previous wounds, you know? Disappointment, to the point of loathing even, if I’m to be honest. Forces greater breaking the bond, tarnishing my admittedly starry-eyed vision. And yet, here we are, and I can’t just suppress my feelings. Is this the one? Finally? Is it?

Image: "Obama," by Alex Grey

What? What did you think I was on about? Get outta here. I don’t wear this funny skirt for nothin’.

For a couple weeks, I’ve been pondering (relatively) enlightened leadership and wondering if it’s even possible in these times. The undercurrent of my thinking was neatly summed up by the first sentence of a very peculiar book I just read (culled, naturally, from Brother Don's scriptorium), 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl by Daniel Pinchbeck, which reads, "Our civilization is on a path of ever-increasing acceleration, but what are we rushing toward?" 

Besides obsessively watching the evolution of America’s latest national elections, other thoughts, such as they are, were triggered by a column published in The Guardian by Burmese monk blogger Ashin Mettacara. Lamenting the atrocious conditions created by the current crew of demons in his country, he says this:

“My advice to the world's leaders is that all leaders should have kindness, without kindness the leaders are useless. So all leaders should consider how to heal ‘Burma disease’ or how to cure the suffering of Burmese people. However, most world leaders are forgetting even the suffering of their own people. In fact, leaders are like lions and tigers, who are always hungry for another animal's meat.”

This led me to think about Nagarjuna (c. 150-250 CE), the extraordinary Indian progenitor of one lineage of Mahayana Buddhism. His “Letter to a Friend,” written to an aspiring bodhisattva-king in south India, Nagarjuna offers one of the pithiest, yet comprehensive, expressions of the Mahayana (Alexander Berzin has posted his translation online, while an excellent translation with commentary was published in 2006). This bit jumped out at me as echoing the quote above:

“View as enemies stinginess, guile, pretense, 
Attachment, lethargy, false pride, 
Lust, hatred, and conceit over greatness of caste, 
Physique, education, youth, or power. 

“The Sage has proclaimed that caring is the (mental) stand for the nectar (of immortality), 
While not caring is the stand for death. 
Therefore, to boost your constructive Dharma measures, 
You need to have a caring attitude, always, through being appreciative. 

“Anyone who previously didn’t care, 
And later develops a caring attitude, 
Becomes as beautiful as the moon when parted from clouds...”

Considering the situation in Burma, I also recalled the Mahayana precepts revealed and expounded by Nagarjuna. There are 18 root vows one must observe, the first five of which, as presented in Ngari Panchen’s Perfect Conduct, “are closely related to rulers.” In Dudjom Rinpoche’s commentary, he explains:

“The third root downfall is, out of anger and aggression, to disrobe, expel, strike, punish, or imprison a monk, whether he is a pure upholder of morality or not. To cause the monk to be reduced to lay status, or to instigate others to do this, constitutes the downfall.”

Widening our view, two other ancient examples of attempts at enlightened leadership are India’s King Ashoka (c. 304-232 BCE) and Tibet’s Songtsen Gampo (617-698 CE). The former became repulsed by the wholesale slaughter and destruction his army inflicted during war with the Kalinga country. He turned to the Buddhist path and became arguably one of the world’s most righteous emperors ever. He instructed his subjects in wholesome living through a host of “dharma ambassadors,” but also through the medium of edicts carved into rocks and pillars throughout his vast empire. The extant ones are translated here (they’re all great – look how he also pays close attention to the care of animals and the environment, as well as making strong statements about respecting all religious traditions within his realm), and this one caught my eye:

“Beloved-of-the-Gods, King Piyadasi, does not consider glory and fame to be of great account unless they are achieved through having my subjects respect Dhamma and practice Dhamma, both now and in the future. For this alone does Beloved-of-the-Gods, King Piyadasi, desire glory and fame. And whatever efforts Beloved-of-the-Gods, King Piyadasi, is making, all of that is only for the welfare of the people in the next world, and that they will have little evil. And being without merit is evil. This is difficult for either a humble person or a great person to do except with great effort, and by giving up other interests. In fact, it may be even more difficult for a great person to do.”

And, as a corollary:

“Beloved-of-the-Gods, King Piyadasi, speaks thus: To do good is difficult. One who does good first does something hard to do. I have done many good deeds, and, if my sons, grandsons and their descendants up to the end of the world act in like manner, they too will do much good. But whoever amongst them neglects this, they will do evil. Truly, it is easy to do evil.”

King Songtsen Gampo was the first of the Three Dharma Kings of Tibet, who also ruled over a vast empire. Once his rule was stabilized, he established a legal system based on the “Sixteen Pure Human Laws” and avoiding the ten non-virtues.

{Want a really intense read? Dig how the arhat Nagasena brilliantly converts the second century BCE King of the Greeks with flawless answers to The Questions of King Milinda.}

In our contemporary world, we have the Buddhist kingdom of Bhutan instituting means to cultivate Gross National Happiness. From a recent article at the Buddhist Channel, I just love this:

“‘Happiness is very serious business,’ Bhutan Prime Minister Jigme Thinley said. ‘The dogma of limitless productivity and growth in a finite world is unsustainable and unfair for future generations.’”

And this:

“‘People are shy to use the word happiness,’ said Dasho Karma Ura, president of the Center for Bhutan Studies in the capital Thimphu, which launched the informational Web site grossnationalhappiness.com last week. ‘Defining happiness is not what is important. What is important is providing the conditions through which people can achieve happiness as they understand it.’”

Part of me seriously wants to move to Bhutan...

Anyway, President-elect Obama. I’ve got this unbearable tension between hope and apprehension as he assembles his administration. I love the folks he’s putting into health care and energy, and Hillary as SOS, but the war rhetoric? Not so much. In any case, over at beliefnet I just found an older interview with Obama that delves quite thoroughly into his spiritual attitudes. Here’s a taste:

"FALSANI: So you got yourself born again?

OBAMA: Yeah, although I don't, I retain from my childhood and my experiences growing up a suspicion of dogma. And I'm not somebody who is always comfortable with language that implies I've got a monopoly on the truth, or that my faith is automatically transferable to others.

I'm a big believer in tolerance. I think that religion at it's best comes with a big dose of doubt. I'm suspicious of too much certainty in the pursuit of understanding just because I think people are limited in their understanding.

I think that, particularly as somebody who's now in the public realm and is a student of what brings people together and what drives them apart, there's an enormous amount of damage done around the world in the name of religion and certainty."

...

"FALSANI: Do you pray often?

OBAMA: Uh, yeah, I guess I do.

It’s not formal, me getting on my knees. I think I have an ongoing conversation with God. I think throughout the day, I'm constantly asking myself questions about what I'm doing, why am I doing it.

One of the interesting things about being in public life is there are constantly these pressures being placed on you from different sides. To be effective, you have to be able to listen to a variety of points of view, synthesize viewpoints. You also have to know when to be just a strong advocate, and push back against certain people or views that you think aren't right or don't serve your constituents.

And so, the biggest challenge, I think, is always maintaining your moral compass. Those are the conversations I'm having internally. I'm measuring my actions against that inner voice that for me at least is audible, is active, it tells me where I think I'm on track and where I think I'm off track.

It's interesting particularly now after this election, comes with it a lot of celebrity. And I always think of politics as having two sides. There's a vanity aspect to politics, and then there's a substantive part of politics. Now you need some sizzle with the steak to be effective, but I think it's easy to get swept up in the vanity side of it, the desire to be liked and recognized and important. It's important for me throughout the day to measure and to take stock and to say, now, am I doing this because I think it's advantageous to me politically, or because I think it's the right thing to do? Am I doing this to get my name in the papers or am I doing this because it's necessary to accomplish my motives.

FALSANI: Checking for altruism?

OBAMA: Yeah. I mean, something like it.

Looking for...it's interesting, the most powerful political moments for me come when I feel like my actions are aligned with a certain truth. I can feel it. When I'm talking to a group and I'm saying something truthful, I can feel a power that comes out of those statements that is different than when I'm just being glib or clever."

So, this is all just a jumping off point for a conversation, if you like. I’m wondering, do you see the potential for more enlightened leadership with Obama? What would that look like to you in the 21^st century? What are your hopes and fears in this turbulent time? Do you think he at least won’t get shoes thrown at him at the end of his run?

Celeb Watch

Olloo.com and the latest Mongol Messenger both have items saying that HH the Dalai Lama's buddy Richard Gere might be hanging a bit in Mongolia soon (needless to say, olloo could really stand to hire a new English translator). Seems he's teaming up in a production capacity with Mongolian director I. Nyamgavaa to make a film based on the life of Khubilai Khan, grandson of Chingghis and founder in the 13th c. of the Mongol dynasty in China known as the Yuan. Wonder if I could get a small part as "Monk #3" or some such...call me, Richie, OK?

Well I'll be dipped. In searching for a good link for Nyamgavaa, it seems he may have made a film in 1998 about Danzan Ravjaa! It doesn't say so directly, but "Ferocious Saint Lord of Gobi" is certainly one of his epithets. Can anyone confirm?

Not Always, But Sometimes

OK, let's be honest, what better way for us Buddhist monastics to accomplish our stated goal of transcending ego-involvement than to present ourselves to the world wide web via blogs? The latest to cast her bon mots into the ring is my good friend, sangha companion, and sometime DODR commenter Ani Sangye.

I, for one, am thrilled. Is it because she has a remarkably similar, bent sense of humor like me, poor girl? Well, a little. But more than that, she's a sharp writer and darn funny which, I recently suggested to her, may have saved her life.

You see, that ability to laugh at the world's absurdities has counterbalanced the strange karmic nightmare with which Ani-la has been afflicted. A couple years ago she manifested a rare, painful autoimmune disease called Wegener's granulomatosis (even sounds creepy, doesn't it?). Part of her motivation (besides the fact that by nature she has a hard time stopping talking; it's cool, she's Greek) is to share her experience with others suffering from this odd disorder.

So. A Greek former Peace Corps volunteer turned Tibetan Buddhist nun who cracks wise about her bizarre medical condition and who also really loves animals and is a chiropractor by profession. As they say among my people, what's not to love? Please do yourself a favor and go visit the newly-minted Sweet Not Always.

A Musing

Not sure what's in the air these days (besides impenetrable coal smoke pollution), but I just found another fantastic blog, dhamma musings, authored by a Western Buddhist monk. Somehow serious and bemused at the same time, Ven. Shravasti Dhammika issues his missives from Singapore, covering topics ranging from entertaining explorations of details small and great from the Buddha's teaching, to critiques of orthodox Christianity and its espoused views on Buddhism, to the odd observations of this peculiar realm which we collectively inhabit.

I mean, who can't appreciate a celibate Buddhist monk who devotes an entire post to "The Highest Limb: The Penis in Buddhism," enhanced by an hysterical graphic? My kinda feller. Blogrolled.

Update: Looking further, my venerable brother penned one of the most affecting and heartbreaking essays on Buddhism and homosexuality I've ever read.

Lightly Lashed Raft

Burmese karma rising, y'all. I just stumbled upon the loveliest blog, called 'a raft,' authored by a monk inside Burma named Ashin Sopaka. No politics, just dharma blended with gently humorous observations, in English so flawless it'll put you to shame (hmm, now I see elsewhere he says he's a native English speaker; curiouser and curiouser...). Brother Sopaka made me laugh right out loud with this anecdote from a recent post entitled "Sesame Seeds":

"There are four rules (pârâjika) in the Vinaya (Code of Discipline for Monks), that if broken, entail immediate expulsion from the monkhood, the first being sexual intercourse. Intercourse is defined as penetration of one of three orifices even just to 'the extent of a sesame seed'. In other words, not at all!

Today at lunch, we had a dessert made from sesame seeds. A monk held up a seed and asked me what it is called in English. After telling him, I recounted the above, at which he chuckled.

After a brief pause, he then told me that there are some who say that sesame seeds at the time of the Buddha were the size of bananas."

Needless to say, 'a raft' should be in your bookmarks and on your blogrolls. Make sure you click the "me" tab at the top, so you can discover why it's called that.

 

Fire & Brimstone

Shuffling into my kitchen late this afternoon to brew a cup of tea, I glanced out the window and was struck by the drama of the sun setting behind one of Ulaanbaatar's power plant smoke stacks, and managed to snap a decent pic. Those old units are working overtime to provide heat to the city. Hope they don't blow a gasket; yesterday's high was -10F/-23C:

 

In other news, Padma came through her spay operation beautifully, and is just now struggling out of her stupor to nibble a little kibble.

Deep Freeze

How cold is it just now in Mongolia? Well, we just had a state visit from Polish President Lech Kaczynski, but his departure was delayed for a day. Why? His plane was frozen.

Yesterday, I decided to walk to and from the Ulaanbaatar Hotel – despite the risk of being mobbed by autograph seekers following my TV appearance (dubbed by my translator as “not great, not bad” – yeesh) – where I had been invited to see the Independent Study Project presentations of the SIT students I went to Dornogov with. I wanted to experience the weather firsthand. The morning was cold, to be sure, but bright – thankfully not like the polluted morning I photographed from my window about a week ago (most mornings are like this; I rarely venture out before lunch):

Walking home after sunset was a different story. This time the wind was in my face and as it bit into my exposed skin, I actually said, “Damn. Ow.” When I got home and checked Weather Underground, I was informed the temperature was -29F (-34C) with the li’l Siberian zephyr making it feel like -44F (Celsius doesn’t even have numbers anymore; maybe we have to go to the Kelvin scale). I did manage to lift out of my dolt-like stupor long enough to see the proximity in the sky of Jupiter and Venus, though not as tight to the crescent moon as they were earlier in the week. I also marveled that half the Mongolians trudging along weren’t wearing hats. In the States, temps like this would send the Weather Channel into a 24-hour National Emergency Broadcast. To the Mongols, it’s just another winter day. This quality of tough acceptance of the facts of ongoing reality is something I really admire in the Mongols.

When I approached the hotel, I realized that I hadn’t walked by there since I returned a couple months ago, so I was startled to see how thoroughly burnt-out the Mongolian People’s Revolutionary Party (MPRP) building was from the post-election riots in July:

This event was the subject of one student’s study, but she found it still so raw and sensitive for Mongols that most of her interviewees she couldn’t name in her report, and even then they were quite cautious in what they said.

Generally, the students’ projects were excellent, ranging in subject matter from mental health care to trade unions to, inevitably, horses. I was able to spend some time chatting with US Ambassador Mark Minton, who’s a very nice guy, as well as Ariunaa, the Vice President of the National University of the Humanities, who invited me to be a guest speaker sometime early next year.

New Links

I’ve added a number of new links to interesting Dharma blogs, and thought I’d highlight them for your viewing pleasure.

First up is Dharma Folk, a collective blog that has recently sparked a remarkably stimulating conversation in the comments to this post about the dynamic and/or attitudes in America between ethnic Asian Buddhist communities, and those of the predominantly white, middle class American-born ones. Plus the little graphic is hilarious.

Next is Rigpa’s Ramblings, written (far too occasionally – he’s a good, thoughtful writer) by an American monk in Colorado who, like me, was ordained by HH Penor Rinpoche.

Also out of Colorado, and assuring me that a monastic vocation is not in his immediate future, is my Palyul Retreat friend Gordon Eaton who now publishes an eponymous blog sometimes about Dharma matters, sometimes about Colorado’s gorgeous wilderness.

Shambhala Sun magazine now offers frequent posting on matters of broad spiritual and cultural import at Shambhala SunSpace.

The prolific Rev. Danny Fisher claims to be “"Just a Buddhist Chaplain Trying to Benefit Beings Online" and is doing a spanking good job.

Against The Stream is “Dharma Punk” Noah Levine’s site, while he also infrequently blogs over at the Huffington Post.

And, last but not least, the buddha is my dj serves up "religion, politics, pop-culture, music, and the buddha." What more could you ask for?

Kidney, Kidney, Bladder, Gut

Today was one of the first days it seemed a bit nippy to me as I trudged to the Immigration Office to face their verdict on fines for being late back into the country, etc. Some sweet-talking by my translator brought it down a touch, but still, dinged about 150 bucks. Now back, and see from Weather Underground (A Geek’s Best Friend™) that the bottom has in fact been dropping out of the temps. Tomorrow’s forecast high/low will be -5/-31F (-21/-35C). With about 8 ½ hours of daylight. Don’t be jealous!

But it’s cool (ahem), tomorrow I’ll be cozily tucked into the Ulaanbaatar Hotel, digging the independent project presentations wrapping up the semester abroad for the School for Int’l Training students. I’m especially looking forward to Jeffrey Sinick’s “Faith and Freedom:  A Profile of the Religious Environment in Mongolia’s Emerging Democracy.” I arranged a couple interviews for him; hope they paid off.

The temps also make me happy each time I see Padma’s content little face. News flash in about her. Guided by a hunch, I took her back to the vet on Friday. Doctor Karen was on duty and deep-massaged Padma’s belly. It was like a children’s patty-cake game: “kidney, kidney, bladder, gut,” but nope, no kittens. Such was my hunch after watching her for three weeks. A big loss of blog-fodder, but what to do? So I scheduled Thursday for missy to be S-P-A-Y-E-D (another $80). Then after her recovery, I think we’ll find her a new home. Mooj likes her OK, but I don’t think Nita will ever move beyond bare tolerance and, occasionally, outright oppression.

This morning, for reasons unknown, I was called in to re-do my TV interview. Maybe cuz I mouthed off a little about China's ongoing brutal occupation of Tibet (you must see this short film, Leaving Fear Behind). But this is fine, as I’m sure my skin tone last time was a fine shade of gecko green, and I got in another small dig about China anyway. If you’re in UB, tune in to Gereltei Tsonkh tonight on the Mongolian National Broadcasting station maybe 10-ish, after the movie and a ten-minute newscast. Tell me how it went. I don’t have TV.

I want to write some about Mumbai, but I’m still too sick about it. Maybe Thursday.