Dreaming Of Danzan Ravjaa

I Have Absolutely Nothing of Significance to Say About the Untimely Passage of Michael Jackson...

...and as one friend put it, my Ma and I really chose the right days to be on retreat, avoiding yet another outsized American media orgy.

It was weirdly satisfying spending five days meditating in the sanctum sanctorum of the former Monastery of Mary Immaculate, now the stately Garrison Institute, high upon the eastern bank of the upper Hudson. The retreat was quite well-run, Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche proved an unusually excellent and entertaining young teacher with very cool support staff, the veggie cuisine was eye-openingly scrumptious, and really the only jarring note was the sound of automatic gunfire and artillery that occasionally drifted across the river from West Point. Pretty sure they were aiming the other way, but it added a little urgency to our practice.

Between sessions (and in place of a couple, I confess) I devoured a large portion of The Nectar of Manjushri’s Speech, the English translation of Khenpo Kunpel’s exquisitely detailed commentary on Shantideva’s nonpareil volume, The Way of the Bodhisattva. His many stories drawn from the sutras about negative karma and its effects is enough to really scare the pants off you. Fortunately I don’t wear pants, but still. It’s helping me with a cold-eyed assessment of the state of my path. Let’s just say there’s ample room for improvement.

OK, two mighty, mighty links:

So many of the greatest Tibetan Buddhist lamas of the 20^th century cite one lama as the most significant inspiration in their spiritual lives: Jamyang Khyentse Chokyi Lodro. The folks at Remembering the Masters (h/t Blazing Splendor) have put together a fantastic memorial video. One of the most personally satisfying aspects of it, as far as sharing it, is the presence of Alak Zenkar Rinpoche, so you can finally get a glimpse of why he made such a huge impression on me during his visit to Mongolia.

And via Shambhala SunSpace, I see that some good souls have expanded on the subject I was so taken with before, Tsoknyi Rinpoche’s 3000 remarkable nuns and yoginis in the Nangchen region of Tibet, in a longer documentary film simply called “Blessings.” Turns out Tsoknyi Rinpoche also happens to be Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche’s older brother. Their father, Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche, also brought into this world Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche and Chokling Rinpoche. That’s called being seriously fruitful, man, and brings things nicely full circle.

Big announcement on Saturday, if the current deluge we're having here in Vermont doesn't somehow dislodge us from the mainland and float us off into the stormy North Atlantic.

Double Hmm

Well. That’s weird. I thought for sure the previous post would summon a couple of “Hey! Neat-o!” comments. It’s not every day that someone goes to the trouble and expense to arrange a live webcast from the Gobi Desert of the unearthing of some of the greatest trove of Mongolian Buddhist treasures that were concealed with death-defying courage nearly 70 years ago. But I suppose my version of neat-o isn’t everyone’s. Or perhaps you felt it, but didn’t feel like expressing it. That I definitely get, this blog notwithstanding. Ah well, once again I must declare the human heart and mind a nearly impenetrable mystery.

Off in a few hours with me mater to spend five days in “The Heart of Meditation” with Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche. You’re most welcome to chat amongst yourselves, but I’m not packing the laptop and won’t pop back up until five days from now, hopefully a wee bit kinder in my outlook.

Virtual Gobi Treasure Hunt

Well, there, did you feel that? The weirdness just lifted, like mist off the bay. And no, Mr. Comedian in the previous post's comments, the promised announcement was not about Jon and Kate. How do you even know about Jon and Kate in Outer Mongolia? Why do I even (vaguely) know about Jon and Kate? It is so time for an off-the grid retreat, man. My re-introduction to American media ‘culture’ has been shocking, and not in a good way.

At any rate, some friends of ours over the pond in Europistan seem to have it much more together. What I have to tell you about is bittersweet – sweet that it’s happening, a little bit bitter that I won’t be present to witness it.

In late 2004, I read a two-part article in the Tibet Foundation’s Newsletter about an extraordinary Buddhist lama who had made his seat in Mongolia’s eastern Gobi Desert in the 19^th century. His name was Danzan Ravjaa, and the article went on to detail the curious, parallel hereditary lineage of takhilch, the caretakers of Danzan Ravjaa’s spiritual legacy. Apparently, one takhilch in the early 20^th c., Tudev, possessed unusual foresight and courage. In the face of an advancing Red Army intent on demolishing any sign of Mongolia’s Buddhist culture, he had singlehandedly spirited away 64 crates of Danzan Ravjaa’s writings, texts, sacred objects, and other treasures. Painstakingly preparing the crates in traditional ways to withstand damage from the elements or critters (horse fat was somehow involved), he buried these crates in remote areas of the desert and committed their locations to memory, fearing any written list that would lead to their discovery and destruction. Then he went about his ordinary life, keeping his secret for decades.

The article then introduced me to Altangerel (Mongolian for “Golden Light”), Tudev’s grandson and the living takhilch. He had been rigorously trained from childhood to memorize not only the crates’ locations, but also the history and meaning of every single item contained within them. Tudev passed away just as religious freedom was dawning again in Mongolia in 1990 and never got to see the first crates of treasures Altangerel unearthed. But the Mongolian public and foreign travelers did. With some of the treasures from 32 of the crates, Altangerel re-established a version of the museum Danzan Ravjaa himself had maintained during his lifetime. Due to the lack of secure storage space, however, the rest of the crates were left in their sandy crypts.

It was this tale that fired my imagination like nothing had in ages, and inspired the title of this blog. A few months later, I would be on a plane to Mongolia and soon to travel many times to the East Gobi and develop a real love and respect for Altangerel, who I consider the finest person I met in Mongolia.

Now there is a new, expanded Danzan Ravjaa Museum, and Altangerel is slowly, year by year, bringing the rest of the crates out of their desert hiding spots. This year, however, is unusually special, because if you have a computer anywhere in the world you can be virtually present for this summer’s excavation!

I’ve been bursting to share this information for months, and now I can: On August 1, my friend Michael Eisenriegler and his team will be present in the Gobi with Altangerel to provide a free, live webcast of the unearthing of three of Danzan Ravjaa’s treasure crates and the disclosure of their contents. No one except the takhilch has seen these for more than 70 years. Brother Michael is Austrian, and has created this amazing event to coincide with the city of Linz, Austria being 2009’s “European Capital of Culture.” Michael made me swear to shut up about this until all the t’s were crossed and he had his website up. Well, now it’s up, so I urge you to go visit Gobi Treasure Hunt 2009, bookmark it, and circle August 1 in red to tune in for the webcast.

Now, are you more ambitious than that? Good! Michael is encouraging folks to organize live viewing events like those happening in Linz and Vienna (Ariel? DC Friends of Mongolia?), which will also give people the opportunity to contribute to the Danzan Ravjaa Museum and Khamariin Khiid Monastery. Please note you can also do that from the website, and I really encourage it. Michael’s a straight shooter and the funds will be delivered as promised and used as intended, I can assure you.

Michael’s also still seeking corporate and individual sponsors to help underwrite the costs of this event. The details are here. Please consider supporting this very worthy effort.

And as an added bonus, Altangerel has agreed to allow my Brazilian friend and accomplished photojournalist Haroldo Castro to be present, taking stills and notes for an article he’ll generate afterward.

Me? Sigh. I have had a standing invitation to attend these excavations for a couple of years now. But I will be deep into it at Palyul Retreat Center on August 1. However, if I’m reading the timing right, I think the broadcast begins at 6am US Eastern Time, so I’m going to do my best to join y’all online.

Hmm

The event I was going to announce today has encountered a bit of weirdness. I know Hunter S. Thompson said, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro,” but the truth is I’m a rank amateur. If things sort themselves out, we’ll have the announcement later this week.

Ecstatic Skronk

Before anything else, I should mention that Sister Tana dialed in with the news that a more professional video of the ceremonies for HH Penor Rinpoche’s mahaparinirvana and the attendant miraculous phenomena has just been posted in four parts on YouTube. There’s some astounding footage of more private devotions. Here’s Part I and you can find your way from there.

After a 12-hour car journey, I have arrived in Vermont for my mother’s birthday today – verboten to say which one, but I can safely report we’re still just in double digits. If you like, you can skim through my previous paeans here and here. My sister Laura’s arriving later and there are rumors of dinner out and cake.

The trip took so long first of all because I stopped by at my friends Chris and Crystal’s wooded home in North East, MD to check in on how Nita and The Mooj were faring at Mongolian Kitty Summer Camp. I’m happy to report that their conditions are marvelous – a spacious split-level home on a tidal inlet near where the North East River empties into the Chesapeake Bay; two adorable bright-blond children who think Mongolian kitties are just the koolest; a grizzled 16-year old salt of a tolerant tomcat to show them the ropes as far as tracking squirrels, skritching oak trunks, and teasing the neighbor’s dawg; and copious amounts of attention, love, and snax from the humans. In short, they’re in heaven.

The seemingly endless traffic afterward between the George Washington Bridge and Bridgeport, CT was made bearable only by the greatest radio station in the universe, WFMU, and its generous servings of American free jazz (Pharaoh Sanders, Marion Brown) and Euro free improvised music (classic FMP recording of Manfred Schoof and his all-star orchestra), all engaged in what the DJ eloquently described as “ecstatic skronk.”

I eventually rolled into Worcester, MA, on a mercy mission to deliver a comfy desk chair and homemade cookies to my nephew George, in between semesters there at Clark. I dug his new digs and met his roommates – apparently it was built into the lease that only those with full facial hair and standing 6’5” or taller were allowed residency. He regaled me over iced coffee with tales of his rockin’ summer internship with the wonderful Seven Hills Foundation (kid has the biggest heart – he’s truly happy when helping others) and later showed me how he was trying to make friends with the snarling, slavering, thankfully fenced-in Chow that lives across the street from him. Needless to say, scant friendliness was in evidence. Just before I left, the dog’s owner emerged from the house.

“That’s quite a dog you’ve got there,” I remarked.

“Who, Cracker?” he replied with a snort and a flat Mass accent. “That dog’s dumb as a pickle.”

Yes, well, that's why some of us have cats. I’m still laughing about that phrase this morning. Gonna steal it in the future at just the right moment.

Big announcement about Mongolia on Monday.

Wish I Were There

I see that Brother Don is reporting on Lama Erdenebat’s release event for the book we cooperatively produced – the first Mongolian translation of Patrul Rinpoche’s classic, The Words of My Perfect Teacher – with pix. Makes me wistful that I couldn’t have been there, but so pleased that we accomplished this. I was tipped to the event by another friend, one of Mongolia’s best dharma translators, who took time to contact me, praising both the quality of the translation itself and the print job. As to the latter, we must again thank the generosity of the Khyentse Foundation, a grant from which allowed us to opt for a high-end hardcover edition that can retail at a very affordable price, as well as the ability to give many copies away for free. My hope is that this will merely be the first of many such translations we can publish for the benefit of the Mongolian people and their re-emergent Buddhist culture.

Mysterious Ways

Well, after all that official fuss about Moojie and Nita on the Mongolian side, US Customs didn’t even ask to see their papers, just waved me through. I thought to say, “Hey, come on, I glued the photos in their kitty passports myself!” but summoned my habitual distrust of authority, nodded, and schlepped the beasts over the border into their new homeland. Not that they showed any appreciation. Nita may have set some new world record by meowing in outraged protest for 27 continuous hours (thanks for the headphones and wide movie selection, Korean Air Lines!). At Dulles, The Mooj looked like he’d just stared into the chasm of hell itself and wasn’t speaking to, or perhaps even recognizing, me.

But they’re troopers, and recovered quickly with some overnight TLC at my sister’s, only to be stuffed back in their cages this morning for another long ride. I felt like I was delivering illicit contraband as I met their new foster mommy Crystal in the parking lot of The Mall at Columbia (MD) for the big transfer. I assured my little babies that they were going to the coolest summer camp, a house in 11 acres of woodland on a Chesapeake Bay inlet. Shoot, I wanted to stay there! They appeared unconvinced, but they’ll thank me some day, or some life. I’ll look in on their situation Thursday morning on my way to New England.

Now, on to much more serious matters. Many of you generously responded to my pleas earlier this year for help in getting my Mongolian friend to America and I’m sure have been wondering what happened. As it turned out, with our trip getting turned upside down with the passing of Penor Rinpoche, and other factors beyond my understanding, she was unable to meet my teacher. But this may not have been the most beneficial route for her. When I returned to Mongolia, she stayed (legally, having been given a six-month stamp at the border). Her internal situation had always been disturbed, but about 10 days ago, I learned she had a real breakdown and was admitted to a psychiatric facility where she remains. In one way, this sounds like bad news, and of course she is suffering. On the other hand, if this had happened in Mongolia, there really would have been no adequate care for her. As it is, she is in many ways in the best possible situation to receive the care she needs. I’m working with friends and Mongolian Embassy officials to help as I’m able, but there may be little I can actually do at this point. To preserve her privacy, that’s probably the last I’ll say about this.

OK, seriously jet-lagged so I must stagger off in search of nourishment. More later.

Oh! Just quickly, the Mongolian edition of The Words of My Perfect Teacher turned out fantastic; the printer did an excellent job. As soon as I can get to a working camera, I'll show pix.

High Feline Drama

Well, the timing’s good for getting out of town, anyway. Yesterday began everyone’s favorite annual event – when the hot water gets cut off for two weeks while they service the pipes, and what does issue from the hot water tap attains a hue somewhat akin to weak, day-old coffee.

Lots to do today before the midnight flight since yesterday was dominated by cat drama, generated by the usually serene and accommodating Korean Airlines. Onon (no biblical jokes, please) at KAL’s Ulaanbaatar office was seeking permission/confirmation from Seoul for my feline baggage. I had gotten one largish cage to put both of them in, thinking they’d be a comfort to one another on the long, scary ride. It’s big ol’ Moojie, actually, who tends to be the cowering baby in these situations. Nita just hunkers down and you can almost see the thought bubble: “If I can survive being abandoned on the street in Mongolian winter, I can weather this, too.”

My phone rings. “Mr. Thomas?”

“Um, sort of, yes?”

“Korean Air says your cats can’t be in one cage.”

“Why?”

“The rules say only cats between 6 weeks and 18 months can be in a cage together.”

“Why? They’ve lived together for years. They really love each other. I mean, you know, in a brother sister kind of way.”

“That’s the rule.”

The Rule. OK, I agreed to exchange the large cage for two smaller ones once she got confirmation from Seoul of this plan. That was Thursday. Yesterday at lunch my phone rings.

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Yes.”

“Korean Air says you can only take one cat.”

Aroo? “But, hang on, yesterday two cats were OK. They need to be with each other and there’s nowhere here for them. My plans are all set. I leave tomorrow for heaven’s sake.”

“That’s what they say.”

I can hear that Onon is abashed and kind of sympathetic. “Um, Onon? Please, there must be some way to do this."

Onon ponders a moment. “Is one cat small? Less than five kilograms?”

“Nita? So small. Practically fits in your shirt pocket.”

“Less than five kilograms?” Onon was all business.

“I’m sure, yes. We weighed her at the animal doctor last week. In fact, she seems to be shrinking.”

Pause. “I’ll call you back.”

“Za.”

I’m in frantic Plan B generation with my friend Dolgor, who’s been my indispensable translator/helper this week, when the phone rings.

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Eeeyello.”

“Mr. Thomas?”

“Ahem. Yes.”

“Mr. Thomas, can you bring your cats in?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Can you bring your cats to the office so we can see them?”

“You’re joking.”

“No. Is it possible?”

Pinching my eyes. “Of course, Onon. Be happy too.”

So off we trooped to stuff Moojie and Nita in their carrying case and haul their carcasses over to the 2^nd floor of the Chingghis Khan Hotel. On the way I whispered, “Hey, Nita. Contract yourself some, OK? Look waifish and tiny. And Mooj? Just try not to barf on the office carpet, buddy.” I summoned whatever persuasive charm I could manage, and in we marched.

First I brought Nita out for inspection. The issue at hand was whether I could bring her into the cabin and stow her under the seat. This had become, apparently, a whole office project and they all came to look Nita over, one even taking her from me, hefting her a bit and, I swear, setting her on a desk and measuring her with a plastic ruler. Nita struggled only a little and was mostly stoic, and I had enough Mongolian to get that they were remarking, “Say, she is kinda petite.” I sensed victory and assured them I could get a smaller cage for The Mooj and a canvas animal tote bag from the pet shop for Nita in Economy. I didn’t show it, but I wasn’t at all happy about this, thinking about Moojie all alone and frightened for the very long flight in the baggage section when there seemed no good reason that we couldn’t have executed Plan A. Nonetheless, there we were. Onon punched the phone buttons for the Seoul office and did an admirable job of laying out a positive case for two beasts on the plane. Seoul put us on hold and Dolgor and I held our breath.

After Seoul clicked back on I could tell they’d relented. Moojie and Nita were on for their Big American Adventure. My elation was to be short-lived, however, when I asked through a fading smile, “Now, how much is this going to cost, exactly?”

Onon nodded thoughtfully. “Well...” said she, and proceeded to outline all sorts of Korean Airlines baggage regulation minutiae while earnestly poking at her calculator. It boiled down to this: beyond two pieces of luggage, other bags are extra and animals are double. $400. When we had talked the very first time about both cats in one cage, it was $200.

“So,” I inquired, “two hundred extra dollars to bring a tiny cat into the cabin?”

Onon nodded sadly. “Yes.”

All out of options and not wishing to push my luck, I nodded sadly in return. “So be it.”

With the final vaccinations and de-worming, production of all the necessary letters and documents for the Mongolian government, and the issuance of government health certificates, earning the right to schlep my little babies to America set me back more than five bills and required a solid two weeks of fairly constant bureaucratic negotiation. But I love them, and feel confident their lives will improve dramatically stateside. And I do look forward to their elaborate service in some future lifetime.

Many, many thanks to Chris in Maryland and Todd in Massachusetts for happily agreeing to be American foster daddies. I’m hoping that by September my life will stabilize some and the three of us can finally download Peaches ‘N’ Herb: “Reunited, and it feel so good...”

Satisfaction in Seven Lines

Last night our darling 105-year old Amaa’s main disciple Enkhtsetseg dropped by to wish me farewell for both of them. During our chat she confirmed something I’d heard a couple days earlier that brought a truly satisfied smile to my face. Jhado Rinpoche, a former abbot of the Dalai Lama’s Institute of Buddhist Dialectics, has been teaching at Gandan Monastery on one of his frequent visits. About two weeks ago he offered an empowerment for the Eight Manifestations of Guru Rinpoche. During the explanatory portion, he apparently spent some time extolling the manifold virtues of reciting the Vajra Seven Line Prayer to Guru Rinpoche. When he chanted it, there was just a handful of people chanting along; most had never heard of it. Guess where they learned it? Yep, from yours truly. I had about 500 cards left of the Mongolian translation we printed of this prayer. I gave it to my original informant and they will be distributed to the assembly the next time Jhado Rinpoche teaches. Thus, we’ve given away all 2000 we had printed. A good first step, methinks.

 

One treat in these last days before I leave has been the arrival of longtime DODR reader and frequent commenter Vedran from Croatia. On my good buddy list at the moment, since he just bought me pizza – I’m terribly shallow that way – I had wanted to share a photo, but the lens on my durn camera is refusing to budge. Luckily, Brother Don has just posted an update the project Vedran came to loan his construction skills to, the renovation of the house occupied one winter by Nicholas and Helena Roerich to open this July 6 as the Nicholas Roerich Residence Museum and Buddhist Art Institute. Before he offered a limited edition freebie of Roerich’s classic Shambhala tome, he uploaded an image of Brother Vedran’s handsome mug. Learn and enjoy.

 

And if you’d care to see my shameless promotional scribbling about Mongolia, dig our friend Ishee’s site for his unconditionally DODR-recommended tour company, Steppe Horse. I helped a brother out with a little tweaking of the text.

 

OK, back to purgin’ ‘n’ packin’.

The (Mongolian) Words of My Perfect Teacher

Many thanks for all the kind messages in the comments and by email. I’d jump into the conversation but for some obscure technological reason, like maybe a shamanic curse, my comments won’t post on my own durn blog. But please keep talking amongst yourselves; I do read and enjoy the comments.

Kudos to Steve from Japan for identifying the hibiscus. Wonder if I can dry the flowers and make tea?

This morning was spent doing all the paperwork for the Moojie and Nita's Big American Adventure. Spoiled little beasts require more documentation than I do (you shoulda seen me pasting their pix in their kitty passports – man, they owe me next life) and cost nearly as much. But I lub ‘em, and that’s that. And I do think we may have a good temporary solution for them in the States; frankly, I still have precious few options. Don’t any of you want a little Mooj in your life?

I’m feeling pretty sad this week, as the time for my full departure from Mongolia approaches. But one very bright spot was delivering the file of the Mongolian translation of The Words of My Perfect Teacher to the printer last Saturday. I should have copies in my hand before I leave. Here’s the cover. We decided subtle and understated was the best approach:

Enlightenment in Full Bloom

‘Tis the morning of Saga Dawa (Sunday the 7th), perhaps the holiest day on the Buddhist calendar, and a day on which it is said that the force of our actions, positive or negative, is increased ten million times.  Now, if you need a little up-to-the-minute inspiration today on the positive side, you couldn’t do better than to marvel at this Washington Post account of my temple buddy Sam’s compassionate encounter with a poisonous snake! But on this day we actually honor Sam’s inspiration, Shakyamuni Buddha, recalling the astounding impact of his enlightenment and mahaparinirvana.

Regarding the former, I would contend that the one single event of the Buddha’s enlightenment has had a greater positive impact on more people than any other in human history. Even, astonishingly enough, on this neurotic misfit from New Jersey (hmm, as opposed to what, well-adjusted misfit?). But a Buddha’s awakening is actually little understood in popular awareness and, in the West, often grossly trivialized. This would be the perfect day to read the Buddha’s own words about the experience, which he so eloquently relates in the Greater Discourse to Saccaka. In this scripture, the Buddha describes in detail his spiritual journey leading to that famous night under the bodhi tree, as well as the “three true knowledges” that arose in a “concentrated mind...thus purified, bright, unblemished, rid of imperfection, malleable, wieldy, steady, and attained to imperturbability,” concluding at the end:

“When I knew and saw thus, my mind was liberated from the taint of sensual desire, from the taint of being, and from the taint of ignorance. When it was liberated there came the knowledge: ‘It is liberated.’ I directly knew: ‘Birth is destroyed, the holy life has been lived, what had to be done has been done, there is no more coming to any state of being.’

“This was the third true knowledge attained by me in the third watch of the night. Ignorance was banished and true knowledge arose, darkness was banished and light arose, as happens in one who abides diligent, ardent, and resolute. But such pleasant feeling that arose in me did not invade my mind and remain.”

Now this brings us to a good question posed by Ashin Sopaka in the comments a few posts back. I spoke there of the mahaparinirvana of HH Penor Rinpoche. This literally means the great complete enlightenment, that is, nirvana free from physical form, sometimes called “nirvana without remainder,” a specific way to accurately refer to an enlightened being’s passage from this world. Since one who is enlightened has dispelled all ignorance in perfect, unchanging wisdom, and has also purified all karmic residue from previous lifetimes, and therefore “there is no more coming to any state of being,” Ashin Sopaka wonders why we then make prayers for the swift rebirth of beings like Penor Rinpoche who we consider to have attained such a state.

Here’s my take: enlightened beings are simply not subject to involuntary rebirth based on ignorance and karma. However, since as the Heart Sutra says, “Form is emptiness; emptiness also is form,” there is no reason why enlightened beings could not appear in a totally unimpeded way in any form they wish. In fact, such appearance is the natural expression of wisdom, pure compassionate manifestation for the sake of liberating those of us still caught in the round of suffering within samsara. Our temporarily deluded minds might perceive such beings as appearing in gross element, karmically conditioned bodies, but from the ultimate point of view, all appearance, including that of our own body and mind, is nothing like that at all. All phenomena, my teachers repeat again and again, are fundamentally pure, unborn, and free from conceptual contrivance.

You can read the wonderful account of the Buddha’s mahaparinirvana here.

Finally, just for a bit of fun, I want to share with you a couple of images from my own ‘bodhi tree,’ as I’ve come to call it. Actually I thought it was called a Chinese Tulip Tree but as I scan for a link, it’s definitely not – maybe one of you knows and can identify it in the comments? In any case, a friend loaned me this lovely plant to brighten up my apartment. It stayed dormant all fall and winter, but I suppose sensing the lengthening light is now beginning to burst into bloom. The cool thing is that it has stretched out two branches, one in front of my Dharma books, which has already bloomed...

...and one about to bloom in front of the statue of Shakyamuni Buddha, given to me by Penor Rinpoche, in the posture he was said to have assumed just at the moment of his enlightenment.

In my silly mind, I imagine the plant making an offering of its great beauty to both, but what better day to have such thoughts?

Please keep those cards and letters coming about a possible US foster home for Moojie and Nita – it’s not quite sorted yet, though many are kindly assisting in the search.

 

Now Take My Cats...Please!

This morning as I sat on my cushion to begin practice, my big boy cat, Moojie, did what he always does and curled up against my crossed legs. I gazed down at his chin resting on my calf and skritched him behind his ears. He squinched up his little face in pleasure and stretched a leg out to gently pat me with his paw. I melted a little and asked him what I’ve asked him a thousand times since considering giving him up before I return to America, “Aw, Moojie, who’s going to love you like I love you?”

 

And then it hit me with total clarity today: no one. At least not here, in one of the world’s most cat-unfriendly nations. No one. (In the cab returning from the vet, I swear, the driver asked, "Whatcha got there?" "Two cats," said I. Replied the cabbie, "Oh, cats are no good. Now dogs, dogs are where it's at." Thanks for confirming the day's activities, chief) Moojie and his little sister, Nita, have got to come with me to the States. (I love Nita too, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something about my Moojer. I adore him beyond all reason, have since I first saw him.) Despite a lot of effort on my part, no one here has shown any interest in taking them, and it’s clear they’re my karmic responsibility.

So I went to the KAL website. Seemed possible, if a bit costly, but OK. Then I called Dr. Karen, their vet, to see if they could complete their shots and paperwork and whatnot. Yup, they could. So I trotted out to get a real kennel carrier. Not as pricey as I thought. Hauled the furbutts to the clinic, did the shots (Moojie was stoic, Nita melodramatic, though you should have heard The Mooj moaning in sympathy and concern when Nita started to yowl – what a guy) and collected their adorable little “kitty passports”.

{I want to stop a sec here and say a word about this vet clinic. It’s actually a project of a Christian missionary veterinarian network. Now, in general, I’m not crazy about missionaries here and their missionary...izing. But I have nothing but praise (shoot, hosannas, if you like) for Dr. Karen and her Mongolian staff. They’re real pros, so kind and exemplify the best of the Christian path, i.e. practicing what they preach and being of real benefit rather than just collecting converts}

So it seems like everything’s quickly coming together to prepare my two little fuzzy immigrants.

Except.

After I leave Mongolia, I really will be a homeless wanderer for a time. So here’s where, hopefully, you come in. I’m looking for foster homes for these guys – one in the Washington, DC area, from June 14-18, and then one in New England, hopefully southern VT or NH, for longer, from June 18/19 until at least the end of August. The perfect situation would be if they were placed with experienced cat people in a roomy home without other animals. I think they’ll have trauma enough without dealing with territorial squabbles. One they settle in, they’re affectionate, housetrained, and frequently hilarious.

So, if you have any bright ideas about this – or if you are the bright idea – please contact me before June 13. I think email is better than the comments section here, so drop me a line at: mongoliamonk at yahoo dot com.

Oh, they speak fluent English, did I mention that? Well, at least until you reprimand them.

Thanks!

Exodus

Those of you who have reading DODR for a while may have noticed that the Mongolian Buddhism Revival Project that is our purported bailiwick, and this blog, have both been kind of treading water of late. A few of you have sniffed out what’s doing, and for the rest of you I’ve been turning over and over in my mind how to relay the latest news. As an American, I guess I always feel direct is best – KPC, the temple that sent me here, has decided to withdraw me from Mongolia and suspend in-country operations. I’ll be heading home to the States in about 10 days, with no plans to return.

For a number of reasons, many of which I just can’t discuss in a public forum like this, I have deeply conflicted feelings about this and how it came about. This will need some serious sorting this summer. There is so much beneficial work that could be done here to cooperate with Mongolian Buddhists’ sincere and courageous efforts in bringing their spiritual culture into the 21^st century. But as we know, for anything to arise, there must be the proper causes and conditions. Should those arise again in the future, it would be my honor to return and be among these wonderful people. Should they not, what can one do? Something cannot arise from nothing.

This summer will be time for retreat and reflection. First I will attend a five-day retreat with my mother, led by our fave young lama Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche (my mother’s study group is reading his fantastic book The Joy of Living: Unlocking the Secret and Science of Happiness, which he has just followed up with Joyful Wisdom: Embracing Change and Finding Freedom), on “The Heart of Meditation”. Soon after I will go to Palyul Retreat Center for the annual 30-day summer course. Then some of my family is taking a vacation on Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia (home to Ven. Pema Chodron’s Gampo Abbey) and after that is a big, fat, neon question mark.

I feel I have very little to show for living here in Mongolia for four years. Nonetheless, I’m really pleased about our last act – tomorrow or the next day, we will finally take to the printer the first-ever translation into the Mongolian language of Patrul Rinpoche’s indispensable teaching treasury, The Words of My Perfect Teacher. Due to the generosity of the Khyentse Foundation in underwriting the printing, about half of the first batch will be given away for free, with the rest available at a very affordable price.

And, given my somewhat tilted sense of humor, I will surely miss exchanges like the following, which I swear occurred verbatim two days ago:

Me: “There are hardly any dogs here in the city. They killed so many this winter. It’s such a shame, but if you go to the East Gobi capital, Sainshand, there are lots of dogs running around. I don’t think they kill them, and they don’t seem to bother anyone.”

Sara: “They kill the street dogs where I’m from.”

Me: “Yeah? Where’s that?”

Sara: “Sukhbaatar province. It was the same, they’d do it every winter.”

Me: “Poor babies. I wonder what they do with them.”

Sara: “Well, when I was a child, during the socialist time, they would take their fat and make soap.”

Me: “They made soup? You had dog fat soup?”

Sara: “No no. Soap. The soap we used, they made it from that.”

Me: “Oh. Dog fat soap. Well, honestly, that’s not much better, is it?”

Mongolia’s been an education, man.

My only real dilemma now is that I have not found a suitable home for Moojie and Nita and my anxiety level is rising each day about that. It’s just impossible to bring them home, especially since, you know, I have no home. The Lord will provide, I suppose, but I sure will miss their furry little faces.

OK, well, that’s it. Once again, impermanence is the permanent rule.