Under Mongolian Blue Sky

Нийтлэг ёс (Niitleg Yös) / Common Custom

Whenever Oorei goes outside after dark, Oyunbileg or somebody else always puts a vertical dash of black ash in between her eye/eyebrows. I learned today that this is to disguise her so ghosts don't recognize her. If they did, they might scare her or play tricks on her. This is a common custom with children up to age 5 in Mongolia.

"What kind of ghosts?" I asked. My teacher replied, "Яанз Бүрийн чөтгөр."  (Yanz büriing chötgör.) Various kinds of ghosts.

I think Mongolians in general have a disdain for the dark. When I told my teacher that I didn't get home until 8:00 p.m. last night, he said that was too late.

Sainshand Town

Last weekend I went to Sainshand/Сайншанд (which means "good pond"), a small town of around 50,000 people. It is the homeland of Mongolia's so-called greatest mystical poet, Danzanravjaa (1803-1856). My friend Allison and I took the train from UB. It was my first ever train ride and I thought it quite wonderful.

We arrived in Sainshand around 8 p.m. on Saturday and since it was dark we decided to stay in and read. I watched television as I always do at night in hotels. (Although I don't watch television at home, one of my guilty pleasures is to channel surf all night on hotel televisions. This usually occurs the first night I'm in the hotel; after that, I get bored with it. However, in general, Mongolian television is more interesting to me than television in the U.S. Last night I saw a cooking show on television. It was really great because it was so real. The cameras were just in some guy's apartment, not some glossy and sterile studio.)

Back to Danzanravjaa.

    Heaven is complete.
    Let's hold and enjoy eight magic feasts.
    When clouds appear and the time of rain comes,
    What is the difference between the altar and the door?
    When the activities cease and the time of death comes,
    What is the difference between old and young?

    When you plant a moiler tree,
    A snake and poison will come from the tree.
    When you make friends with a bad person,
    You will learn bad things from them.

    When you plant a spreading tree,
    From each branch the fruits will come.
    When you have friendship with a good person,
    Brightness and wisdom will appear.

    Even though there are many heavenly stars,
    The brightest ones are only one or two.
    Even though there are many earthly creatures,
    The wisest ones are only one or two.

    They say that cold weather brings a chilly wind,
    And that the ravine plant will revive
    When you are happy.
    Talk about unhappiness produces unhappiness.
    Zee zee hoo, zen vaiduu ze, (have mercy,) three saints.

    From Lama of the Gobi, Michael Cohn

This is "The Heavenly Sky," a song by Danzanravjaa, who is officially known as the Fifth Noyon Incarnate Lama of the Gobi Desert. He was a poet, writer, composer, educator, artist and founder of Mongolian theatre. The first two stanzas of the song were, as legend would tell us, composed by Danzanravjaa around age five. He was identified as the Fifth Noyon Khutagt when he was seven years old.

Sainshand is also the home of the Danzanravjaa museum, which holds thousands of the saint's relics such as poetry books, music scores, theatre costumes, textbooks, gifts by foreign statespeople to Danzanravjaa, his childhood clothes and toys, etc. It also contains his remains.

Among the many important projects that the Arts Council of Mongolia has undertaken, their Cultural Heritage Program recently completed a 16-month project to create two new storage rooms for the museum, train museum staff (and staff from other small museums) on international preservation standards and obtain locally produced supplies that can meet these standards.

The reason for the new storage rooms is an interesting story. In 1938, all of the relics from Danzanravjaa's monastery, Khamariin Khiid, including his remains, were in danger of being destroyed in the Communist purge. A man named Tudev who was born of a long line of men who were given the task of caring for the relics foresaw the coming destruction and each night carried one large wooden box of relics into the Gobi desert and buried it. There were 150 boxes to begin with; he was only able to get 64 of them buried before soldiers were ordered to destroy the monastery and everything it contained.

Fast forward twenty years or so. In great secrecy, Tudev began to show his grandson, Altangerel, the location of the boxes and to educate him in detail about each of the objects. Tudev would take Altangerel into the desert and unearth one box at a time and go through each item in great detail. Altangerel's family thought Tudev had plans to make Altangerel a monk because they spent so much time together. The family had no idea about the boxes. Not even Tudev's wife knew.

Fast forward forty years or so. Only after Mongolia's democratic transition in the early 90s were the boxes able to be unearthed. Altangerel, pictured here with some of the boxes, brought out 34 or so of them and founded the Danzanravjaa Museum.

30 more boxes remain under the sands of the Gobi, primarily because there has been nowhere to put the objects they contain. Still, only Altangerel knows the location of the boxes. With the two new rooms the ACM has helped to construct and bring up to international standards for preservation, the remaining boxes will be dug up very soon.

I wrote a story about this for the UB Post last week. Check it out. And, in case you've got extra time on your hands, check out this worthy blog on religion, culture, history and birdlife in Mongolia. You won't be disappointed.

Mongols and the Dead

Three days ago my host mom Oyunbileg's father's older brother's son passed away. Her cousin, that is. (There's no word for cousin in Mongolian. You just say "father's older brother's son." There are also two separate words to distinguish between older and younger siblings. Very interesting, no?) Anyway, yes, her cousin passed away from what I believe was liver failure. I need to ask her more about this though.

Oyunbileg told me this news last night when she returned home quite late after being gone the majority of the day. When I arrived home after a poetry festival (more on that later), she wasn't there and her daughter didn't know where she was. Later, when Oyunbileg came home she briefly told me where she'd been. At first I didn't understand that the person she was talking about had died, except she kept saying everything about them in the past tense. Eventually, I caught on.

Thus, this morning I decided to ask my Mongolian teacher about what happens when a person dies in Mongolia, i.e. what are the customs people follow. Mongolians in general are loathe to talk about death, but Munkh-Amgalan generously humored me. (Once when I told him that during our trip to Khentii some friends and I went into a cemetary he cringed, shuddered and made a comment in Mongolian to the department [Mongolian language and culture] secretary who sits nearby.)

He told me that when a person dies they are taken straight away to a lama. However, this isn't just any kind of lama. It's a particular kind of lama called юм гэдэг хџн (youm gedeg khoong). Literally, this means "person who sees things." The family brings the recently departed to the lama who divines the persons past lives, etc. The lama then instructs the family when the person is to be buried and how, e.g. in what direction and with what objects.

Then, while the family waits for the specified time, which would only be an odd numbered day, they gather together to visit with one another, express their condolences and prepare and eat food. It is taboo to say the name of the person who has recently died. When I was talking with my teacher I went to say the name of this man and he politely cut me off.

When I asked Munkh-Amgalan if he thought that I'd be able to go along to the funeral he said he thought my family would not like it if I did. He though that if it was part of my research it would be okay, but if not, I didn't need to go. He said I could just say Om Mani Padme Hum (Ум ма ни пад мэ хум) numerous times to help the dead man go safely to his next destination.

As a result, I have decided that I won't ask to go, but I am going to ask Oyunbileg if she wants to go to Gandan monastery where I could sponsor some prayers by a lama for her cousin.

Spiritual Means the Mind

I hope that you understand what the word 'spiritual' really means. It means to search for--to investigate--the true nature of the mind. There's nothing spiritual outside. My rosary isn't spiritual; my robes aren't spiritual. Spiritual means the mind and spiritual people are those who seek its nature.
   -Lama Zopa Rinpoche

I read this quote on Saturday evening at the FPMT Mongolia's Shedrup Ling Center. The center has a small cafe called the Stupa Cafe. I'd heard it was a nice, quiet place, so when I was locked out of my apartment--I'd forgotten my keys when I went to the Internet cafe to post to this blog, and Itgel left while I was gone--I decided to go check it out.

The center offers classes in Buddhist teachings and meditation techniques and is the headquarters for FPMT's Mongolian projects such as English language courses, the Dolma Ling Nunnery and the Dolma Ling Community Center--they have a soup kitchen at this community center at which I'm thinking about volunteering.

After that, I walked around in UB and found Ananda Cafe and Meditation Center. Other Fulbrighters had told me this cafe has a cheap and tasty vegetarian dish each day. The cafe was closed but on their sign I read that they offer yoga classes, meditation classes and vegetarian cooking classes. I thought that was pretty cool, and plan to look into the yoga classes.

Itgel still wasn't home, so I went to fellow Fulbrighter Chris's apartment which is very close, practically across the street, to where I live. He lives with two Australian women, Alice and Julia, who are quite a treat. They had a friend, Pia (I'm totally guessing on the spelling here), visiting from Australia as well. When I arrived they were watching the final scene of Top Gun. When it was over, we chatted and ate dinner--a really great soup prepared by Pia. I called Itgel every half hour or so.

Finally, when I called around 10:45 PM, Itgel was home and sounded as if she'd been sleeping. I tried to communicate to her that I'd forgotten my keys, but I don't think she understood. Around 11:30 PM, Chris walked me home--it's relatively dangerous for Western women to walk around alone at night after 9 PM or so. Itgel greeted me at the door. She looked very strange.

When I got inside, I realized she was drunk. Very drunk. And when I turned around after taking off my shoes, a strange man was in the house. Apparently, this was her nephew, Nansarbat, who'd lived with her before I arrived in Mongolia.

I was immediately uncomfortable and scared. I went into my room right away, but Itgel called to me from the kitchen. I went in to find an empty bottle of vodka and a random smattering of sausage, cheese, bread etc. laid out on the table.

Itgel told me about four times that Nansarbat is Sansarbat's brother. (I'd met Sansarbat the night I arrived in Mongolia. He is a monk at the Gandan Monastery. He lived in London for a year and knows English fairly well.) She said, or at least I guessed this from the words I understood and her hand gestures, "Nansarbat is much more good-looking than Sansarbat, yes?"

Nansarbat returned from the living room with another bottle of vodka and a third shot glass. I told them that I don't drink. Nansarbat said, "Why?," as if I'd said I don't eat food. I was so nervous that I forgot my tactic of accepting and then simply setting down the food/drink that was being offered. I kept saying "угиу," no. I think they tried to convey to me that I just needed to take the glass, but, honestly, I didn't want to hold a shot of vodka in my hand. I felt some self-righteousness creeping in. And some stubborness and my I-don't-have-to-do-anything-I-don't-want-to-do-ness.

In the end I took the glass, held it for about two seconds and then set it down on the table. At this point, all I wanted to do was high tail it out of there as soon as possible. Hence, I went into my room and called Chris to see if he'd come back to my house and pick me up. He said yes. About five minutes later, Chris arrived and I was on my way out the door, despite Itgel's objections.

I was extremely shaken up about this series of events. Mind you, I'd heard alcoholism and drunkenness was a significant problem among Mongolians, but I didn't expect to encounter it in my own living space. I found an interesting post about Mongolia's alcoholism epidemic on another blog about Mongolia. (The site was recently revamped and renamed moninfo.org. It is associated with the News and Information Association of Mongolia, a local NGO "dedicated to providing an independent, thorough and regular source of news and information about Mongolia.") The author notes in his post that this is an issue about which no one in Mongolia is talking. Perhaps I can change that with my work at the UB Post.

When Chris and I got to his house, his roommates had just begun watching Kinsey, a decent film about pioneering sexologist Alfred Kinsey. It proved to be a satisfactory distraction from my distress. However, when it was over I was back to thinking about all that had come to pass. Chris empathized with me and conveyed other Fulbrighters' related experiences. Strangely, what most comforted me was his suggestion that perhaps Mongolia is exactly where I need to be right now, that it's no coincidence I ended up here.

In the end, my desire to remain sober has been strengthened, as has my desire for spitirual growth. After all, how can one investigate "the true nature of the mind" while at the same time sullying the mind?

Dukka

My current uncomfortable nauseous feeling reminds me of an audio tape I borrowed from the library of  Common Ground Meditation Center. It was a Dhamma talk by a well-known female teacher. I can’t remember her name now, but she talked about being uncomfortable in India or Nepal when she had to walk through waste deep sewage from the flooded sewers. That sounds a bit worse than what I’m going through, as does what I have read/heard the people in Iraq, Lebanon, Sudan or various other parts of the world are experiencing. If I recall correctly, her point was that there is suffering, or dukka–which has been better translated as “unpleasantness” or “unsatisfactoriness”–in the world. Our lives depend on how we choose to engage with that unpleasantness.

His Holiness the Dalai Lama

Today I saw the Dalai Lama. I heard his voice. I didn’t know it was going to happen. In the morning, I was out walking for two hours looking for an Internet café that was open. Meanwhile, I fell in love with heartbreakingly raw Ulaanbaatar (UB). I walked the furthest north I’d gone thus far until I could see what are called the suburbs of UB–gers and other dwellings dotting the hillsides and foothills of the mountains that seem to surround the city. On Sundays the streets are very quiet and there are less cars to dodge.

Later I came home and Itgel was making bansh, or dumplings. Unlike buuz, which is usually filled with sheep’s meat and then steamed, bansh is filled with a mixture of beef, vegetables and spices and then boiled. I helped to shape the dough Itgel had prepared and the meat mixture into bansh. (I would have taken a photo if my camera hadn’t run out of juice. It holds a lithium battery and I don’t yet have an adaptor for the charger’s plug.) Then, Itgel boiled the dumplings and we ate them for lunch. I think I like bansh even better than buuz.

While I was clearing the table and washing my hands, Itgel told me that she was going to see the Dalai Lama today. I thought she was just talking about going alone which got me wondering if it would be okay for me to ask her to take me along. Before I had a chance to ask, she restated that WE were going to see the Dalai Lama. I, of course, was very happy and said, “Yay!” Then, I asked if she understood “yay.” She did.

We took a cab to Gandan Monastery, which is where the Dalai Lama had been speaking throughout the week. This monastery was the only Buddhist monastery in Mongolia to survive the destruction of the Communist Revolution in the 1930’s. All other monasteries were destroyed–as well as thousands of lamas murdered and exiled. The Gandan Monastery was kept as a museum of sorts.

Now new monasteries and temples have been built. And the Gandan remains as the oldest monastery in Mongolia.

When Itgel and I got to the monastery, we had to walk up a slight hill quite a ways before we got to the main temple before which the Dalai Lama sat. We pushed through the crowd to get a decent view. I had shivers running up and down my spine as we got closer.

The Dalai Lama sat on an elevated platform on top of a stage with lamas all around who adjusted his robe every once in a while or who handed him something he needed. I knew who he was right away because of his big glasses. He spoke and/or chanted and someone I couldn’t see translated it all in Mongolian. (The Dalai Lama spoke in Tibetan, of course.)

We bowed our heads and put our palms together. Sometimes I looked up at the Dalai Lama or looked around at the large crowd. There were all kinds of Mongolians present: nursing babies and toddlers, old grandmothers with scarves around their heads, trendy twenty-somethings in their high heeled shoes and bejeweled blue jeans, country folk who had traveled in to the city to see His Holiness.

I couldn’t understand most of what was said. I just crouched down and stood up when everyone else did. I meditated while standing in the crowd, letting go of any words and just hearing the sounds and feeling my breath and the cool wind of my face. At one point, I saw Itgel wipe away tears. The Dalai Lama is quite beautiful. Itgel commented when we got home that the Dalai Lama has a nice voice. I thought so too. It’s very deep and soothing.

We took a cab back home and on the way stopped in a very interesting hardware store in the basement of a building to get a new pump for our toilet, which continues to run incessantly. Then we stopped at a fruit stand and bought a watermelon, or shigwa in Mongolian. I was ecstatic because my body is in desperate need of FIBER after all this meat and dairy!

Everything in Mongolia, even a hardware store, is fascinating to me.