July 31st
The day was largely uneventful. I woke up latedid a lot of
writing at the office, helped Clinton out with the bear and had a laid back
day. In the evening, Clinton, Lara,
Augusta, Gundegmaa and I all went out for hot pot and debriefed what we had
seen the previous day at shamanizing. ML
invited me out the next day to the country side with him, I was told not to
bring an interpreter. At first, I was a
bit nervous because after living in India, and general being a woman travelling
alone “come, but don’t bring anyone” causes red flags to jump up everywhere.
But several friends vouched (correctly, I’ll assure you all) that ML was a
trustworthy person, and chances are I was being told to come alone because it
was a private ceremony.
August 1st
I woke up early, got breakfast and waited for ML. ML and his friend TB, one of the Morin Huur
players came to pick me up. This immediately made me stop worrying. It would be
a ceremony and there would be music. We
drove into tolgoit (I’d been at a hotel because of the family health stuff) and
met a fleet of cars, including one van, and several more morin huur players as
well as other people. One was a young
woman named Khulan (I’m allowed to use her name as it’s her Shaman name, not
her personal name and she gave me permission to do so). Khulan, 22, spoke pretty decent English and
was studying at one of the major universities in Mongolia. I was told we were
shamanizing because it was her birthday. I later found out that the actual
situation was that it was the 3 year anniversary of her first becoming a
shaman, and she was one of ML’s disciples.
ML’s car was filled with Morin Huurs, his shamanic paraphernalia and
drums. There was no room for guests so it was just me and ML in the car and he
spent the ride coaching me on shaman culture as well as Mongolian language. He
is an invaluable teacher.
We drove a bit out of the city, passed the graveyards, to a
secluded area where there was a large and interesting shaman shrine. In the
center was a birch tree, wrapped in ribbons and khadags, it was surrounded by a
ring of outward facing wooden poles. The
entrance was to the south, making it geographically the same as a ger. We unloaded the sacred items into the sacred
circle and then sat down for a picnic of home made juice and kimbab. It was delicious, although I will never like
seabuckthorn juice. Fortunately my almost childlike rejection of it was laughed
at as the strange taste of an American (I took two sips, cringed and handed the
cup to ML).
It turned out that pretty much everyone else present was
either disciples of ML or T, who is ML’s teacher, family of Khulan, or one of
the Morin Huur players. I felt truly honored that I was allowed to be there. At
first I felt I might be intruding on Khulan’s day, but she told me with a huge
smile that she was so happy that I was there to share her special day and
celebrate with her. I told her that I was honored to be allowed to attend, and
congratulated her on three years.
The ceremony began with ML and Khulan simultaneously
shamanizing. ML’s grandfather spirit
presented Khulan’s grandfather spirit with one of the red ropes (snakes) from
his own dress. A cup of milk was passed
around to be sipped by all participants, and then a cup of vodka. ML then ceased shamanizing and went to speak
(as himself) to Khulan’s grandfather spirit.
Khulan’s grandfather arranged the men on the west side of the circle and
women on the east and poured vodka for the men and wine for the women and asked
men and woman to alternately come forward and sing songs to celebrate the day.
I was brought forward and sang a Tibetan song, because it’s what I had on hand
and someone had already sung the only Mongolian song I am confident with.
Then Khulan’s grandmother came. This was one of the more fascinating ritual
costumes I’ve seen. First of all,
instead of the usual headdress, she wore a traditional Mongolian hat with metal
eyes sewn on it. Instead of string or rope tassles in front, the face was
covered by a curtain of pearls. Finally,
and most interestingly, before the head dress was put on, Khulan was
blindfolded with a thrice folded blue khadag.
After traditional greetings, we had the same singing. I came forward and grandmother asked me about
my studies, I told her I was studying Mongolian language, religion and culture,
and she asked me to sing in Mongolian. I
sang arvan tavnii sar (a traditional song). She asked if I knew any others, I
said I only knew Minii saihan eej (suuni uner), she asked me to sing that as
well and thanked me for my singing and studies.
We then had an afternoon break. Khulan was tired, but in a great mood. We all
joked around, ate snacks and drank juice and cola and the remains of the ritual
vodka and wine. Khulan was so happy that
the celebrations were going so well. I
was so happy to be meeting nice new people, including two shamans who spoke
some English so we could work together through my poor Mongolian and their
decent English.
As we were sitting around, I stretched out my foot and
bumped something in the grass. It was a deer’s antler that had dropped in
spring. Everyone else was shocked that I had found one, proclaiming it lucky. I
was kind of surprised no one noticed it since it was 4 inches away from the
picnic blanket and not under anything.
So now I have a deer antler
The next round of shamanizing was coming up in early
evening. Khulan and ML put on their
paraphernalia and we reentered the sacred circle. This time, it was both
grandmothers, who spoke to each other. I
also had a chance to meet ML’s grandmother again, who checked on how I was
doing after our last meeting. Many
other’s came forward and Grandmother was her usual sweet but humerous
self.
At the end, Khulan ended shamanizing and came as herself to
greet grandmother. Grandmother presented
her with two cushions (traditional seating for a shaman) which is a very
special gift. Khulan accepted them with
joy and grace.
It was time to end shamanizing and wrap things up for the
day. The morin huur players started playing and ML began drumming. He finished shamanizing and dropped, but the
morin huur players needed to finish their song.
Suddenly we heard a crack. We
looked up, TB was collapsed, doubled over, breathing in an unearthly manner.
His hand in a death-grip holding his now destroyed bow.
The morin huurs were moved away and the shaman came over and
began slapping him on the back with the tassels of his headdress. TS, another shamaness, told me that this
was one form of shaman sickness. He was possessed but not within his
control. His breathing and movements
were animalistic. He kept gripping and
tearing grass from the ground. After a
few moments of hitting him on the back, he seemed to come to. He stumbled his way out of the circle and
towards the picnic area to spend some time alone after what was, presumably, a
traumatic experience. A few friends came to join him. ML asked if I was scared, I explained that I
was concerned, but not scared. I had seen this sort of thing before in Thailand. ML was relaxing and talking to me when
suddenly, we heard a commotion. People were shouting for ML again. He jumped up
and ran over. TB was back in trance.
It was taking 3 full grown men to try and restrain him, his
movements were so strong. I was prepared
to jump in and help if necessary, which nearly happened twice. Khulan and ML both were trying everything to
get the spirit out. It wasn’t working.
ML rushed back to the circle to start shamanizing, hoping that his
spirit could directly intervene. At this
point, TB briefly snapped out of it. He
demanded his shirt be removed, he was sweating and in pain. He was crying, shouting ML’s name. We assured him ML was shamanizing and would
help. TB was struggling for control, and
collapsed sobbing, and soon lost control again. The spirit was back. There was literally a massive circle of dirt
around him, about 2 feet wide on all sides, where TB, in trance had ripped the
thick grass and flowers out of the ground.
The men tackled him again. When
the spirit briefly left and TB went limp for a minute, three men grabbed him and
picked up his limp body, bringing him into the circle.
ML was shamanizing and his grandfather spirit was
present. TB was put in front of
him. The spirit would not calm down
enough to be cooperative, and grandfather and the attendant had to whip him several
times. I cringed as scarlet lines appeared across his already beaten back. Finally they were able to blind fold him and
seat him on cushions. Grandfather tried
to talk to TB’s spirit, who up until now had only been making animalistic
grunts and growls. He began to talk in
an angry, unearthly voice. TB’s parents,
devout Gelugpa Buddhists, have a hatred towards shamanism and refuse to
propitiate the family spirits. For 3
years, TB has been afflicted by this spirit that will come, very strongly, and
demand attention.
Grandfather was able to talk to the spirit and seemed to be
scolding him. I couldn’t really tell. I was too transfixed by the situation to
ask for translation. After a long conversation, TB’s spirit was given a drum,
made a few more demands before he left, and drummed himself out, leaving TB
collapsed, on his back, in the circle, sobbing.
After a few moments of trying to recover and ML and Khulan comforting
him, he ran out of the circle into a quiet area of grass to cry on his own.
I helped clean up some of the sacred items in the circle and
TB’s friends came over and brought him his shirt and jacket. ML coaxed him over
to the picnic area to sit and talk. The
poor man was sobbing uncontrollably, cursing his situation and misfortune. Khulan joined ML, as someone who had also
experienced unplanned shamanizing. We
left them alone for a while. When he had
calmed down, I went over and talked with him. He was red eyed but seemed much
better. I asked if he was OK and massaged his hand, which was stiff from the
spirit’s grip. I even got him to laugh a
bit and we joked around a little. He
apologized to me for the spectacle, I laughed and asked what he was apologizing
for. I showed him a video of
unintentional trance in Thailand and said I had seen it before and wasn’t
scared and it was OK. We started to get
a few smiles out of him. He then looked
up and said in English “What the fuck?!”
And we all started laughing. I said “Yes, exactly, what the fuck?!”
ML drove me home, and kindly helped correct some of my
common Mongolian mistakes, all in a gentle and joking manner. I was concerned
about how tired he was, but he knew that this was his work. He told me that the
issue with TB was common over the past three years, and it made him very angry
at “shar shashin” (Yellow religion: Gelugpa Buddhism) because of it’s repressive
views. Whenever TB had a fit of this
sort and ML was called, he would drop everything to help his friend. I thought it was sweet and tragic. As someone
who practices Buddhism, I felt especially guilty that a sect of Buddhism was
creating such conflict.
We went to ML’s home and said goodbye to everyone who had
attended the ceremony and dropped off the Morin huurs, the morin huur players
and the shamanic paraphernalia. Then ML
drove me over to M’s house.
S was waiting for me, and we waited for M to arrive with the
car. I was completely drained and fell asleep on the couch. When the van arrived, we piled in, and I mean
piled. There were arms, legs, and boxes
of shamanic paraphernalia everywhere. The hardest part for me was a combination
of the darkened glass windows, which I hate with a furious passion, and the
bright white fluorescent light in then cabin, which started causing me pain in
about five minutes. It was so bad I had to use my scarf to cover my eyes. In fact, when we arrived in the country side,
despite then pouring rain, I practically fell out of then car in my rush to be
out of there and almost immediately went to bed, because I felt to sick.
August 2nd
I was still feeling exhausted from the previous day, so I
slept most of the morning, woke up, then went back to sleep until lunch time.
It was one of those days. After lunch, both M and his sister O were to
shamanize on a local mountain near a sacred tree.
We set up the altar inside, but brought out all of the other
shamanic items, the cushions, drum, etc.
M and O’s sister, E, a Bariach, was also in attendance ina ceremonial role, dressed entirely in white
from head to toe and with a single white cloth snake sewn in her deel.
A little ways down the mountain, a bonfire was prepared.
First the family came forward for consultation. After some consultation and instruction, E
started to make a mixture of milk, and herbs. She took the chest mirrors from
both M and O and left these to soak in the milk mixture. She then took two
black cloth snakes and left these to soak in the mixture as well.
Consultations continued and the O and M stopped shamanizing.
At this point, their mother came forward to E, took off her shirt and bent in
front of E. I took the doubled over
snakes (so, 4 wet ropes) and started whipping the mother on the head, back,
chest, and legs. Then other people started lining up. I realized it was
everyone. S, M’s wife and attendant,
told me this was for healing. I should have it done for my wrist injury,
sprained ankle, and asthma. I stripped
down to my tank top and rolled up my jeans and waited my turn.
When it was my turn, I knelt in front of E expecting
something not too hard. Even on my head, through my hair, it was so hard that
it stung painfully. I was flinching and trying not to shout. Then my back.
I now understand why wet ropes and whips were used as a torture about
400 years ago in the USA and on ships.
To make matters worse, the snakes had eyes made of plastic beads. Then my chest. It hurt like crazy. When it was over, I was coverd in milk and
herbs, my hair was sort of crunchy from the drying whole milk. I asked Hulan to take a photo of my chest so I
could see how red it had become.
We then had a fire ceremony, where one part of the family
offered meat, butter, wild thyme, and vodka to the flames
No comments:
Post a Comment