Mongolia 1992: Bring Me Home, Home, After All

My morning eyes follow 

the path of the Mongolian knife. 
Drawn from its scabbard dry edged, 
it is thrust into meat.

From the warm fat 

of the roasted animal,

the knife is pulled out 
soaked-shiny oily-wet.

In this lamplight 

the knife's jeweled handle glints,

shoots stars to illuminate 

all of us with tradition.
Multicolored twinkles reflect 

above us, on us, and around 

our woolen interior,

canvased roof 

tented yurt.

Last night’s feast 

celebrated our gathering>
We came from all over Central Asia.
Singers mostly, 

we are all born to dance,

it is vocalizations that need cultivation.

This is not a contest, 

it is a sharing,

of our talent and traditions, 
to keep alive the spirit of harmony,
within the all and everything

of our shared cultural ancestry.

Our Hosts, my friends,

cook a Mongolian bundle.

Offered as a feast-dish,
the sending of the animal onwards, 
into it's journey beyond our Earthly-reality,
is done sacredly, as a ceremonial transition.
The butchering was performed 
in the ancient Muslim tradition.
Prayers of respect for the animal's Soul,
absolute cleanliness in preparation, 
a demonstrated safeguarding 

of the animal's rights

to be respected,

their body, mind and Spirit 

seen as sacred, treated as holy.

The Soul of the animal is received 
by us and by creation,
with love and care.
These are the strict Laws of Purity.

To safeguard the animal's honor, 
which we receive, 

and consume, 

when we eat it.

We return our honor,

merged with the honor we gained, 

back to the animal, 

by giving back respect to the animal.

The gift of nourishing,

the continuation of our life,

is also a gift of learning about honor.

Each meal, we learn, how to give back.
We give back the necessary nutrients, 
to keep the Earth in balance, 
by respecting the boundaries of the worlds.

When an animal gives it's flesh,
we are given the honor to respect it's form,
and the responsibility of the release of it's Soul.

Food and nourishment are gifts, 
gifts returned with honor.
By showing the animal we respect it's life,
we honor it's creation,

and respect it's return 

to creation.

The cooking is done Mongolian style.
The meat and bones are removed from the skin.
Special rocks are gathered from riverbeds, 
and placed on the fire to soak up heat.

When the hot rocks hold enough energy, 
the stones are layered inside the goatskin bundle.
The meat and herbs are then added,
absorbing the rock's built-up energy.
Then the whole stuffed-goatskin is sewn up,
bundled up and set over the flame.
The hot rocks inside the bundle 

cook all the meat from the inside,
and the campfire flames 

cook the entire bundle from the outside.

The leftovers from last night’s feast, 
will be somehow added to today's breakfast.
Most morning meals are simple noodles in broth.
Light meals always start the day.
The fire we are sitting around, 
is the cultural heart of this nomadic group.
The warmth of a fire always provides life, 
as food: story, song and sharing friendship.

I begin to awake, regain my consciousness.

A blanket of warm dreamtime memories, 
wraps me in the glow of remembrance.
Time feels immeasurable,  
as it casts me in all directions, 
along unwinding threaded matrixes.

I travel backwards into the past, 
to fish for my collective memories.
Alluring smells of hot tea being made-ready,
bring me back from the past into the present.
The milk tea seeps into my core, 
rising heat to my skin and flush to my face.

I rewind my mind from spinning backwards. 
By reversing my presence's directional flow,

I rest in present time,

and it is in present time,

that my imagination is most powerful.
So, I begin the day by weaving new legends.

We practice the meditation of augmenting presence.

I do my part and let go of my concepts of time.
I soak in the nothingness of eternal no time.

Time is how we measure  the movement of energy.

I sit still, spend no energy. 
I feel past, presence and future 

as one energetic experience,
all existing simultaneously,

as one experience of me 

in the center of my existence.

I feel more awake each day,

as my day to day confidence builds.

I know, see and remember 

that each person 

carries a storyline from day to day.

Quiet instructions on how to be more., 
How we can master awareness,
generate more consciousness,

gain more presence,

appear centered within our own life, 

and be spacious, not get lost in Space.

My self-contained knowledge, 
that individually representing each one of us,
is a singular unique history being lived.
One's belonging and sense of self,
emerges from a personal value and justice system.

Here, now, I am, at rest.

I am not in flight or fight mode,
from the groundswell of modern fantasy
of Earthly illusionary hyperactivity.

I am not distracted, or reactive.

The morning daybreak gives birth

to voices awakening of the predawn throats -
the Mongolian singers are practicing.
Oiled to perfection from last night's feast,

voices are ready for morning song.
Bellies still full from last night's meal,
we were provided the lubricants 

to reach today's high notes.

It is very early, Sun is starting 

to illuminate the edge of ground,

activating excitement among the singers.
As they begin, to sing very loudly,

my ears ring, from their vibrational gift. 
A morning sound bath resonating within 

our community of collected feelings.

This new morning, I enjoy the songs.
I listen and share the workload.

We start planning preparations for lunch,

we begin to imagine tonight's dinner.

I hum as I mix, fold, blend and grind spices.

Chop leek stalks, garlic shoots, herbs, 
creating fresh seasonings and spices
for the mutton meat and vegetables 
that will become stuffed dumplings skins.

These Khuushurr dumplings
have curative healing powers.

The dumplings are used 
to treat nervous system neurosis, 

and balance the air element within 

our human body's five element circulating system.

I prepare some meat to boil, 
in the Indigenous home-cooking style, 
boiling and roasting, roasting and boiling,

for hours to recreate the atmospheric moisture 

within the body of the animal, 

this softens the meat, stimulates it's memory.

When food is prepared with love for life,

it gives life, reclaims life, 

with a certain regard for life.

Everyone's eyes are bigger than their stomachs.

I make Nan,
a non-Mongolian flat bread, 
but easily transported on the Silk Road.

The name for this bread is pizza, roti or pita,

here I cook this flat bread on the rocks,

next to the open campfire flame.

No different from the fry bread, 
Flat bread is made all over,

on Turtle Island in the Americas,
it has become fried or oven baked,

but no matter where I am in the world, 
the smell of bread baking,
always centers me, puts a smile on my face.

Sensual memories of home cooking.

Smell, the sense 

that keeps giving the holistic sensation, 

which travels all hours, 
and never ceases to bring me home.

Home, after all is said and done, 
is a felt sensation in the body.

A knowingness never lonely, 

everyone always belonging, 

to a worldly band of one -

a global tribe that starts with me.

After all is said, I am brought home,
after all is said and done, 
I feel connected to my home.
Home resides at the core of my Being, 

my center is my home and home is my source.

Home, after all, is where the heart is.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
L. Olziitogs wrote;
"When I smell only longing 

from every person in the universe
My ever more tranquil heart 

understands that it is a fish's -
I am not merely human."

Sometime before 2007, 

Norval Morrisseau said; 
"The beaver was considered sacred 

by the Ojibway who, because of its meat and fur, 
regarded it as a source of life...
The first beaver of the year that is caught by the Ojibway 
is always eaten in a manner that is considered sacred. 
Some Indians would spread a clean cloth, 
and have the first beaver eaten on the floor, 
not on the table. 
All the bones are tied in a bundle 
in a clean cloth with ribbons and tobacco, 
and are thrown in water. 
This is believed to bring good luck 
in catching beaver for the coming season."

"Journey Man" by Karin Lisa Atkinson (China 1990)