Dreams and Reality
A Siberian Summer with Shamans and the Mountain Spirits
I was born and raised in a modern industrial Siberian city. The world around me was simple and familiar, like a blanket on a grandmother's bed. Never had I thought that in my early thirties I would find myself on the opposite side of Mother Earth, in America - and then that I would return to Siberia many years later to restore a spiritual connection with my homeland.
The country of my childhood dreams, the great American land, freed my spirit. I listened to the voices of the land, and they greatly inspired me. They guided me to the place where beauty and the spirit were One. They guided me to my true path. The right teachers came into my life. They passed on to me their wisdom and knowledge, and the light of awareness opened my vision. I found my true self, and I remembered who I was. I had the heart of a Siberian woman, compassionate and brave, and I had the blood and the energy of my Mongolian and Russian ancestors-healers. I was becoming a healer.
My Qi-Gong meditations, intertwined with shamanic practices, filled my life with visions, messages, and synchronistic events. During one of my meditations, an image of three burning circles came into my vision. I was high above the land, and the Great Eagle carried me toward the burning circles. It wasn't long, before a profound clairvoyant experience with a 160 year-old shamanic staff granted to me strength and a clear vision of the Great Eagle. The time had come to enter the first burning circle.
The land of Siberia came into my vision, and I knew that I was supposed to go back to my homeland with a mission. I saw myself with my friends, Native American shamans and healers, and we were joining hands with the Siberian shamans. We were uniting our energies to heal the Earth, giving humanity one more chance to open and heal their hearts.
ONGON ceremony - journey to the Upper World
In May 2001 I contacted a small group of young people in the Chita region of Siberia who organize trips into the Siberian wilderness and to shamanic sites. After some communication via Internet, I received an email with exciting news: I was invited to a private shamanic ONGON ceremony. It was the kind of ceremony which people are seldom invited to attend, and there was no question in my mind as to whether I should go.
The journey to Siberia wasn't easy - it took two days to get to the place of my destination. But overall, it was a beautiful, heart warming experience! Everyone I met on the way put all their hearts and effort to help me in all ways possible. I was back home, back to the land where people treat each other as though all of them are the members of one big family.
I was expected by the Mongolian and Buryat (Buryats are a subset of the Mongolian nationality) shamans, and when I arrived, I was greeted and welcomed with an incredible hospitality and warmth. The local Buryat women invited me to a fully prepared dinner with rich Siberian food. First they fed me, then we exchanged our presents - the ceremony was already in progress.
The ONGON ceremony is a traditional way for Mongolian and Siberian shamans to go on a journey and meet with the spirits of the Upper World. It is a private ceremony for the shaman, and the right energies around the ceremony are a crucial requirement for the success of a shaman's journey.
I stayed with the shamans for four days and on the last day of the ceremony, the spirit of my Mongolian ancestor, Syrin, came into the body of a woman shaman and talked through her. Syrin told me that I was chosen by the spirits to become a healer.
The ONGON ceremony was over, but I didn't feel that my journey was complete. There was one more place I had to go. I listened, and the answer came through a local woman. "You can't leave without visiting Alhanai," she told me after the ceremony.
The destination of my journey had narrowed to the unique and mysterious land in the mountains of the southern part of the Siberian wilderness. Alhanai, declared a national park just three years ago, is one of the few places in the world which was chosen by our gods to be a site of hope for the human race. The spirit of the land carries a hidden magical power, and some of its places are famous for their healing waters and healing stones. The mountains there are covered by endless forest. Unique springs produce a rejuvenating force, arshaan, which can heal muscle and bone and can return strength and beauty lost with age. From Russian fairy tales this water is known as "water which brings life".
The ceremony to meet the spirits of Alhanai Mountain
Once I arrived in the land of the Alhanai Mountain, a local forest worker showed me a trail to the mountain. "It is not a difficult trail," he said, then paused for a second and with a strange look in his eyes, added: "But anything can happen on your way." And indeed, not long after I had stepped on the mountain trail, strange things began to happen. The trail suddenly disappeared: there was nothing in front of me, nor was there a trace of the trail behind me. I found myself in the middle of a dense forest, puzzled and lost, and hesitant to move at all. A strange sensation was growing inside of me as if my every step and my every thought was being watched by the spirits. I kept walking, but I wasn't certain where I was or where I was going. From then on I had to follow my intuition.
I was by myself in the deep forest, the taiga, where you can go for days without meeting a soul. However, the spirits of the land were all around me, watching and patiently waiting for me to clear up my destructive thoughts and to start listening. So I began to listen. "Look to the direction of this fallen tree. It is your direction. The bird that flew above. Follow the bird." With no doubts, I was guided to the place where I would perform my ceremony.
After wandering in the forest without any sensation of time, I entered an open space with a rocky pedestal that had naturally formed in the middle. I climbed to the top, and to my astonishment, found an absolutely flat surface. It was as if someone had flattened and cleaned it specifically for me. I gratefully gave thanks to the spirits for their guidance, and after a short preparation began my ceremony.
My regular Qi-Gong practice and some knowledge of shamanic rituals allowed me to go into a deep trance without the aid of hallucinogens or drumming. I started my shamanic journey. Drifting upwards effortlessly, I found myself above the forest-covered mountain ranges of Siberia; above the blue ribbons of rivers and the splashes of crystal pure lakes. I felt the wind rushing into my face as I was climbing higher and higher into the sky. At the same time I was growing bigger and bigger compared to the size of the mountains, experiencing their strength and power. A beam of golden light streamed from above, from the cosmic space, creating a channel of communication between the two worlds.
The Spirit of Alhanai appeared in my vision in four different forms: as a bear, a deer, a young beautiful woman, and an old Mongol. Later I interpreted the four different forms as a representation of the mountain's strength, its vulnerability, its beauty, and its wisdom.
The spirit of the Alhanai made three requests. First, he asked for a shaman to come back to the mountains. Historically, the shaman was a mediator between the physical world and the world of spirits. He was a protector and a healer of the people and of the land. Without a shaman the land and its people can be easily mistreated. The healing energy of the land would disappear, as well as the culture of an indigenous people - their wisdom, knowledge, and unique healing practices. The spirit of Alhanai requested a shaman with the name Bator. In Buryat's language "Bator" means "a powerful man".
The second request of the Alhanai was to establish a ceremony for those who enter the sacred space of the mountains. The ceremony had to open people's hearts, clean the destructive energies, and awaken the people's spirits. The Native American purification ceremony could serve this purpose.
The third request of Alhanai was to control the number of people who entered the area. A system of regulation hadn't been established in the park yet, and the widespread news about the unique healing power of the land attracted more and more people. However, in case we were unable to protect the land ourselves, Alhanai would wake up the protective power of his spirit.
When I was leaving the place of my ceremony, I was drawn to look back. Above the rocky pedestal the clouds had formed a face with a striking resemblance to the face of the old Mongol. I stood there for a while looking at the smiling face, smiling back and absorbing the mysterious energy of Alhanai.
I've asked myself why I had been guided to this sacred place. Why was I chosen to receive the messages of the Alhanai Mountain? Then the answer came: I was myself a bear, a deer, a young beautiful woman and a wise man with Mongolian blood. I was chosen to receive the messages and to pass them on to other people who had big and compassionate hearts, who cared about the land and its people, and who could make a difference in this world.
The next day I returned to a village where I was supposed to attend a shamanic ceremony. The locals had prepared banya (A steam house) for me. They didn't know me and I had never met them before. It was the family of a shaman with the name Bator. I was guided to their house as a guest and as a messenger to pass along the message from Alhanai.
The gate to the parallel world
As my Alhanai journey continued, I needed to find a place to stay for one more night. The forest worker, who I met before, introduced me to a healer: "Slava will host you for tonight. He is a good man and a very interesting person to talk to." The young man was as big and as strong as a bear, but his whole presence was emanating kindness and hospitality. He shook my hand with a kind and shy expression. "I live 1.5 kilometres from here, in izbushka (A Russian style log cabin)," he said. "We can either walk there or we will have to look around for a ride."
Slava lived in a log cabin made out of the whole trunks of pine trees. His companions were a cat, a dog and a rooster. Everything inside was made out of wood except for a huge Russian pechka (A traditional Russian wood stove with an oven made of bricks). It was sitting in the middle of the room, occupying most of the cabin's space. My bed was a simple bench covered by a thick wool blanket.
Our conversation had circled around a subject that we were both fascinated with - Tibetan medicine. The time was streaming in a relaxed flow in a semi-dark room magically transformed and stretched in the endless space of the Siberian taiga. We shifted our conversation in the direction of shamanism. "I want to give you a present," Slava suddenly said. He took something from a shelf and handed it to me. On his big palm lay an ancient toli, a shamanic disk which shamans use for healing and wear for protection. It was something I could not have even dreamed of having.
Slava was happy to see my delight. "You are a very special person, Galina. Tomorrow morning I am going to bring you to a place that just a few people know about. It is called Podkova (Horseshoe)." Slava told me a story about the place. At the end of the 19th century, 33 black shamans gathered at Podkova to perform a ceremony. Among them was a llama. There was nothing unusual about the event, but the next day all 33 shamans were found dead, and the llama was missing. I asked Slava for more information. He gave me a strange look. "Tomorrow, wait for tomorrow."
The next morning we ate a simple breakfast of pancakes with pickled cucumbers and left the cabin. There was no trail to Podkova. I followed Slava, brushing against high grasses, bushes and prickly tree branches. An open space suddenly appeared. We were standing at the top of high cliffs which had formed a canyon with the shape of a horseshoe. Looking straight out below us, as far as we could see, stretched green waves of the Siberian forest. "Here it is," Slava said in a soft voice. "This is the place." He paused, listening to the surrounding sounds, then turned to me. "I am going to leave you now, but I'll be close by. I just want you to feel the place."
As I closed my eyes, a beam of cosmic light streamed from above. It was the same light I had seen on my shamanic journey. The beam was penetrating Podkova and, thanks to the canyon's shape, was spreading to the whole area of Alhanai. "Podkova works as a transmitter," came into my mind. I opened my eyes and looked around. Slava was waiting for me. "I want to show you the cave," he said and offered his hand for support. We moved around Podkova descending to its lower level.
The cave was small and so narrow that just one person could fit comfortably inside. Closing my eyes, I had no clue as to what was going to happen next. I was immediately taken high above the area, and found myself approaching a big shiny opening. I was drawn to enter the opening, but at the same time part of me felt cautious and resistant. "It is a gate to the parallel reality," it suddenly flushed through my mind. It was an exciting discovery, but for some reason, it didn't feel right to do any further exploration. I pulled myself back and opened my eyes.
When I came out of the cave, Slava observed me with a piercing gaze. In his eyes I read a silent question. "Podkova is the gate to the parallel reality." Slava nodded in agreement: "That's right. This gate had been used by the local shamans for centuries. A hundred years ago 33 black shamans (Black shamans mostly perform rituals and ceremonies and are not engaged in healing) lived on this land, and there also were some llamas, who came from Mongolia. When llamas first arrived, they were fascinated with beauty and power of Alhanai Mountains. They wanted to stay on this land, but 33 shamans were on their way. A tension began to grow between llamas and the shamans. It was a competition over their influence on the local population."
I quietly lowered myself on a rock next to Slava, trying not to miss a word. "During ceremonies shamans were communicating with the other dimensions," Slava continued, his eyes looking deep into the mysterious past. "They were bringing back wisdom and the mystical power of the Higher Consciousness. But since the departure of 33 shamans, the gate to the parallel reality remained closed for a century. The angry spirits of 33 shamans blocked the gate."
Slava paused and then looked at me: "The legend says the spell will be broken when 33 white shamans (White shamans are mostly engaged in healing) come to this place. They will join their hands and create a circle with Podkova, the love of their hearts reaching the spirits. The gate to the parallel reality will open again and the white shamans will be given wisdom, strength, and an answer on how to protect our world and how to help humanity."
I was listening to Slava, experiencing goose bumps all over my body. I couldn't talk for a while. "Slava," I finally said, "I received a message that I was supposed to bring my friends, shamans and healers to Siberia. Back then I wasn't very clear about our mission, but a chain of synchronistic events brought me here."
"The time has come to reopen the gate, Galina." Slava looked straight into my eyes. Then he repeated again: "The time has come. We can't wait any longer." He stood up and offered me his hand: "We have to go now. Otherwise, you'll be late for your bus."
The Higher Plan
I picked up my backpack from Slava's cabin, and a few minutes later we were on a dirt road, walking back to the campground. Completely immersed in his thoughts, Slava hiked like a soldier, stepping firmly on a dusty surface, as if he was measuring a distance. I tried to keep pace with him even it wasn't easy. "A bus from Duldurga to Aginskoe leaves at two o'clock," he said finally breaking a long silence. "It would be pure luck if you find a ride to Duldurga on time."
I had to be back to Aginskoe by tonight. A shaman Luba who invited me initially to the ONGON ceremony, later extended her invitation for the other ceremony, which was taking place the next day. A family of local Buryats asked Luba to establish communication with the spirits of their ancestors. Some members of this big family, mostly children, fell ill for no particular reason, and a young mother had repeated dreams about her deceased grandfather who used to be a shaman. In the process of the ceremony Luba had to play the role of a mediator, retrieving messages from the spirits and passing them on to the family. I was thrilled to witness the fascinating process of this ceremony, but at the same time I felt relaxed, accepting any outcome. I surrender to the Higher Plan.
There was no ride to Duldurga. Thirty minutes remained before a bus would leave Duldurga to Aginskoe. "You are going to miss it," Slava mentioned casually. "Looks like," I sighed and turned my eyes away from the road. A green jeep appeared from out of nowhere. Brakes squealed, and a thick cloud of dust covered the car. In the next moment I saw two friendly male faces looking at me from the front seat. The men waited patiently as I approached them.
"Zdravstvuite," I greeted the men. "Where are you heading?"
"To Duldurga," the driver said. "Do you need a ride?"
"Yes, I do. I have to catch the two o'clock bus to Aginskoe. Can we make it?"
"Of course, we'll make it," the driver said, cleaning up the back seat.
The ride appeared as unexpectedly as if it was dropped from the sky. I ran back to grab my backpack and stopped near Slava. Suddenly he looked completely upset, tormented with something that was unspoken. With his head bent down he carefully explored the road beneath his feet. "Slava, I have to go. I am sorry... I hope I'll see you again." I hugged my new friend and paused for a moment. After not receiving a response, I sighed and walked to the car. One more time I looked back, silently asking Slava to raise his head and to give me one of his gentle smiles, but he kept standing motionless with his head down. I hopped into the car, and with a clicking sound of the shutting door, the driver pushed the gas pedal.
It was a wild ride. A fast ride comes from our Russian and Mongolian blood. If you, my American reader, think that you are a crazy driver, forget it. Go to Russia and experience a ride with a local driver. If you think, that you know what a bad road is, forget it also. Go to Siberia to experience it in its fullest. Only then will you know the true meaning of a wild ride! Russian drivers are used to the rough roads as much as to a rough life. They don't slow down in sight of bumps and holes instead, they keep a steady speed and move to the opposite side of the road, because from their point of view that side always looks better than the side they drive on.
We arrived in Duldurga right on time. When our jeep approached the bus station, my bus showed up directly behind us. With a humming vibration in my tailbone, I crawled out of the jeep graciously thanking the men. No doubt, they were employed by the Mountain Spirits to play their important role in a chain of synchronistic events of my Siberian journey.
The two-hour drive in a hot and noisy bus full of dust, luggage and people, awoke vivid memories about life in Russia. The whole way to Aginskoe I stood on my feet, sometimes on one foot only, trying to keep balance in my body and mind. Later I told my American friends: "If you want to survive in Russia, you have to accept the situation, and you have to adapt to it as much as you can. Besides that, it is important not to lose your sense of humor."
Finally, the long-awaited village appeared in a far distance. Images of the first houses were swaying in hot air as if I was seeing a mirage. I arrived in Aginskoe, the capital of Buryatiya.
The summer is hot and dry in Buryatiya. In the afternoon you find yourself under the attack of direct sun glaring mercilessly from above. At the same time, heavy waves of heat rise from dry and dusty roads. It feels as if your brain is melting, and your whole body is on fire.
I was looking for the house of Zeremzhit, a Buryat woman who I met at the ONGON ceremony. Zeremzhit willingly agreed to host me after the ceremony. She was a school teacher, and there was no problem in finding her house. Local kids, at first interrupting each other and then in unison, gave me a clear direction to the house of their teacher. As soon as I saw and greeted Zeremzhit, I expressed to her my desperate need for banya. Streams of sticky sweat mixed with a day-thick dust made my body cry for a good scrub down. "Do you know anyone who has banya?" I asked my hostess with hope. "Let me call some of my neighbors," Zeremzhit said with a joyful expression on her face. She was happy to have me back.
A few minutes later she called for me: "Galina, get ready. My neighbors are preparing banya for you." On our way to the neighbors' house, I learned from my hostess that we were invited to the house of Bator, who was a shaman. Everything was unfolding according to the Higher Plan.
Bator
After exchanging greetings, Bator's wife, petite smiling woman asked me to follow her. She walked toward a squat log cabin, which was sitting behind the main house. When she opened a low and heavy door, a familiar aroma of herbs and birch leaves mixed with dry heat, reached my senses, and my whole body relaxed in anticipation of a heavenly experience.
Banya is an inalienable attribute of Russia. It is unlikely that the Russian nation would survive debilitating wars, hardship of life and rough climate without the healing and rejuvenating power of banya. Banya restores our health by cleansing our body, relaxing our mind and lifting our spirit.
A wood stove with a pile of river rocks on the top was red from heat. I scooped up a full dipper of hot water and poured it on the rocks. The water hissed wildly through the rocks' surface and a dense hot wave enveloped my body. I reached for venik (A bungle made of birch branches) which soaked in a bucket filled with hot water, and after shacking excess water off, pressed hot branches against my chest. Leaves were soft and emitting a healing aroma. I stroked and whipped my body with hot branches, adding more and more steam to the room, until all pores of my body opened up to the healing heat. I scrubbed and washed myself completely immersed in a pleasure of a well prepared banya. At the end, I poured a full bucket of cold water over my head - the washing ceremony was completed. I felt light and pure from inside out like a newborn baby.
Bator and his family waited for me, and when I walked into the house, red and happy, Zeremzhit and I were invited to join the family for a dinner. We sat around a fully served table, and Bator started his story: "This afternoon I was supposed to be at the ceremony, but my car broke down and nobody could give me a ride. I didn't know what to think. I just knew that it was happening for a reason."
I was listening to Bator with a smile and, when he finished, replied: "The spirits were holding you because I was on my way to bring you a message." I told Bator about my shamanic journey to meet the Mountain Spirits, and at the end I passed along the message, "Alchanai asked for you, Bator."
The whole family went quiet. Even a 9-month old baby, Bator's grandchild, froze up in the middle of his play with his mouth wide open. Bator broke the silence: "It is an honor and a big responsibility to be the chosen one, and I want to tell you my story how I became a shaman." He poured some tea in a tea cup and began his story.
"I just started my path as a shaman. In other words, I accepted it. I had no choice. I used to be." He paused and looked at his family for support and then continued. "I used to be a KGB officer. Besides other things, we were obligated to persecute any forms of religion including shamanism. I was a good officer with a high rank as well, but something strange happened to me two years ago. I had a dream. That dream was as vivid as reality itself. My grandfather, who used to be a shaman, came to me in my dream. He said that a spell was put on our family, so no one would practice shamanism for 100 years. Then he said that 100 years had passed, the spell is broken and the spirits are free again. "Your time has come," the grandfather told me. I woke up in the morning remembering every detail of that dream. Back then I had no idea what that dream was about.
I fell ill not long after that night. I lost sleep. Every night voices were talking to me. Every morning I had to bring myself together in a manner to function. At lunch I would lock the door to my office and sleep for a couple hours. I started to lose weight, and I felt completely exhausted. However, I was tough. For almost two years I had been pretending that nothing happened. My family found out first, and then my co-workers. After 20 years of working for the KGB, I was fired on the spot."
Bator poured more hot tea in his cup, sipped it a few times and then continued: "The spirits forced me to become a shaman. There was no escape, except to die. But I loved my family so much, I couldn't hurt them. I had no other choice, so I accepted my destiny. We found an old shaman who agreed to perform a ceremony. After that ceremony I slept solidly through the whole night. It was the first time after two years. Gradually my health and strength returned."
"This is my story," Bator said, smiling. He was looking at his grandchild who had fallen asleep in his mother's arms. The shaman's eyes were full of love and warmth. "I am much happier now. The spirits know better about what you need in your life. They still talk to me but our communication is different now. They bring me messages and I pay back with my respect."
At the end of our dinner, Bator stood up and walked toward a bookshelf. He took something from the shelf and came back to the table. In his hands a small light-brown horse was galloping across a grassy step. It was a captured moment of beauty and grace. "This horse is made out of cedar," Bator said stroking the smooth back of the horse with his finger. "I like to work with cedar. A fresh smell of the cedar tree stays with the craft work for a long time." He brought the figure to his face and deeply inhaled the smell.
"I want to give this horse to you as a present," Bator said. "You have a strong connection with the horses. It came from your Mongolian life. There is something else... I saw konovyas (A hitching post) in connection with you. Men usually have this connection."
"What does it mean?" I asked Bator.
"It means that you are very powerful. Strong spirits are working with you," Bator said and handed me the horse.
The spirits are knocking on your door
While carefully stepping around splashes of cow's dung, I already pictured myself in Zeremzhit's house, stretching out on a comfortable bed that Zeremzhit had prepared for me. I could almost feel the softness of the dawn pillow under my cheek. For eight nights in a row I hadn't had a proper rest. The first night I sat for ten hours in the most uncomfortable airplane seat, and the next night wasn't any better. I had to take a train from Irkutsk to Chita, and the whole night my body was jerked and pulled across a firm bench on the Siberian Express. Then there were three nights at the site of the ONGON ceremony, where we had just 3-4 hours of a night sleep. A few more nights I spent in the wilderness, and the last night on a wooden bench in Slava's cabin. A thin wool blanket on top of the bench didn't make it any softer, and I was twisting and turning the whole night, regretting not having extra padding on my hips.
When we approached Zeremzhit's house, I saw a few local Buryat women lined up by the front door. I looked at my hostess with surprise and a silent question. She seemed a little embarrassed. "Galina," she said with a guilty smile, "I know you are tired, but I hope you don't mind to work a little bit with my friends. I told them about you and how you helped me with your healing. If I didn't tell them, they would call me selfish. They would say that I was not a good friend, because I didn't want to share. Can you help them a little bit?" she asked with hope.
Zeremzhit was honest and thoughtful in her attempt not to offend her women friends. She was caring about me as well, but at the same time she was eager to share my presence and my gifts with others with the pride of a hostess, who was given a rare chance to be in the short time possession of a special guest. This 55-year old woman reminded me of a child, who unexpectedly received a special present, and because of that felt special as well. I couldn't say "No".
I don't remember much of what happened next. I was listening, talking, making movements with my hands... Faces and stories were changing without leaving a trace. Just one story stayed.
One of Zeremzhit's friends developed a number of strange physical and mental symptoms over a period of two years. I remember that after listening to the woman's story, I told her: "The spirits are knocking on your door, but you don't hear them."
"I do," the woman replied. "I hear a knock on my door every night. I open the door but nobody is there."
"I am sorry," I said to her with compassion. "I can't help you. There is just one way for you to get well. You have to drop your resistance to the spirits and accept a new way of life."
My work was completed. Extremely tired, but at the same time, feeling happy and content, I could finally close my eyes without an agonizing attempt to open them again. A soft pillow appeared from nowhere and reached my cheek. I was sinking deeper and deeper into the valley of dreams, where dreams and reality finally merged together.
How many of us still keep our resistance to the changes which come our way? Many of us say: "We are not happy where we are, but at least this place is familiar." Don't wait, my friends, when the spirits start knocking on your door. Don't be afraid of the changes. Open your door and let the fresh wind of a new life inside.