He always lies in wait for his next bloodthirsty opponent
The upcoming battle stalks him everywhere
Though they emerge with their lives, they don’t fin peace
Like an arrow, he pierces through and rips them apart
Everything forgotten the ancient earth.


Everyone was amazed, and from that time, the child's extraordinary talent and ability began to reveal itself. Atthe age of six, he took the vows of a monk, and at nine he was recognised as a the fifth incarnation of the Noyon Hutagt. Between eleven and fifteen, he studied Buddhist philosophy and tantric practise at Badgarcholin Monastery, in what is today Inner Mongolia, and great teachers such as Janjaa Hutagt, Ajaa Gegeen and Düinhor Pandit gave him the instructions and empowerments for secret mantra practises, and so his magical and spiritual genius became gradually more and more open. Although great scholars of religion study the Dharma for about ten years and so reach a high level, Danzanravjaa was amazing in that he took a short cut and penetrated the secrets of the Dharma after about five years. At sixteen he returned to the place of his birth and, as he perfected the practise of secret mantra, he began to build what is now Övörbayasgalant Hamriin Hiid. Two years later his father Dulduit died. After this time, he gave himself to building temples and monasteries and to magical practises such as bringing rain and spreading the Dharma, he wrote poetry and composed music and songs, and he choreographed dances, and so he spread magic and brought enlightenment to his homeland of the Govi.


The song upon your lips 
is upon the hills,
the song upon your lips
encompasses the world.


The sky, broad like a basket for gathering dung,
above the gathered people,
and when the people are singing,
the great sky is calm.


My father, who was a livestock herder in the countryside, first showed me the Mongol script by writing it in the snow, out in the sheep pastures, with a piece of feathergrass, he told me that I should learn the script.  Thus it was that I came to study in the department of Mongol Language and Literature at the Pedagogical University. I had had the chance to go to the University for Literary Studies in Moscow, but chose not to take that path.  Because of the political situation at that time, and because of the increased pay it would bring, as I read the classic texts of Marxism-Leninism, and commited some of them to memory, I began also to study the ancient Mongol texts.


I shall blaze like a candle in the isolation of the mind within.
I shall be sky blue in the faraway legends of our wild eastern steppe.
I shall wash in the delicate white rays of the hunchback moon.
I shall rest on the deep broad sands of our Ganga Nuur.

I shall shred the silken threads of grey-white clouds.
I shall examine white in the shadow of white feather-grass.
I shall be captured by the wind-bowed blue-green grass.
I shall roll out towards the horizon, along the great nomadic train.


Looking back on my life in poetry and literary culture, the history of my work appears to have been a flight within, for indigenous Mongol knowledge, for its traditions, its nature and its culture. These four ancient matters are forever calling to me, forever disturbing me, they constitute the ancient writings, collected in the landscape and the language of my birthplace, the melodies of the horsehead fiddle, and traditional understanding. In the first few years, balancing Mongol script and traditional culture, I sought the possibility of expressing my own inner world, my own thoughts, through the combination of ink and brush, and so I began to make my first calligraphies on paper with ink and a brush. At first these calligraphies were modest, simple works, my own nature poems written in Mongol script. Later, I tried to show the melody of my poems through the movement of the brush. This period was important for me as the coming together of poetry and calligraphy.

Ballad about a colt running back to its parents birthplace

Oh, a poor light chestnut orphan colt tramped through the rolling hills and without an enthusiasm started jogging down. After its mother’s death he was in great bereavement. In front of him a swallow traced a circle in the air. This lovely animal, very gullible, was unaware of his direction but a kind of instinct was leading him to somewhere. He lost his mother. The parching sun scorched his body. The invisible dust garnered in the coat on his wiry back. The flies swarmed on his eyes and face. They were a nuisance.
This lovely colt fell into a dust arose by him. He was thirsty for water and came near the harem of mares and horses which bunched together in sweltering hot day in the pond. At the start he cringed back in fear and clung to each light chestnut pony. Each pony did not treat him in a friendly manner by laying down their ears. The colt was in fear and stood aloof. But a black cryptochid colt of three years drove him away by menacing to bite.


Today I am a thousand riddles, ten thousand connections,
Like an iceberg, most of which is hidden in the ocean,
So my thoughts are hidden deep within my heart,
Concealed by the spirit of my country which inspires my mind.

I exist in the beauty of nature.
Its unfailing melodies can open me,
The distant stars and planets can open me,
The future and the passing of time can open me.