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.

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.

The more I believe that I am come from blue Heaven
the more my place appears among the blue-pearl stars.
I am sad now Hцhdei the Wise has gone out
Into Heaven, pursuing blue Orion.

The more the three hinds of Orion call nearby, the sadder I am.
The more Hцhdei the Wise summons his horses from Heaven, the sadder I am.
I am led further away by the sadness in my heart,
I am sent into Heaven’s blue mist by my sadness,
I am making friends with beauty of being sad.

Near the ruins of the city around Mexico’s pyramid, they found a crystal human skull. The man who found this crystal skull dreamed that he saw what was happening a thousand years ago, as though in a movie. This skull produced unending amazement in anthropological circles and he explained what ancient peoples of our earth had done, and answered the scholars’ questions about how the ancients had used the skull and with what implements they had made it. There were noisy rumors that such crystal skulls had been found, not only in Mexico and America, but in Mongolia too.

I wrote this poem, called "I am coming to you," in a large group of tents beneath a starry sky, one night, swimming in a deep sleep. At that moment, as I gazed at the peaks of the great hills, overcome by the feeling that the dark cranes were flying beyond those lofty, white mountains, the poem took birth. They came to me, the child of nomads, raised as the dark cranes of the saltmarshes had been raised, they came to the bright pages of my notebook, these dark cranes of desire, so many of them, flying in complex filigree.

Some eight hundred years ago, the Mongolian haan Hubilai had the idea of sailing from his country to Japan. He thought to bring eight thousand boats across Korea, which was then under his juridiction, that he might on the boats transport his cavalry over to the islands of Japan. It was a very romantic and earnest desire, and it was never realised.
However, I have made a boat with poetry’s divine purity and fulfilled this thirteenth century desire, and made a link between the peaceful wishes of the people of Mongolia and Japan. Poetry cannot be grasped in the hand, it iss a magic rainbow. And so I have named this book of mine The Rainbow Vessel.

1 MEDITATION
I am sitting among Ongon's many great hills of yellow sand.  I close my eyes, reflecting, dissolving into eternal skylike mind, a blue thumb-sized spot with a red triangle of flame flickering imperceptibly within...and then...a white dot...like a square of yellow sunlight striking the door of a ger…the qualities of the wise, their form and appearance, appear from beyond time.
So how should the excellent seed of human activity, from the peaceful void of the fully purified mind, be seen as the holiness of nirvana, a departure from the world in that space which is no more than the flickering tip of a candle?
The mind, meditating in the brilliance of mind upon the form of Dharma, together with the quality of emptiness, finally achieves the superior holiness of constancy.