No Common Thread (3/10)

< I wrote this because I felt like writing, not because I had something to say. Your time would probably be better spent elsewhere >
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As I walked through the ger community surrounding the Gandan temple I noticed a dog turd.

For those who are not familiar with Mongolian dog turds, or with dog turds in general, I will give a summary. There are three types of Mongolian dog turds. First, there are the "normal" dog turds: brown to black with consistency one would assume to be crumbly, though few test this assumption. The second type comes from dogs which subsist mainly on bones. This type is a powdery white, and is probably very useful for sidewalk art (also an assumption few test). The third type is fresh. This last type is exceedingly rare, because the temperature tends to turn fresh dog turds into frozen ones within minutes, if not seconds.

In my view, none of these types of dog feces are worthy of conscious consideration. No doubt I am wrong in saying this. Perhaps there is a cure for aids lurking in Mongolian dog turds, just as there is a cure for obesity lurking in the content of this post.
Then why, you ask, did this particular piece of dried excrement draw my attention? Quite simply, it was the largest dog turd I had ever seen. I drew closer, trying to wrap my mind around the concept of a dog large enough to create this marvel. Then, suddenly, it dawned on me. I was not beholding a dog turd, but rather a human turd.

The ger communities aren't the cleanest places. Over the course of the winter layers of ice build up. Large quantities of liquid are poured all over the road, where they instantly freeze. The ice is then covered with dust, and then covered with more ice, until by spring there is plenty of filth to melt.
I had always wondered about where these layers of ice came from. It's too much to come from spills, and it couldn't possibly come from melting snow. My question was answered a few days ago when I saw a woman step out of her hashaa (ger with a fence around it) and casually throw two buckets of dark grey-brown water out onto the road.

Ah.

Humanity in general has an odd way of getting rid of that which is not wanted. As I walk across the "holy hill" Gandan (not to be confused with the monastery complex), I often encounter dead puppies. Dead puppies are not unusual. There are lots of stray dogs, which create lots of puppies, which tend to die in large numbers when the temperature plummets down to -40. The thing that is unusual about the puppies on Gandan is the condition I find them in. They tend to be carefully laid out on rags, or even blankets, with a bowl of frozen milk or cheese curds placed next to them. Their position indicates that they die before they are placed on the blankets.
As I was walking across the hill today I found two live puppies nestled at the base of the ovoo (rock pile / shrine). The hill is large and bare, so they certainly wouldn't go there on their own. A mother dog would not bring them there, since it is exposed and far away from any place a dog might intend to go. This leaves the option that they were brought there by a person.
I know nothing about Mongolian animism, but for some reason I find it hard to believe that anyone would go through all the trouble of hauling puppies to the top of a holy hill (where they will inevitably die) just because they don't want them. Sacrifices are often left at the ovoo, but I don't think live puppies (or dead ones) are acceptable for this purpose. This leads me to the conclusion that all the dead puppies on Gandan were allowed to die there out of sympathy for the puppies themselves.

I'll ask around, but the people that come to the school tend not to know much about animism.

Obviously I wanted to take both of the puppies home with me, especially when they dashed out from the partial shelter of the rock ovoo to lick my shoes and jump about. What do you do?

There are thousands of puppies, but more importantly, there are thousands of people. While I have never seen a person lying frozen by the side of the road, I anticipate that I will at some point. I have seen plenty of drunks collapsed in refuse heaps and lying against fences, and I can't imagine that all of them will fare well if they keep drinking when it's -40.

The world is not in the state to take the trouble that is coming. Pray.

One must accept God before the one accepts the Bible, because the authority of the Bible is based on the fact that it is God's word and not vice versa. This week I have been faced with a long series of Bible verses that have challenged my beliefs. This, combined with the things I see, the things I am, and the things I do, have caused me to ask. Why do I believe in God?
I have come up with a list of reasons.

1. Because I can feel the Holy Spirit, and it is nothing like me (so the two are not easily confused)
2. Because the concept of God does not make sense to the human mind. I find it hard to believe that humans "thought up" God. The nature of God lacks that human touch. If humans had thought up God he would have had a better reason for making us than "love". We would have to be of some practical use to him.
3. Because I have seen God's power in myself and in the world around me.
4. Because, while I can see the logic of life evolving to higher forms, I can't see the logic of life beginning in the first place without some outside force. A "force" that creates an ordered complexity (one that is not dependant on the structure of it's subunits, as in crystals) must have an intelligence, or at least an instinct. One simply cannot go so far as to say that the universe has a "drive towards life" (as some forms of the gaia hypothesis suggest) without saying that there is a God.
5. Because, when all is said and done, there's no point to the discussion if it turns out I'm wrong.

I'm just a chemical soup singing songs based on ratios of sine waves
And I'm thinking chemical thoughts that are speeding electrical highways
What is love?