Peter Island, British Virgin Islands

Some time ago, my Dad suggested visiting Tortola. Four months later I'm visiting for the second time. It's absolutely breath-taking for ocean lovers. I'm glad I took my Dad's advice and equally grateful I've had the opportunity to visit. This planet of ours has plenty of gorgeous places made unique by the cultures that cultivate them. Mongolia has a distinct beauty - it's raw and free, simple and evolving. And so drastically different than anywhere familiar to westerners.

Where the Streets Have No Name, Mongolia

In the past week I've been in two completely opposite places. Environment, location, culture, and people. I'm drained but transforming and it's an exciting time in my life.

As Ivan's Stress-Free Bar said - Too Blessed for Stress




And despite the cold winter that has blasted Mongolia, it appears that life is most important of all and choosing to love life - good friends, good music, good food - unites us all.

That's not to say we'll find all of those aspects everywhere we go. But once in a while, the stars align and ignite perfection. These are the days we want to live over and over and should. These are the days that can change the world and will.

So my friends have been asking, what do you do? A typical day is waking up with time to listen to music, stretch, sit and acknowledge that it is a new day. I love this time to myself. Through the skylight I can see the stars, the moon, the sunset or the sunrise, depending on my shift. On cold days, we pull a felt flap over the top to keep in as much heat as possible.

As soon as I leave my ger, even to go to the bathroom, I leave my warm stove and step outside onto the dirt, breathe deep and see across the valley in front of our camp. Sometimes the moon out, full and casting shadows against the mountains or new and the stars spread above us. Other times the sun is out throwing warm rays of orange into a purple dawn. Occasionally, the weather moves in and it’s snowing, engulfed in an orange dust storm, too windy to look beyond the next step. These are the days when Mongolia has lost its charm and it amazes me that people settle down here. Still, there’s a raw nature and simplicity that attracts me to it. It’s a privilege to have my feet touching the ground so often. In fact, when I go back to the city, I have soar feet from walking on concrete. The dirt is comfortable, ideal for long-distance running and better than the concrete jungle of city living.

After a quick, simple breakfast, we load our truck, put on the tunes and set out across the open desert; endless scrubby valleys broken up by rocky bands of ridges. The drill site is about 20 minutes away from camp.

It’s usually just me and my geotech for the next 12 hours of work and since I don’t know much Mongolian, our conversations are limited to one word expressions, sign language and written pictures. It helps to be able to draw. I was trying to describe my break in the BVI and that we saw a sting ray swimming in the reef. That was a challenge. I don’t think most people would even attempt to explain that. I doubt there is a Mongolian word for sting ray and if there was, it’s doubtful a countryside man would know it. But judging from the acceptable expression on Buyan’s face, I take it he understands what I’m talking about. Really, I’ll never know.

Communicating this way is fine until there’s a problem and then it can be very frustrating. It takes endurance and patience, endless attempts and a sense of humor. And only practice can produce all of these. When I first arrived to Mongolia, I failed miserably communicating, relying on words. I thought poorly of Mongolians but really my western mindset of “fast is good” had me a fool. Time is changing me. I’m finding that the Mongolians are usually one step ahead of me so as long as I can stay out of the way, things run smoothly. Sometimes it seems I only get hung up when I start to doubt their comprehension.

Once at the rig, depending on the type of drilling, I might be so busy I can hardly have a lunch or so slow it can feel like a jail cell. I don’t operate the drill rig, I classify the rock types retrieved by the driller. To be honest, it is not all that interesting once you’ve seen a few thousand meters of the same rock. But the big picture, the structural geology, is quite a puzzle as we strive to map what could be thought of as a randomly folded stack of blankets underneath a flat, eroded surface of windblown sand and rock. It seems as soon as we think we have a handle on it, we drill another hole to find our projections fail. And with it, our minds explode, just trying to understand how much the earth has changed to create such a jumbled puzzle and how much time it would have taken to produce it the way we see it.

I believe this aspect of geology is the crux for the debate on the age of the earth. Some refer to our ability to observe present processes and use this as a basis for estimating age while others study the evidence of catastrophic changes in history
to make their case that a young planet is possible. In the end, I think both make some sense and tend to lean towards a third possibility that a creator made the earth with an appearance of age. But I’ve been convinced otherwise in the past only to be swayed a different way later. So I think I’ll never be certain and that’s just fine. My spirituality doesn’t depend on it. Academically, it’s an intriguing debate and certainly there exists one acceptable theory in science. Believing something else would be considered professional suicide.

These sort of thoughts cross my mind as I look into the past, logging the rock. Sometimes I come across a pocket of leaves from plants fossilized in mudstones or conglomeratic sandstones that show rip-up clasts created in a high-energy environment. And my mind goes to work creating a story of how it all came to be here on my work bench.

Buyandalai marking the meters on the rock core.

Andrea marking rock types and minerals.

Preparing the core box for photographing.

Brett on the radio with senior staff.

Entering data and making a computerized depiction of the rock column. Old school geologists used to draw a picture of the rock and I miss this artistic aspect of the job.

We might not speak the same language, but we’re family.

It’s cold on night shift. Grin and bear it!

At the rig with the geophysics crew.

The rigs operate for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, until they break, then they’re fixed and continue working until they break again. It’s not unlike us fools here actually. The long, continuous hours are draining. Busy is fine but slow days are a trip. These are the days my mind wanders far away. But there’s a fortunate benefit to having so much time to think. I read a lot of books and come up with so many dreams. It fuels my creative imagination as long as I can stay still and avoid feeling trapped by restlessness.

Being a geologist in Mongolia is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, literally. I don’t have plans of being in Mongolia long-term and probably will not return when I leave, mostly because it’s just so remote and requires a lot of logistics to experience the countryside, unless I get a bike and ride like the wind (Long Way Round by Ewan McGregor, a 20,000 mile ride around the world, crossing Mongolia). But while I’m here, it thrills me when I can appreciate it.

And so the days continue. The sun hits the horizon and swells with finality. The moon rises and we’re swallowed up by the Milky Way. I’m soaring, I’m dreaming, I have visions of loved ones, I see all of us together, I hear my name and I feel called to live my dreams; wholesome organic homegrown food, soul movement to the rhythm of drums, all our hopes and prayers given to humanity as we return to the earth with our hearts true intention, we revive. We don’t need or want. We’re committed to our higher selves in each other. We’re Family and we live on the Earth in full view of the Universe. We are peacemakers, instruments of God’s love, we work for justice, we listen with intent. In this place it doesn’t matter where we are or what we do. We’ve traveled beyond toward
enlightenment and we meet each other there, closer than ever, with visions of a better world for all of us.

“The text begins. It consists of a series of short poems numbered one through
eighty-one. The first one says that the Tao is that which has no name and is
beyond any sort of name. It says that names are not necessary for that which is
real and for that which is eternal. It says that if we are free from desire, we
can realize mystery, that if we are caught in desire, we only realize
manifestations. It says mystery and manifestations arise from the same source,
which is darkness. It says darkness within darkness is the key to all
understanding. It is not enough to make me throw it away, but I am also not
convinced.
Number two. If there is beauty, there is ugliness. If there is
good, there is bad. Being and nonbeing and difficult and easy and high and low
and long and short and before and after need, depend, create and define each
other. Those who live with the Tao act without doing and teach without saying.
They let things come and they let things go and they live without possession and
they live without expectation. They do not need, depend, create or define. They
do not see beauty or ugliness or good or bad. There just is. Just be.

Number three. Overesteem men and people become powerless. Overvalue
possessions and people begin to steal. Empty your mind and fill your core.
Weaken your ambition and toughen your resolve. Lose everything you know and
everything you desire and ignore those who say they know. Practice not wanting,
desiring, judging, doing fighting, knowing. Practice just being. Everything will
fall into place.

Four. The Tao is used, but never used up. An eternal
void, it is filled with infinite possibilities. It is not there, but always
there. It is older and more powerful than any God. It is not there, but always
there.

Live and let live.
Do not judge.
Take it as it comes.
Deal with it.
Everything will be okay."

From A Million Little Pieces, by James Frey. An Addict’s account of six weeks in rehab.