Skyward Wishes

The distant mountains where I've always wanted to go

Hey! How hot is it where you are?

Here in France, it’s time for la canicule or a heatwave, but it sounds less impressive when I write it in English.

I was certainly feeling the sun’s warmth when I was out and about over the weekend. Although perhaps that heightened the communal feeling captured in an emotion of commotion between busy bodies.

With the Olympics in Paris, there are plenty of annoyances waiting in the summer heat. Increased public transportation prices, confusing traffic control, and an expectation for more than the city’s fair share of tourists.

However, one of those cooler tourist traps I took the time to visit was le parc des nations where countries from around the world set up little centers promoting their culture (and tourism).

At the calligraphy booth in the Mongolia House, I asked the artist to write a word—perhaps the only word I know in Mongolian: tengri.

A deity-esque being or a pantheon of gods or a quasi-religious concept, the word evokes the idea of the vast and endless horizon that is well-known across the steppe.

I only heard the artist say what he actually wrote once or twice, but I have a pretty good ear for new words and I had a French translation said to me.

I’m fairly confident that the phrase written beautifully in traditional Mongolian script reads as follows:

Тэнгэр шиг бай
Tenger shig bai

Soit comme le ciel
Be like the sky

Tenger is a general term for the sky, but it still carries some of the mystical nuance I initially imagined.

What may be more surprising is how this sky is a part of Maneus and Rhean. In both books, I make a passing reference to the concept of tengri, using one of its most ancient forms written in runes.

Snowy Mountains

As a less direct connection, for some of the settings in my world I was heavily inspired by Central Asia. I imagine those images in my head are also mixed with my own memories of living in a rural intermountain climate.

I’m reminded of a time when I dared to raise my eyes to the distant horizon while hiking with my dad in our “backyard.”

As the sun was only just showing signs of setting, I pointed to the faraway snow-capped mountains and enthusiastically asked about traveling across the ridges to those new heights:

“Daddy! Can we go all the way over there?”

“To the mountains?”

“Yeah! I want to see the snow.”

“That’s a lot farther than you think, John.”

“It can’t be that far…”

“Well, we could walk there, but I don’t think we’d be home in time for dinner.”

“Why not?”

“It’s farther than it looks, John.”

“Okay…”

My dad, understandably, wasn’t going to take me on an impromptu multi-day camping trip. But I distinctly remember struggling to understand why we couldn’t simply walk to a place we could clearly see.

That moment feels particularly fitting after learning more about the origins of what is now my personalized art.

Tenger shig bai is a phrase that comes from a poem written by Ochirbatyn Dashbalbar, a famous Mongolian poet, for his son.

His words and that memory perfectly capture the blend of aspiration and reality often found in my work.

Futures Untold

With tangible success from my writing and rambling feeling as distant as those mountains from my past, I need to rethink these next steps of my life.

A part of that will likely include mixing things up here on Nightly Noise as I attempt to be like the sky.

So I humbly ask you all to please lend me your ears.

And if perchance I could be mended, just think but this and aid my wish be rendered. I am searching for a sliver of stability, a life my own without the cost of sanity and personality.

Professionally or personally, I’ll take the first awkward step by asking you to add me on LinkedIn if that’s your vibe.

As I take a moment to wonder and wander, I can only hope to hear of opportunities that would benefit from my words and their wielder.

Until next time.

—JMB