Lotus on the Line

Traffic streams past as the Rev. Mulcogi Seng adjusts a big yellow
sign outside of the Lotus in the Sun natural healing center in downtown
Nogales, Ariz. Occasionally, passers-by lean out their windows to gawk
at the aging hippie and his shop of medicinal herbs, which both seem
incongruous to this bustling hub of international commerce south of
Tucson.

But Seng, a U.S. Army veteran and long-recovering alcoholic, has
been in the business of Buddhism and natural healing for 30 years. He
says his calling eventually led him right here, looking straight into
the complicated maw of the U.S.-Mexico border, just two blocks
away.

“Everybody goes to Sedona for the red rocks and the vortex energy,”
reflects the 61-year-old Seng, a friendly but businesslike man who says
he came to the border on advice from his astrological charts. “You
know, though, we’ve got a very strong vortex right here in the hills of
Nogales. It’s always drawn people, whether it’s Geronimo or Pancho
Villa.”

Seven years ago, it drew Seng. That has largely been a blessing for
his roughly 400 customers from both sides of the line, who come looking
for natural medicines and a few good vibrations. Indeed, Seng’s little
shop acts as a gentle antidote to the growing militarism of this port
city, which in turn helps provide him with a loyal and growing
clientele. “I draw from the whole region,” he says, “from as far away
as Phoenix and Hermosillo (Sonora).”

Sometimes, Seng’s work is more accepted south of the line, where he
says Mexicans “are closer to the tradition of natural medicine. And
there’s quite a bit of sophistication. These people aren’t just seeing
the curandero (Mexican folk healer) and then going to the marketplace
to buy some bulk herbs. They want the latest—the best pills, the
highest quality.”

They also crave a bit of refuge. Stepping through the door of Lotus,
you’re suddenly removed from the border bustle, and ensconced in the
rich scent of Chinese healing oils and jasmine incense. Seng’s
alternative pharmacy, with its 100-herb inventory, results in medicines
he crafts for each of his customers. The center also offers bodywork,
ranging from shiatsu and Reiki to reflexology. Treatment is offered
regardless of someone’s ability to pay, and about 10 percent of Seng’s
treatments are given away. He relies on the generosity of others to
fill the gap.

“The profits that would normally go into somebody’s pocket,” he
says. “… We’ve got enough donations to make sure we have medicines
for people when they come in. We’re getting geared up because of all of
the fears about a possible pandemic flu this season. We’re stocking up
on our anti-virals and Chinese medicines and things like that, before
we get a run on those things.”

Seng’s personal journey to the border is a long one. He began
practicing Buddhism in 1968, when he was stationed in Korea with the
U.S. Army. He was later ordained by a Christian minister who saw him
feeding people and taking care of the sick at a gathering in Colorado.
“He told me I must be some kind of saint,” Seng says with a grin. “I
told him he didn’t know me very well.”

Nonetheless, the minister allowed Seng to use his church’s
tax-exempt status to continue his good works. “I operated that way for
a few years,” he says, “and then just decided that I couldn’t keep
operating under a Christian ministry.” So Seng wrote to the Universal
Life Church Monastery for a ministry certificate.

“Of course, over the years, I’ve done all my formal training, so
that I can actually do what I say I’m going to do for people,” he says.
“Now I can perform marriages and officiate at funerals. I can bless
people. I can do all the things any other minister in any other type of
religion can do.”

Now he practices a brand of Buddhism called “Nichiren,” which he
says means “sun lotus” in Japanese, and grew from the work of a
13th-century priest. Of course, this is all sometimes a bit too exotic
for his Arizona neighbors. “The only resistance I’ve gotten here is
religious bigotry,” he says. That included vandalism, such as broken
windows and damage to his religious displays. “But it stopped after the
first couple of years. It seemed like people became really accepting.
They realized that we were here to help people. And they know we help
the poor.”

Still, he says this work only scratches the surface—something
he came to understand while feeding Hurricane Katrina survivors in
Mississippi, and flood victims in Wisconsin. Those experiences led him
to espouse a sort of new-age survivalism. “Our government systems of
helping people are breaking down,” he says. “They are not working
well.”

He also traces his border journey to legendary 19th-century mystic
and healer Teresita Urrea, known as “La Santa de Cabora.” Born an
illegitimate child to a wealthy Sinaloa rancher, she eventually
garnered a huge following across Mexico and the United States before
her death in 1906. It’s said that up to 10,000 pilgrims would be camped
at her childhood ranch, just waiting for an opportunity to touch
her.

Today, La Santa’s devotees include Seng. “She really took me by the
hand and led me here,” he says. “People will tell you that she still
manifests and helps people to this day. There is a continuing, living
legacy of her miracles, which lie on both sides of the border. I read
her story, and it wasn’t long after that I was led right here to
Nogales.”

The timing was good. Seng says he was planning to relocate from
Safford, Ariz., anyhow. “So I started looking at places, and the only
town where I could afford to move into was Nogales, and it was the only
town of all of those where she actually lived.”

After a while, Seng finally gets his sign for Lotus in the Sun
perfectly situated. Then he gazes south at the endlessly buzzing
border. “There’s something that draws people here,” he says. “It kind
of chews you up and spits you out. And if you survive it, you’re a
better person. And if you don’t, I hope you believe in reincarnation,
because you’re going to have to come around again to make up for
it.”

This article appears in Jul 23-29, 2009.