Shamans stand at the very heart of Tengriist practice, acting as bridges between the vast sky-god Tengrí, the unseen spirits of earth and water, and the human community. Their world feels like a tapestry woven from wind-whispered prayers, ancestral echoes and the murmur of rivers. Drawing upon that living tapestry, shamans guide rituals that honor seasonal shifts—like the spring awakening of grasslands or the autumn descent of migrating birds—ensuring that people stay in tune with nature’s rhythm.

In a typical ceremony, a shaman might don a feathered crown and carry a drum, whose beat is said to open portals between realms. By singing invocations or pouring libations into flowing water, they invoke Tengrí’s blessing for fertility, good health or safe travels. When illness strikes, they don’t just treat symptoms; they journey through spirit-world landscapes to uncover imbalances—perhaps a restless ancestor or an offended forest spirit—and negotiate harmony on behalf of the patient. It’s a bit like being both doctor and diplomat, walking a fine line between worlds.

Beyond healing, shamans keep ancestral stories alive, passing down creation myths and practical wisdom—how to read animal tracks, interpret a sudden storm, or choose the right moment to plant crops. In today’s world, that knowledge feels more relevant than ever, as climate conversations echo ancient Tengriist calls for respecting natural harmony. Festivals in Mongolia and Kazakhstan now celebrate shamanic dances alongside eco-workshops, reminding everyone that honoring the land isn’t just folklore but urgent practice.

With growing interest in indigenous spirituality—boosted by UNESCO’s recognition of Mongolian shamanic traditions—these modern shamans are both cultural custodians and eco-activists. Gathering under open skies, they carry forward an unbroken dialogue: a reminder that people and the planet breathe as one.