Across the broad steppes of Mongolia, Tengriism dances back into the spotlight as both a cultural heartbeat and a spiritual compass. Since the democratic winds swept away Communist-era restrictions in 1990, a grassroots revival has taken hold. Urban shamans hold ceremonies in Ulaanbaatar parks, while herders in Bayan-Ölgii still leave offerings of milk and cheese atop mountain passes. Though Buddhism remains the majority faith, Tengriist beliefs weave through national identity, celebrated during Naadam festivals and even inspiring eco-tourism ventures that invite visitors to “feel the sky-god’s breath.” Officially, it isn’t the state religion, but the government champions it as an intangible cultural treasure—echoing UNESCO’s 2010 nod to Mongolian shamanism—and local NGOs like the Tengri Society lobby for greater visibility.

Turkey tells a different chapter. Here, Tengriism hops around the edges of public life rather than taking center stage. A handful of associations in Ankara and Istanbul organize workshops on ancient Turkic rites, sharing rituals that root participants in pre-Islamic heritage. Legal recognition remains elusive—Turkey’s Directorate of Religious Affairs focuses strictly on Islam—so these groups operate under the umbrella of cultural or educational clubs. Still, interest has ticked up recently, especially among younger generations hungry for a sense of origin beyond mosque walls. Social-media circles bearing names like “Sky-God Revival” share videos of symbolic horse-soul ceremonies and recipes for fermented mare’s milk, or “airag,” linking past and present.

Both nations show that Tengriism isn’t fading into the dust. In Mongolia, it thrives as a celebrated tradition; in Turkey, it simmers quietly, waiting for the right moment to spill over into mainstream awareness. A global spotlight on indigenous and eco-spiritual practices—fueled by climate talks and cultural festivals—might just give this ancient Sky-God worship the encore it’s been patiently awaiting.