the world of the buddha

The religion of the future will be a cosmic religion...If there is any religion that could cope with modern scientific needs it would be Buddhism. —Albert Einstein

My Korean friend Amy is a Buddhist. She invited me to do a temple stay with her last weekend. I jumped at the opportunity, because I knew going with her would be a more authentic experience than a huge group of foreigners thing at a temple in Seoul. The farther south you go, the fewer English speakers there will be. Which is why my memories from that weekend involve a lot of freaked out Koreans mouthing “waeguk” and doing double takes on their middle-of-nowhere front porches as they saw me ride past in buses and taxis. The temple was pretty remote, it took a lot of effort to get there.

We went to Daeheungsa temple, nestled among tree-saturated mountains in the southwestern limits of the country. I found myself praying to a chubby guy made of bronze, in an intense form of bowing that involved touching my head, both elbows and both knees to the ground, then standing straight up again. Repeated 108 times. One. Hundred. Eight. It's a beautiful thing, but painful. There's a venerating part where you flip your palms up, giving Buddha a place to stand on either side of your head. After around bow number 75, my sweat accumulating on the silky pillow, my heart beating in my ears, I'm pretty sure I could feel him there. And it was incredible to get into the rhythm, to forget everything but the cool night air, a blurry flicker of lanterns, the haunting sound of monks chanting, the reverberant bells fading into nothing.

The evening after the bows, after eating a modest dinner of rice and vegetables and soup, after washing the dishes to earn my keep, the world's coolest monk invited us to drink tea with him and stay the night at his home on the top of the mountain. His name was Moeon. He wore monk clothes and screamed inner peace (or was it indifference?). Monks are pretty stolid creatures, I expected that. I did not in my wildest dreams expect what happened next. Moeon had not only a cell phone, but an SUV, which he wordlessly herded us into for a steep ride through the forest.

His house and guesthouse were built in traditional style. The steps leading from the guesthouse to his made perfect seats for stargazing. And the stars were everywhere in the unfathomably dark sky of the mountaintop. I couldn't take my eyes off of them. I also couldn't get over the fact I was drinking tea humbly poured for me by a man who devoted his whole life to enlightenment.

“You have the most amazing view of the night sky. Do you ever look at the stars?”

“Yes.” He could speak some English, but he was speaking Korean now, with Amy translating.

“What do you think about when you look at them?” I had to know.

A seriousness washed over his eyes behind the Ghandi glasses. His answer: “What's your name?”

Wait, did something get lost in translation? “Um, Amanda.”

“Amanda? Amanda? Do you know your name?” It seemed really important that I should firmly acknowledge my own name.

“Yes, Amanda!” Wait, is this a trick question? “Amanda? I'm... Amanda.”

“What was your name before you were born?” Oh, I get it, this is some kind of riddle. “What will your name be after you die?” He was speaking quickly, as though this were now some commonplace sentiment, as though I'd asked him about beansprouts. Amy was translating rapidly, and I was trying to look him in the eyes and hang on every word he said, because in that moment he looked so solemn and wise. He pointed to the heavens. And I was reminded of the little joke he made as the SUV pulled to a stop after our bumpy ride. “Welcome to heaven,” he'd said. Do they even have heaven in this religion?

But looking up at the stars framed against his roof, that curve so familiar after ten months, I understood his answer. It was such a scary feeling, imagining the immensity of time and the universe, my tiny place in it, and then looking up and it being right there, like looking into the mouth of a merciless monster, all those stars like teeth, and at the same time, strangely enough, the feeling of meeting a celebrity, someone I'd seen so often in pictures, but never in real life. I never see the stars. And now I know they're terrifying, especially on a cold night at the age of twenty-three.

The next morning was spent hiking to the top of a mountain called Duryusan, to a shrine so intimate in its simplicity—an earthy floor of sanded wood, unpainted beams, delicate paper shutters on wooden grids—where I meditated with my friend near an ancient Buddha engraved in a massive stone. I let go of a lot of things up there, sitting with my legs barely crossed on a soft gray pillow, the breeze carrying the smell of incense and autumn, birds chirping. Nature. This is all we were ever meant to hear and to feel.

Some monks were sweeping the steps that led from their hermitage up to the temple. With one of their homemade brooms, Amy encouraged me to sweep for them as a way of saying thanks. We fed their dog some treats, bowed (bowing to everyone all weekend was pretty awesome, by the way) and made our way back down the mountain. After a jjimjilbang-syle shower, which involved hand washing my monk clothes on an old school washboard, after the bows and the hikes, the questions and the thinking, I felt, um, purified.

villages

A couple weekends ago I went camping and rock climbing outside a teeny-tiny, remote Korean village called Wonju, east of Seoul. Just me and T and two guys who also teach in our town. We took a train to the nearest station. And from there a cab took us through a maze of run-down single-story homes and businesses to the park's entrance.

When we arrived I noticed the layout was really simple: just a few minboks, snack shops and restaurants lined up at the top of a hill along a road that ran parallel to the river, which in turn ran parallel to the face of the cliff. The cliff was what everyone came there for, and the snaking of ropes was a constant as climbers maneuvered up set routes at the base of the cliff. Most impressive were the climbers doing multi-pitches - route after route, climbing several stories high, all the way to the top of the cliff.

The site was enveloped by steep rocks and small, tree-covered mountains. There were campsites available along the wide and shallow river, and we slept by the sandy banks. Four of us shared a two person tent! There were basic facilities for campers provided for free. Very basic. It was the very definition of rural, so squatting toilets were the only option. I was forced use them for the first time, after somehow avoiding them for the first six months.

My friend T is gradually becoming an expert climber, and she introduced me to the sport. We found a group of foreigners that T either knew from a previous climbing trip, or quickly befriended. They let us take turns borrowing their rope and a pair of climbing shoes. The route she chose for me to climb was pretty easy, limestone with plenty of footholds and deep finger pockets.

A lot of people were there to spend the weekend rock climbing. All of the routes were occupied, and while people waited their turn, it was fun to watch other climbers and cheer them on. Despite the popularity of this park, it still always felt completely secluded and was not at all crowded.

Rock climbing - real rock climbing, not the kind you do on a fake wall - was instantly something I knew I loved. Getting to the top was challenging as hell, but looking down with that sense of accomplishment was exhilarating. I'm considering whether to get the proper shoes and a harness so I can do it again while I'm here. It's popular here in Korea.



There was a two-story, sit-on-the-floor style restaurant a short distance from the campsite. We made the trek and had a nice dinner on the top floor with other foreigners we'd met. The night ended with an outdoor, rave-esque noraebang with a group of middle-aged Koreans wearing glow necklaces. Then, drinking North Korean soju around the campfire on the beach. T had been saving the soju for a special occasion ever since she purchased it on the DMZ trip.

In the middle of the night, I made friends with a Korean kid whose face I didn't see, but who shouted questions to me from across the river then waited to decode my English before asking more and more. It all came back to me the next morning when, to my surprise, a chubby Korean boy passed me on the pavement and asked, "Are you Amanda?" After racking my brain, I told him, "Oh yea! Nice to finally meet you!"

Thanks to soju, I was not feeling well the next day. Luckily the boys asked around and found a man who spoke some English, and who helped them order a large batch of chicken soup from one of the restaurants. (Much later, I found out this dish is called samgyetang.) As we waited for T to finish up a climb, the boys and I walked barefoot in the stone-lined river to a short waterfall that spanned the entire length of the river. Afterwards, I lay on the sand and closed my eyes for a couple of hours. The rest of the waeguk slowly trickled over to join me after a while.

We hitched a ride to the train station from someone we met in the park. I was really grateful, as there was no chance of finding a taxi and it would have been a long walk. T lucked out and got a ticket for the last available seat on the train. So I wouldn't have to stand the whole ride north, in desperate, very broken Korean I convinced the ticket woman to check for last-minute cancellations. But still with no luck, I said goodbye to Wonju and headed home.

In more recent news, Ryan and Corey are going to be in Korea tomorrow! They're on the long plane ride over as I type this. My apartment is spotless in anticipation of their arrival and the inevitable mess that will ensue.

gyeryong-san

On Thursday my friend mentioned he wanted to go hiking on Saturday, and it just sounded nice so I asked to come along. Not to mention I'm in serious need of a vacation, and jumped at the chance to get out of town. It took a couple different trains and bus rides (one local route was quite long) to get us there, but after a few hours we arrived at a small village situated in a valley at the base of Gyeryong Mountain.

Gyeryongsan National Park was I-cannot-believe-my-eyes beautiful. I didn't remember my camera. Typical. The place was dreamy enough that memories will be, well, enough.

On Saturday we got in too late to do a long hike. Instead we oriented ourselves on the main path, which would serve as a base for the temples and the dirt trails branching deeper into the trees and up the mountain.

The park is home to a cloister of female monks. To be in the presence of those monks felt like a tiny gift. We came upon one of the colorful temples on a hill off of the main path. Walking up the steps, we met a young Korean man who told us we could take off our shoes and come inside. He gave us two prayer mats to kneel on. Tom had previously done a temple stay and showed me how to do a proper bow. I didn't feel worthy of doing this in the presence of the monks, but they were so kind. (They even gifted us a couple of homemade rice cakes.)

I have read about first encounters with monks, how they radiate inner goodness, emanate depth, serenity, and compassion. Words are impossible to describe the feeling you get just being near these people. I think being in the temple with them and near them all weekend washed away a lot of the anxieties I'd built up over the past few months.

We said goodbye to the monks and continued on the main path. My first taste of Korean-style hiking was an uphill trail, moving alongside and against the thin flow of streams and waterfalls that collected in calm pools. But already the sun was setting, and shadows dimmed the way ahead. We turned around to head back to the village.

An adorable touristy area was directly off the main entrance, with only a handful of shops, restaurants, hotels and noraebangs (of all things) nestled inside cozy mountain views.

We ate dinner in a building shaped as a giant mushroom. It looked ridiculously cute in the setting. The food was overpriced, but the portions and flavors were spectacular. I felt like I was transported back in time, and the feeling didn't go away until we took the bus home the next day.

You know when you go to see a movie you know nothing about and it turns out it's one of the best movies ever made, and it's just that much better because you went in with absolutely no expectations? Well, the park was exactly like that. I had no idea what to expect and it was an unforgettable setting and experience.

I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling. Ecstacy, even, I felt, with flashes of sudden remembrance, and feeling sweaty and drowsy I felt like sleeping and dreaming in the grass.

After dinner we booked a room in the village, then explored the shops and buildings. It kind of turns into a party town after dark. A handful of carnival game stalls, young Koreans drinking and having a blast. We sat outside and drank soju until it got too cold. We set our alarms for early in the morning to have more time for hiking.

In the morning I realized what a gorgeous view we had from the hotel window. It's blasphemy, but I think for a second there I loved that park more than I love Yellowstone.

We purchased a couple of hiking sticks from the village before heading back up the mountain. We planned to hike up, catch the view from a sharp peak, then travel back down the other side. The hike was hard. I was carrying a pack, and it was arduous uphill for the first half, then steep downhill for the second half. There was a cool, scary part where we actually had to climb a rope to get up a very steep section of the trail. In Korea, hiking trails are created by the monks, who direct the route by laying a path of large stones. Proper hiking shoes, with sturdy soles, are important--it's not like you're walking on a cloud for hours on end. I was wearing plain old sneakers. Oops.

Near the peak was a hermitage that served as a sort of rest area for hikers. Around it were a couple of old pagodas with brightly-colored lanterns, a spring for drinking water, a small temple, and outhouses. The monk living there allowed any passersby access to all of "his" things. I filled my empty water bottle and we snacked on our rice cakes while enjoying the afternoon's first sign of civilization.

We had nearly reached the peak when the trail turned into a set of steep metal staircases that connected to one another as they embraced the mountain's ever-narrowing top. I can only guess how these modern-ish staircases got to be so high up there in the middle of a time warp in nature. The peak was at the tippety-top, just as the mountain ran out of dirt and turned into sky. Terrifying and magnificent and totally worth the sweat, blood and tears. The view was intimate and like nothing I've ever seen before - mountains so near, close enough to touch, and death just a step ahead in all directions. I'm afraid of heights; I was shaking with fear of falling. Over 24 hours later and I'm still wide awake from the adrenaline rush.

A couple more hermitages were scattered in the mountains along the trail. I couldn't get the idea out of my head of these extraordinary people who decide to spend their lives in such simple, lovely seclusion.

I was sad to leave. But work today was so much easier after even that short vacation. It's all about quality and not quantity. I hope this feeling lasts all week. I was planning on going to the DMZ, but now that North Korea is acting a fool I don't know if I'll ever get up the nerve to go. We'll see...