Though this little observation seems to fit rather clumsily and materially into what could otherwise been a tale of epoch defining spiritual awakening it can be shorehorned to represent a little context to the position of Buddhism in Korean society. For with all the subtlety of Korean advertising, the cars that collided were between a Hyundai hatchback against a white van made by Nissan. The leading car manufacturer of Korea crashed at a T-Junction with a Japanese van. With this seamless segue I introduce the prime difficulty for Buddhism in Korea. Buddhism was introduced to Korea by Japanese monks and so consequently by the 15th Century it was established as the religion of invaders and oppressors. Consequently at the first (of many subsequent half-life attempts) exuberant eruptions of independence the Yi dynasty (the 'liberating' Chinese dynasty) chased the Monks to the mountains. They have stayed ever since.
2:30 - I cannot pretend my knowledge of Korean Buddhism is extensive. All I know was gained by sitting on a rock above the Geumsunsa temple killing time by reading a really charming lecture by Frederick Starr. He was an American who in 1918 went on a tour around Korea in a rickshaw with an interpreter and some woollen suits. In one amusing tale he hectored some Monks for not showing him enough respect for not greeting him at the lijumun which is the gate that marks the boundary of sacred space. The walk up the mountain is supposed to represent a spiritual journey and part of the Zen process. Being in a moment of simultaneous nothingness and oneness in the total present is paid no heed to by the armies of Korean hikers. Like ants they march; visors on, backpacks slung, sticks aloft, boots laced. They trample up the hill in their hundreds.
3:30 - I entered into the monastery under a purple Templestay banner. This is the company which has resurrected modern Buddhism in Korea under the broad title of Jogye. I passed underneath the bell tower past two dogs nursing puppies. On entering the central courtyard I was immediately greeted by Moonyum, a very enthusiastic and kind volunteer. In halting English he demanded money and though tempting to create a caricature of rapacious monks, they certainly have a financial saviness which has allowed the maintenance of twenty-four temples despite relatively few practioners, according to 'The Economist' about a quarter of Koreans consider themselves Buddhist. Geumsunsa has only five practioners for instance. On entering a large wooden room, 60,000 Won lighter I met the other guests. Half were Korean and the vast majority were female, they were resiliently maintaining their perpetual quest for wifi. The other noticeable people were Ricky and Jeremy two Wall Street bankers anxiously worrying about the state of their private room.
5:30 - The anti-climax of the rushed tour of the temple was erased by the magic of the drumming that calls the monks to prayer, like the call of the imam and the tolling of the Church bells it carries a sense of both communal expectation and ephemeral beauty. Four drums are used, a large canvas is played with great skill using both ends of a drumstick pair, it is a call to the beasts of the earth and mimics a four-legged gallop. The fish drum hangs higher and has a wooden slit underneath with one end thicker than the other, the monk plays from low to high and back as if scouring the depths of the ocean. A cloud gong hangs in the sky while the huge gong that requires a battering ram that summons all to the Buddha Ho, the central ceremonial space. I have passed over dinner, a description of Vegetarian Korean food would only give me another opportunity to wallow in as much self-pity as I did at the time.
6:30 - Buddhist art has never had a Renaissance, the Buddha-ho has a largely universal form. At the front is a large Golden statue of the Buddha whose weight fluctuates by nation from emaciated in India to enormously fat Chinese Buddhas. Like so much of Korean Buddhism he poses rather neutrally of medium weight flanked by two Bhoddivitas. We shuffled to the back, nervously finding mats and beginning the protestations, this daily ritual which involves collapsing to ones knees, the head touches the floor. Your palms turn to face the lantern festooned hall and are raised. Then with lithe nimbleness the monks, as if on a surfboard gracefully stand, palms touching. This is utterly exhausting especially after completing the sacred one hundred and eight expected as a daily minimum requirement. Each one is prompted by a stick clacked against the wooden floor. The drum, the literal heartbeat of music captures the paradox of the Buddhist ethic. It is entirely about driving the self to Enlightenment meanwhile the loud and the audible pulse of the personal journey is magnetic to others. Hence why this eclectic group shuffled and bowled humming out of tune as the monks ended the ceremony chanting at the two sacred images which have a status as significant as icons in the Orthodox Church. On the left is a shrine dedicated to the ill and the dieing. While on the right is a frightening canvas full of grotesque images of warriors which feels out of place in the incense filled calmness.
7:30 - I then endured the agony of the lotus position during Zen meditation practice. The training and mental endurance required to train the mind to focus on your breath for even fifteen minutes is infuriatingly difficult as your concentration wonders into the recess of your consciousness. I was dissapointed that the dust of scattered thoughts that my mundane mind kicked up were achingly benile worrying about whether I had left my gas stove on in my flat, said a pretentious thing at a party many months ago and wandering what monks do at night if a mosquito buzzes in their ears, can they swat it?
7:50 - With great relief we were released from Meditation and uncoiling my limbs I sat on a balcony looking down at the mass of lights they call Seoul. The sense of calm derived less from the rigorous exercise both physical and mental but primarily from breathing clean air leant to a sense of total serenity. It was short-lived as I was joined by a director of Abv brewery who came to seek peace from the stresses of his work, he promptly immortalised the sensation with a selfie, no doubt he looks at the slightly puzzled and lost face he made in the darkness on the crowded subway when he needs motivation to work!
8:00 - An aspect of the great commerciality of Zen Buddhism is its emphasis on 'the present' which when explained badly it becomes painfully simplistic. This has given rise to the packaged, instant-healthy-lifestyle propounded by yoga-pant clad, smoothie sipping, 'gurus' propounding Mindfulness. A continuing allegory used throughout the day comes directly from the first Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama. Who when trying to explain to his followers how to seek this clarity compared it to stepping into a pond. When we step into a pond it immidiately becomes clouded and filled with stones and pebbles and it becomes impossible to see the floor. The only way to gain clarity in the pond is to stand still and attain oneness. So far so simple. What is them carefully emitted is the attempt to also create a sense of nothingness an idea so profoundly complex I begin to question why bother getting in the pool in the first place. Back to the simple part of being in the present requires simple creative and fiddiley tasks of craft so we sat cross legged making bead necklaces. It was so infuriating to try and get the beads on the string that I went to bed on the floor of my dormitory far more flustered than when I had left it.
4:30 - The drum clacked and the low chant rumbled past the dormitory. We were called to the morning wake-up in the depths of the black night. I spent so long being in 'the present' that by the time I had dragged myself from the shower I was late for the ceremony. Panic and guilt at upsetting the devotions of the Monks caused my fingers to shake uncontrollably as I fumbled on a thick grey flannel vest and trousers in an outfit; part Elephant in the school nativity play, part Guantanamo bay's yearly wash has blended fabrics.
5:05 - I sheepishly sidled to the back stepping over a monk facing the gong at the back of the wall, the intensity of his gaze is strangely eery but also comic as though he has been sent to the back of the room for mischief. The chanting and bowing began as before, a couple of the more confident tried to mumble the intonation of the chant to discover subtle changes in pace. Still the tune picks up at the end into a magical crescendo as the wall to the dead and the wall of protective spirits are both in turn addressed with a call for both rebirth and protection in this life.
5:25 - I collapsed into the living room and had tea with the two French guys who I shared my dormitory with. One romantically had met his girlfriend in Paris when he was teaching French lessons and now she was teaching him Korean. His friend, less romantically, came to make the springs between those railings required to suspend bridges.
6:40 - Breakfast involved a fascinating ceremony an emphasis on moderation and frugality. After eating a small portion of rice, Kimchi, vedgetables, a clear beansprout soup and a yellow radish we were instructed to not eat. One of the few prohibitions imposed over the whole weekend.The monk leading the meal ate a truly tiny portion when he had finished everyone hurried to shovel down their seconds. Then a pony tailed American with the softly spoken voice, twitch in the eye and disconcertingly friendly manner (that I imagined all 'converts' are like) poured rice tea into the soup bowl. Using the tea as edible fairy liquid and the radish as a sponge we swished it around the bowl to wash the dregs. The tepid tea followed by the dregs takes an uncomfortable effort to drain and left in the bowl you stare at the yellow grimace at the bowl.
8:50 - A monk then met us in the courtyard underneath the clear but cold sky. She made us play a game reminiscent of GCSE drama warm-ups, we held hands in a circle and while still holding hands you all change places. Zen twister is much less fun. We then had to get back to our original position, in the carnage of limbs I only regained one hand after a scrabble and when we reformed I ended up facing away from the circle. The monk explained that this expressed the way that Buddhism relies on realignment and cooperation with others. For me it seemed to show something far more revealing, if you try and take shortcuts you will miss the entire point and end up facing the wrong way. She then led us up the mountain on a short hike like a mountain goat despite being barely taller than the rocks she skipped over. We found ourselves on a rock that learned over the valley. We sat on small mars and tried to focus entirely on the self, it was a remarkably powerful sensation amongst the trees, except the slight rustling of Jeremy trying to get comfortable. With deep regret, after an all too brief hour we descended.
10:00 - The closing tea ceremony provides an opportunity to talk with an English-speaking monk. Like much of Korea's proported skill with languages the reality is more of a challenge. The rather concise translations provided by Moonyum suggested that this was Zen distilled into his vision rather than the monks. I would much rather have heard about the Monk's personal journey which I'm sure has far more drama than the average Korean soap. However, the director from ABV was not messing around and went for all the big hitters; reincarnation, existence of God and compatibility with Christianity. The monks composure and ease with the world was awe inspiring though her formula of answers was probably not done justice when rendered into English. She used many examples from natural imagery then projected it back into the teaching of the Buddha with the answer being explained in the extended metaphor, which is elegant and satisfying as allegories but feels like an evasive use of gushing springs and grains of sand. Sadly, I was too hungry eating rice crackers provided with the tea to ask the most pivotal question: would you swat away a mosquito if it landed on your face at night?
I guess I shall never know.
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