The Spirit of the Mountain

It's just 10 a.m., but it's already smokin' hot, the kind of day when you actually hope for cloud cover, and maybe even rain. The heat is of no concern to the 30-something woman in a hat with a full mask and running gear working hard on the stairmaster in the park we pass on the way to Mudeung-san. She's still running up her artificial hill long after we've turned the corner and left Hanbit Dental Centre and the Western Macaroni Theme Park in the dust.

Our first stop once we reach the foot of the mighty mountain is a climbing gear shop. We're only looking for a place to lay out our map, but we end up picking up a few headscarves with maps of the area on them. I pick up an auspicious flaming orange one for Rob, and he immediately puts it on, to the delight of the ladies in the store. (Like he didn't stick out enough already!) While in this giant, German owned store, I'm appalled to see the legendary American Aboriginal leader Crazy Horse shilling neckscarves. To use the only known image of this incredible man, one of the world's most important human rights activists and environmentalists to sell merchandise is beyond the pale.

I will say this: Though Mudeong-san is a major attraction for tourists and locals alike, the prices in the shops are on par with those anywhere else in the city. Even the aluminum hiking canes are a bargain at 5,000 won. Thankfully, this year, I won't be needing one. We stop for kimbap and Americano before beginning our ascent.

We're heading for Jeongsim-sa, but part-way there, we happen upon the smaller Munbinjung-sa. This temple was founded in the 1960s by Madame Jang mun-bin, whose Buddhist name was Borism, meaning, "enlightened mind." We see a chindokae dog and a big old chow, who fluffs himself up as big as can be.

A monk comes along and invites us in for a truly heavenly nutty green tea. I must confess that I could never find words appropriate to fully define the magnificence of this drink. The young man tell us that when it is hot outside, we must drink hot liquids, for to do otherwise is unhealthy. Oddly enough, I was just explaining this theory to Rob earlier in today. (Once again, mom was right.)

The monk, who never offers his name, makes tea with the same calm and precision employed by the monk at Songwangg-sa. I finally get an inkling as to the meaning of the Buddhist monk's advice regarding what to do when the going gets tough. We must simply, "Cook rice, and drink tea." Seeing the contemplative way in which these monks go about their business, the message becomes much clearer.

This monk has been studying for ten years and he says he's very tired. The aim in life is to find the Dharma body, to become enlightened, and to know the truth. He says the goal is quite similar for Hindus, Christians, and Muslims. In his mind, we're all the same. He tells us that one can study religion for years, but one cannot gain enlightenment through concept; one must practice.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but salvation or redemption don't come easily. We must work. And this man, who has spent the last decade focused solely on this task, says his energy is low because his "mind is too busy with things that don't matter." This statement knocks me flat! This holy man is admitting that he's in the same boat as the rest of us, and he devotes his life to this work, presumably without distraction. What does this mean for the rest of us?

Oddly enough, I take tremendous comfort in his statement. In Buddhism, no one is more equal than another. We all have to think, and work, to be all that we can be. But in a way, that's the most liberating thought of all. There's no magic bullet. A certain number of prayers, donations to the church, or a last minute apology for all our wrongdoings in life won't cut it for a Buddhist. It's about being a good person day after day after day. There's no deus ex machina to pull us out of the fire. We all have to work, just like this monk has to work. We have to make a conscious effort to do no harm as we walk the middle path, trying to achieve balance in all aspects of our lives.

As he stares at me through his rimless glasses, I feel as if this monk is peering directly into my soul. He sees the ghosts within. He knows that I understand emotional clutter and preoccupation with "things that don't matter." The fan beside me on the floor whirs, the wind chimes sway and ring, and the birds and cicadas chirp. This moment has more meaning and truth than thousands before it spent kneeling and bowing in ornate gilt and marble filled buildings.

After tea, we walk around the grounds and stop off at the lotus pond. The flowers are the size of my head, and the leaves so large, I can't put my arms around them. We walk on and I notice a gigantic rock from which a giant face appears about to come to life. Rob tells me that mountains are venerated in places like Korea because they're a place where dead ancestors, those who provided life for their families, go to spend eternity. Also, the mountain provides water that spills down to nourish crops, providing food for all. Thus, the mountain spirits are seen as benevolent protectors. That is why so many make the trek up the mountain to pray in her temples.

As we continue to climb, we pass little girls with rolled up pants, splashing about in the stream catching minnows in cups. We see fully dressed senior citizens power-walking past us in their hiking gear, stopping only to scrub their shoes in the stream. An old gent stops us to ask where we're from and to give us a bit of information about the place. He says "Mu" means nothing and "deong" means great, so together "Mudeong" means nothing greater. He tells us this is the only 1000 metre high mountain in the world right next to a city of a million-and-a-half people.

By the time we reach Jeongsim-sa, I feel we can touch the sun. The last stretch, in particular, has been at a good 45 degree angle. Two years ago, I couldn't walk to the coffee shop 500 yards from our house. Today, I'm climbing a mountain! We find a man doing tai chi outside the temple; we later see him saying prayers before leaving in his SUV.

The squirrels, birds, and dragonflies seem to pose for photos. Perhaps they are rewarding my patience in trying to capture their beauty. I take many temple pictures for Rob to use in his studies, but take care not to include any other visitors or monks. As we're leaving the temple, we spot one black butterfly and one white one playing together. Rob says this is only fitting, because together they are gray, and that is the "the middle way." I err on the side of caution and choose to head back down the mountain, while Rob continues onward and upward to Yaksa-sa. The funny thing is, he doesn't get to record the visit for the camera card is full! He sees this as a sign that he must return one day.

As I walk down the mountain, an older man and his wife come up behind me. He's beautifully singing a folk song at the top of his lungs, and his wife tries to make small talk. We mime our way through a little conversation, conversing just long enough for me to miss the building where I am to meet up with Rob when he leaves Yaksa-sa. I don't realize this until I reach the bottom of the mountain.

While I'm descending, I'm delighted to be provided with a little cloud cover and a gentle breeze. I thank God for my good fortune. Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot something black and about the size of a tea cup saucer floating through the air. Over at a nearby fountain, I see the most delicate, velvety creature. It's a butterfly like none I've ever seen. It has a very wide wing span that narrows dramatically toward the bottom. It looks like an elegant, paper thin, angel. The top half of the wings have narrow black and ivory stripes, and the tips on the bottom are dotted red and yellow.

The butterfly soars, and then circles the rocks at the base of the fountain, before dipping down again for a drink. Ever so softly, she floats around in the breeze, stopping long enough for me to take a good long look. To drink up the scene. To really let the image soak into my mind. To take root. I have no camera, but even if I did, it could never do this creature justice.

A little girl in a yellow sundress runs up. The butterfly doesn't fear. She knows the little girl is a gentle soul. Little Miss Sunshine calls out, "nabi, nabi!" Her mother tells me that "nah-pee" is, simply, Korean for butterfly. A rose by any other name, as Shakespeare would say. This makes me think of my old radio friend, Mr. Paul Palace. He was blind, and had some major health issues, but he had all the optimism one could hope for, pun intended. Paul was the King of Puns. He called butterflies, flutterbies, because he thought it more fitting. I give thanks before continuing my journey down the mountain.

At the base of Mudeong-san, I buy some fragrant acacia gum to make change, and then call Rob from a pay phone. We hook up at a coffee shop, and make plans for the evening. I order a green tea latte, and for some reason, I'm really surprised when it's loaded with liquid sugar. We check our email on the cafe's computer to make sure that we don't have to meet anyone, and then head for the shopping area and artist's street downtown.

When we step off the bus, someone calls out to us. It's eagle-eyed Dr. Shin! Rob tells him that he must have clones because we see him all over the city! We also bump into two young lads who are GIC volunteers. Rob's temple driver, Kim, immediately volunteers to burn our photos to disk, while the other, Scott, acts as our tour guide. This is just another example of how our Koreans friends have gone far and beyond the call of duty to make our stay pleasant!

We eat a spicy hotdog from a vendor, and then drop into a nearby shop for ddeukboki (big fat rice noodles) and tempura. Again, helpful Korean youngsters jump in to offer their assistance in translating for us. We are grateful because the server certainly doesn't need any more stress. This poor little Korean woman, who is about a day-and-a-half from giving birth, has been racing around on heels in this scorching heat, serving a packed restaurant.

We walk around the neighbourhood for a while, stumbling upon some very traditional Korean women's clothing stores, and picking up a couple of treats for home. We turn in by 10, but that damned Aravind Adiga keeps me up past midnight with his White Tiger. Ah, the curse of a good book!