Haeinsa Temple

I stood there as the rain poured down over the top of my dark umbrella, sluicing towards the ground and pooling at my feet. I glanced at Kate's white hand firmly clasping the umbrella, holding the handle as if it were her only lifeline. The staccato pounding of the large drum reverberating off the back of the temple wall into my ears. The click and clack of the wooden sticks bouncing off the wooden rim, the deep booms off the center of the massive drum. The drummer sped up until he was rapidly pounding out the beat, calling the monks and spirits to prayer. To my right a wizened old walnut of a woman shifted from foot to foot, behind me three women walked briskly through the lotus flower-strewn labyrinth; their breathless chanting mingling with the booms of the drum.

We were ushered forward and left the repetitive beats of the drums as we climbed up a series of steep, rough-hewn stone steps into a dimly lit, but brilliantly colored and adorned temple room. I left my shoes at the front of the door and entered through the green wood door. I bowed halfway and then placed myself on a mist grey rectangular pillow, legs tucked underneath me. In front of me sat several monks, the rust brown of their outer robes contrasting sharply with their inner silver robes. They too, had their legs tucked underneath them, toes peeking out from underneath their stiff backs. They had tucked their robes up underneath them as if tucking a small child into bed; the love and attention adorned upon those toes made me feel almost as though they had equal respect for every last little toe as they did for the Buddha. They all sat unmoving, staring at the large statues of the Buddha in front of them. I followed suit, I closed my eyes and began to count, 1...1,2...1,2,3...When I reached 10, I reversed my direction, my breath slowing and my mind focusing on the numbers. 1,10,9, 8...

A ting of a bell and the clack of bamboo upon itself roused me from my focused counting. A low, deep, rhythmic voice began chanting. Shortly thereafter the entire hall filled with the rush of breaths being inhaled, then the whole hall was lit up with the harmonious blend of voices. In front of me, strong, clear and low the male monks chanted to their Buddha and their devotion. Behind me, in cracking, guttural, yet oddly soft and enchanting came the voices of the villagers. Those old women whose backs have been bent by years of hard-work and toil in the fields, those old women who had trekked up the steep side of the mountain at 2am in order to offer up their devotion for their Buddha. I closed my eyes and inhaled the slight scent of incense and unwashed skin. I heard rustling cloth and opened my eyes, those monks in front of me were finishing their first half bow, I followed suit, eyes firmly fixed upon the rust and silver forms in front of me.

Following the chanting I allowed my mind to be swept away on the breeze of voices in the hall, I allowed my body to follow those monks without thinking, half bow, stand tall, hands met in front of my chest. Drop my knees to the floor, bend at the waist, touch both elbows to the cushion followed by the forehead. Raise both hands, palm up, towards the sky; rock back on your heels and stand tall and straight again. After a few repetitions I could feel sweat forming on my hairline, my leg muscles protesting at the effort being exerted so early in the morning. I ignored my body and focused on the temple surrounding me. We dropped into a lotus flower sitting position and I straightened my back as my legs pleaded with me to return to bed. To my right was a fresco with many faces on it, the guardians of the Buddha. Some of them were pleasant enough to look at, smiling faces gesturing and welcoming, whereas others appeared to be in great pain and anguish, their faces wide with silent screams and grimaces of pain. In front of me were the three Golden Buddha statues, they alone were magnificent, lighting up the hall as if the glow were an internal force being lit by the love and devotion surrounding them. Behind them the walls were festooned with frescos depicting different scenes from the teachings and sutras. Above me, lighting the room with a dull colored glow, were hundreds of hand made lotus flower lanterns. Pinks, oranges and reds with the occasional purple, all of the colors were in neatly ordered rows and lines; strung across the roof as hanging there magically. The roof of the temple was painted in bright greens, blues and yellows: geometric lines and shapes that outlined the squares of the ceiling and highlighted the tiny flowers painted within those squares.
The chanting changed in tone and strength, several of the monks performed a complicated series of three bows before the Buddha as one by one, in an ordered line they gathered up their cushions and marching off behind the Buddha. We were ordered to follow suit, each of us picking up our cushion after half bowing before the great hall. We placed our cushions at the door and filed out into the rain. In front of me, in an orderly line upon the high stone base of the temple were the monks, an arm darted out in front of me and the monks began to pass, in formation; each monk stepping up to the stone stairs, unfurling his umbrella and then opening it with a snap. Taking a step down the first stair and off into the grounds of the temple. They all followed suit: step up, unfurl, snap open, step down, disappear; the monks left, as silently and efficiently as they had come. I looked out across the grounds of the temple, over the drip, drip, drip of the rain off the roof, and out into the vibrant new-growth green of the mountain trees. The sun was rising across the Eastern shoulder of the mountain, the sky was a purple hush and the clouds were steel grey. The air I breathed was clean and clear. Pure.