How Is the Buddha I First Paid Homage to?

People see me as a bright, cheerful, extrovert. But in reality, I'm quite the opposite. I once struggled to hide this part of me, wearing a mask that was the complete opposite of who I really was. As I continued to go through life, my mask became more rigid, but the person underneath felt weaker. This problem eventually developed into severe insomnia, and I was tormented by this situation for a long time.

Back then, I was lost, unsure of how to overcome this problem. But now, I can confidently say that Templestay programs have indeed become a sanctuary for my soul through the warmth and comfort exuded by the temple. The mere thought that I can go there anytime brings a sense of calm and comfort.

The Strength that Helps me Endure Tomorrow

Seven years ago, in April, burned out from 11 years of continuous work, I stopped everything. Unable to bear the stress pent up inside me, I quit working. Taking advantage of my newfound free time, I planned a trip to the southernmost tip of Korea. Even now, I vividly remember the day I left.

The unusually warm southern air, and even the April breeze, tinged with pollen and yellow dust, felt refreshing. The entire world seemed to be racing toward spring, and when I looked at the mountains, I could distinguish at least ten different shades of green. It was spring, the season when the mountains, rivers, and plants radiate a vibrant green, with the occasional touch of pink and yellow.

Before my first Templestay, I had a vague sense of anxiety. I worried that my time at the temple would be too static and monotonous. I especially worried that I might have to partake of baru gongyang (formal monastic meal) at every mealtime, and that the vibe would be overly rigid and strict. But contrary to my expectations, when I actually went, I was surprised by the free and amiable atmosphere.

Even now, I sometimes recall my first evening Buddhist ceremony. I had no idea what "three prostrations (sambae)" were, let alone what a Buddhist ceremony was. I was so nervous, clasping my hands together as a gesture of respect, and acting awkwardly in the dharma hall. Still, wanting to hide the fact this was my first Buddhist ceremony, I awkwardly followed along, glancing at the person next to me to know what to do. When I felt that a sidelong glance wasn't enough, I half-turned my head, trying to follow along with equal fervor.

That memory is tinged with newfound charm. Now, in my eighth year of attending Templestays, I'm able to follow along quite well the Ritual of Seven Prostrations and recite the Heart Sutra even without looking at the text, just like a well-practiced Buddhist with strong devotion.

If someone asks me what I love most about Templestay, I cannot limit myself to just one answer. It was the first moment I passed through Iljumun Gate and encountered the temple enveloped in spring. It was the sound of trickling water, the wind in the trees, the birdsong. It was the changing temperature of the wind with each season. It was the sound of wind chimes hanging from the eaves, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the moments I spent walking along the deserted path deep in the mountains after the evening ceremony. Even the sight of myself walking slowly, feeling a strange sense of guilt as I walked along the pristine, untrodden dirt path, covered in white after a heavy snowfall at the end of winter—everything was wonderful.

On those days I walked up the arduous path to the temple from the bus stop, I still remember the bright smiles of the monks/nuns and women staff who greeted me, easing my fatigue.

Sometimes, the warm faces and words of those who greeted me were like those of the Buddha enshrined in the Main Buddha Hall. Their gentle facial expressions, their eyes that waited quietly and patiently, and their quiet encouragement that I had come so far. I also remember the excitement of partaking in the breakfast offering at 6 a.m., which looked fit for a king. I treasure all these beautiful moments in my heart, revisit them one by one, and use them to persevere through the coming day.

When the Seasons Change, I Miss the Temple

When I go on a Templestay, I always attend the evening and dawn ceremonies. For the dawn ceremony, I wake up before 4 a.m., prepare briefly, and leave my room. This is no ordinary task, as it's a time I wouldn't otherwise be awake. I consider the dawn ceremony a promise to myself, and a gesture of proper etiquette to the Buddha when I visit a temple.

On pitch-black nights with stars dotting the sky, I hastily bundle up, open the door, and step out. The cool air in my nostrils, the silence punctuated only by the sound of the moktak (wooden handbell) during the monk's temple ground chanting. The world feels reverent, and my mind becomes calm and peaceful. Dawn is my most cherished and beloved time of day.

I offer three prostrations, sit cross-legged, and wait. Deep in the mountains, offering with my own voice a Buddhist ceremony to the Buddha at dawn, unorganized, I sometimes feel as if I'm alone in the universe. Perhaps it's this sense of tranquility that motivates me to get up and attend the dawn ceremony. Afterward, I feel an immense sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. I'm usually quite critical with myself, but at this moment, I truly give myself a big pat on the back.

s much as the dawn ceremony, I treasure my conversations with the monks over tea. At first, I attended out of pure curiosity, but at some point, I fell in love with the rich flavor of the tea the monks served. Now, the thought of these conversations brings me joy. While pouring tea, the monk asks about my current situation, about how my life and about my worries and concerns. Honestly, during those countless conversations over tea, I never once felt able to truly open up about my deepest concerns. Perhaps it was because I couldn't bring myself to say them. But one day, I was deeply comforted by the monk's response to someone else's question. It was a profound and wondrous feeling.

When I get angry, I tend to hold on to it for a long time, causing myself great stress. Templestay taught me to let go of negative emotions. I learned to be grateful and not dwell on trivial matters.

Above all, I learned to focus on myself and cherish myself. Few places offer a more unbiased, uninhibited, and quiet space to spend time alone with one's thoughts than a Templestay. Don't overthink it; just pack light and just go.

As the seasons change and the years pass, I find myself wondering about the Buddha I paid my respects to in Daeungjeon Hall on my first Templestay. How have the years treated him? Is the zelkova tree still standing? Then, as if possessed, I pack my bags and go. Despite eight years of Templestays, there are still many temples I haven't visited yet. I will continue my journey of self-discovery along that quiet path.