I feel thrust into the middle of summer after expending all my energy in the fierce battle of living day to day. At such times, I have no strength left to move, and only then do I seek rest. In those moments when I need rest, Mt. Jirisan embraces me like my own mother, revealing its generosity to embrace all exhausted souls. In midsummer, Mt. Jirisan, covered in a deep green that seems eternal, does not reveal the wounds hidden within it. The only clues I find there—where only silence seems to be hidden—come in the form of a silent whisper that Mother Jirisan, just like us, also needs rest. The forest I sought for rest thus presents another new season of changes on Mt. Jirisan and in my life.

A place where the magnificent energy of this land is gathered and embraced is at the end of the Baekdudaegan Mountain Range. Ssanggyesa Temple on Mt. Jirisan is where the geomantic energy gathers and where kudzu flowers bloom in a snowy valley. This temple has been consistently welcoming and embracing weary souls for 1,300 years. My journey to Ssanggyesa Temple for a midsummer’s rest is more special than anything.

When you reach Hwagae, the Seomjin River, which flows past it seems to carry all of Mt. Jirisan’s silver sand. There, a street veiled in the shadows of the dark green shade of lush cherry trees attracts the weary. In the bright spring sunlight, the cherry blossom-lined path in Hwagae gives the appearance of “busyness,” but in summer, which is a time for rest, the green shaded path allows visitors to immerse themselves in nature. The moment you enter this living green tunnel, where the hot summer sun seems to have been swallowed up, true rest begins.

After passing through this living 4-km tunnel of green and reaching the village just below the mountain temple, the tall and towering Oriental cork oak forest—an iconic symbol of Ssanggyesa Temple—immediately catches one’s attention. This forest imparts an unspoken teaching to cleanse your mind; the realm of the mountain temple begins here.

This old Oriental cork oak forest has guarded the entrance to the mountain temple for at least 100 years, but its teaching is sometimes drowned out by the bustle of the nearby commercial district. The stone gate that guides visitors to the temple is also often unnoticed because of the activity in the busy commercial district and the colorful signs that catch the visitors’ eyes first. The restaurants and stone gate coexist in the same time and space.

I want to arrive at Ssanggyesa Temple by walking along the dirt path through the stone gate surrounded by the huge green Oriental cork oak trees, and while being intoxicated by the magnificent sound of the stream in the valley. My desire is perhaps due to an unwillingness to accept change. Am I too attached to my idea that the boundary of Ssanggyesa Temple must begin at the Oriental cork oak forest near the stone gate? The beginning of rest is thus faced with the beginning of a change in my thinking.

The Oriental cork oak forest that I enter at the stone gate continues up to the One Pillar Gate. Its trees grow tall and straight while swallowing up all the strong midsummer sunlight. The forest grows by trapping the cold wind blowing in from not one, but two deep valleys. The cold air trapped in the forest assuages the heat experienced by those walking through it. The cool wind from the valley has probably been blowing since the temple was founded 1,300 years ago. Now, people drive their cars to the parking lot up to the front of the One Pillar Gate, and I miss the old memories of leaving the city, slowly relaxing in the coolness of the wind from the valley in midsummer, and slowly letting myself go with the flow of the forest.

As I pass the parking lot, the valley’s unique scenery unfolds before me, becoming more intense. I encounter the warmth of the moss thickly covering the rocks and trees, and the words “beauty of time and antiquity” naturally come to mind. The old Oriental cork oak trees have grown huge, and the young zelkova trees will surround Ssanggyesa Temple for 1,000 years to come. The moss has grown over time on the rocks and trees, and the stream flows through the valley with a clear sound, sustaining the lives of all those around it. All the harmony of nature unfolds before my eyes, all perfect. It is as if I am entering a 1,000-year-old forest.

The tranquility drowns out my thoughts as if the forest had never experienced a single adverse event, ever. Although its current surroundings are tranquil, Ssanggyesa Temple too has endured turbulent times. Oriental cork oak trees are the trees that grow to create a forest on the most barren land where there is no moisture, and on rocky ground where other trees struggle. This forest stretches high into the sky and exudes an ancient beauty. It is evidence of how desolate this place was until recently. That is why the cold moisture-laden wind blowing through the valley now is all the more appreciated.

The Oriental cork oak trees endure the dry land and create a gentle atmosphere around them. However, this place itself will soon confront them with a great ordeal because they must eventually hand over the seemingly permanent position of being the forest’s elder brothers to the zelkova trees. The young zelkova trees will continue to take over this forest even more beautifully, the forest the Oriental cork oak trees created first. The forest seems to be still and quiet, but it is actually vibrant. In particular, summer at Ssanggyesa Temple is encountering even greater changes. Of course, it will happen in the distant future, so for now I can only imagine it in my head.

The restoration and reconstruction of Ssanggyesa Temple has been ongoing for over 1,000 years. Change signifies “being alive.” Ssanggyesa Temple has endured more turbulent times than any other place, and has developed longstanding traditions on the one hand and new ones on the other. And this “being alive” is expressed not by inanimate objects but by living things. It may seem natural at first, but since the changes in a temple are usually recorded in terms of inanimate objects that can be connected to the concept of “immortal,” the dynamic power expressed by “living things” at Ssanggyesa Temple stands out more here than anywhere else. This is especially true in midsummer.

The old Oriental cork oak trees that endured the turbulent times of both the modern and contemporary eras; the zelkova trees that will continue to grow into the future; the ginkgo and quince trees that were planted right after the reconstruction of the main buddha hall in the mid-Joseon period; the camellia trees that produced oil to light up the long nights at the mountain temple; and above all, the tea trees that have endured the 1,000-year history of Ssanggyesa Temple; all of these come together here. The fir and hinoki cypress trees planted during the Japanese colonial period have now become old, along with the original native trees. And the tulip trees from North America have also grown large. The native forest and the newlyintroduced forest unfold here in one place.

And the harmony of these old trees presents an ambiguity that makes it hard to distinguish the boundary between the temple compound and the forest. This ambiguity is the best thing that Ssanggyesa offers in midsummer.

The only way to look deep into the temple forest is to pass in front of Geumdang Seon Center and climb up to Buriram Hermitage. The forest here is also like a changing temple. Almost all forests in Korea were chopped down at some point and were later restored. Because of this, it is very difficult to see truly old trees in a forest. However, on the forest path leading up to Buriram, old trees harmoniously blend together with new trees that conceal the previous damage done, and together they create a vibrant landscape. Although not all of the old trees survived, the ones that remain make the forest feel even warmer. It is as though the little heritage that remains shines even brighter.

. The harmony of the old trees and young trees blending together continues throughout my climb up to Buriram Hermitage.

And at the end of my climb lies the spectacular Buril Falls, dispersing the summer heat and the worries of the secular world. This is the beauty of Ssanggyesa Temple. A journey into the forest in midsummer, serenaded by the sound of a vibrant waterfall, is a time for rejuvenation, an opportunity for the mind, tired and exhausted from daily life, to bloom anew and mix with the mind of the past.

“We didn’t do anything for the forest. If you look at the pictures from the Japanese colonial period, there was no forest. It all recovered on its own.”

Listening to his wise words, I gain enough strength to run up to Haehangnyo Hut, surrounded by a forest of Oriental cork oak trees. It is a time of “rest” in midsummer, when one recovers on one’s own, just like nature.