The Unplanted Forest, Nature’s Dharma Talks

Gounsa Temple on Mt. Deungunsan in Uiseong

As soon as the forest fire was extinguished, I rushed to Uiseong, but I couldn’t bring myself to enter Gounsa Temple. Buddha halls had vanished, the tiles that should have protected the roof lay scattered on the ground, and atop them lay a cracked bronze bell with its majestic sound lost forever. I wasn’t ready to endure this sight. Instead, I headed into the forest of Mt. Deungunsan surrounding Gounsa Temple. I was overcome by the illusion of being surrounded by black and white photographs, even underexposed and burnt to black, upon seeing the forest devastated by the blaze. It seemed as if all life had been extinguished, only total stillness reigned. Why had such a massive fire spread uninterrupted from Uiseong, to Andong, and all the way to the East Sea? Was it inevitable that a forest twice the size of Seoul would be consumed by fire, and why did it incinerate the temples that had stood within it for millennia? Was this truly an unstoppable natural disaster? I returned to Gounsa Temple to ponder these seemingly unanswerable questions.

Blackened Land, a Time for Revival

This past spring, one of the countless disasters and calamities that had threatened Gounsa over the past millennium came again, like a rude uninvited guest; a massive, incomparable fire engulfed Gounsa Temple. All life around the temple was stripped of its warmth by a single blaze, leaving only a blackened silence.

But even in Gounsa’s surrounding forest, the warm spring sunlight, unfailingly spurring on new life, shone down. The scorching summer that had fueled vigorous growth passed, and autumn arrived, prepared to offer a brief respite in anticipation of the coming year.

Gounsa Temple—founded by Master Uisang in the first year of King Sinmun’s reign (681 CE) of the Silla Dynasty—boasts a history spanning over 1,300 years. Nestled at the foot of Mt. Deungunsan, the temple is renowned for its auspicious location, the surrounding terrain resembling a “halfblooming lotus,” and for promoting faith in Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva. It is a major temple dedicated to following the teachings of the Buddha.

The path leading to Gounsa Temple, despite the constant stream of pilgrims, remains a natural dirt path. In this sense, Gounsa Temple’s belief in “restoration by nature” is truly unique. The temple’s residents envision a forest created by nature itself, not one man-made. This is why dirt paths are still favored over paved ones. The temple forest that surrounds the temple encompasses approximately 250 hectares and extends east to west around Mt. Deungunsan. It is expected to be the first forest in Korea to fully demonstrate the resilience of nature after a forest fire without human assistance.

Some time after the fire, I revisited Gounsa Temple, firmly believing in the power of nature, which never ceases its work even amidst the ashes. As expected, the charred landscape of last spring was quickly disappearing. Far away, the pine forest, darkened by the loss of its green needles, seemed to remain the same. But up close, a different world was unfolding. The ground was teeming with new, green seedlings and newly-sprouted grass, brimming with the promise of new life. The forest surrounding the valley was vibrant, and even the deciduous trees, their trunks scarred by the fire, were healing and regaining their original form.

The temple’s burned-out buildings were not restored yet, but even amidst the profound grief, the pain was fleeting, and a new vibrancy enveloped the temple compound. Above all, the bright, serene expression of Gounsa Temple’s abbot, Deungun Seunim, dispelled my initial worries.

“Next year, I Plan to Plant White Pines.”

Contrary to his claim that he hadn’t climbed the mountain since the wildfire, the monk’s attire for this hike was no different from that of the self-proclaimed “mountain superintendent monk (sangam)” whom I knew climbed this mountain every day. His attire seems to be the same as the past when he used to climb the mountain every day, carrying an A-frame on his back to collect firewood, although I had never seen him actually doing that. When I asked him about the best hiking route, he turned his gaze to the mountain and pointed to various places on the steep slope, suggesting that I could just climb anywhere. I thought he was joking, but he wasn’t.

The edge of the forest looked as if a fire had never passed through. It was covered in tall grass, and there was no trace of the forest path previously taken by hikers. The monk, weaving a path through the grass for us to follow, silently commented that Mt. Deungunsan was no longer a place filled with only scars. He said: “After the fire, I planted new trees. They are all black now so I call them “black pines.” Next year, I plan to plant new trees on the mountain, white pines.”

It’s not hard to guess that there’s a deeper meaning behind his describing the charred pine trees as “black pine.” Although they were all killed in the fire, it’s his wish that the spirit of the pine trees that protected this place for over a century remain, even in death. His statement that white pines will be planted next year reiterates his hope that the black pine trees will remain standing here until they fall of their own accord, even with their charred bark peeling away to reveal the white flesh underneath. These pine trees—which have long guarded the forest and protected Gounsa Temple—are gradually returning to the earth to provide nutrients for future growth.

A Forest of Life, Having Bloomed by Smoke

The evergreen pine forest—with which he’d shared his heart for 40 years while climbing Mt. Deungunsan—is now gone. The narrow paths once trod by villagers to gather pine mushrooms still bear witness to human passage, but now that the pine mushrooms and the pines have lost their habitat, visitors to this forest will become even less frequent. And with fewer people, wildlife will enjoy the forest more peacefully. In the forest, now devastated by the fire, numerous animal trails are already being established, and their traces are abundant. We are grateful that these small creatures seem to have escaped the blaze unscathed.

Through his connection with the forest, forged by Deungun Seunim step by step, he can share the truth that if the charred forest is left as it is, it will eventually grow into a new forest based on the principle of interdependent arising. Deungun Seunim said: “One of the major truths of Buddhism is the law of interdependent arising. This forest, which we have admired for so long, will naturally grow trees best suited to its rocky slopes. The forest fire simply performed a quick replacement of the pine trees with other species that will continue to protect this place. Now, both the forest and the temple must embrace future changes rather than cling to the past. As the climate changes, our task now is to allow the trees that grow naturally here to thrive, rather than cutting down the dead trees and planting new ones.”

The dark forest was brimming with vitality, as if it had never been damaged. One day, the fire had suddenly arrived, consuming all life, but as if emphasizing that even a devastating fire is just another causal force, the forest was already sprouting and growing new life. While the fire seemed to have killed the pine forest, the forest was racing forward, proving that it was not defeated.

After the pine needles that had once covered the sky vanished, sunlight penetrated down to the forest floor. Because this intense sunlight could end when the forest’s canopy grew back, some creatures quickly seized the opportunity to propagate. Bush trees, azaleas, lacquer trees, sumacs, and raspberries were among the first main characters to reappear. Small, sun-loving trees formed new colonies, while the taller trees that would dominate this landscape for years to come— Oriental cork oak, Mongolian oak, cherry trees, and ash trees—had already grown to nearly a meter in height. Not to be outdone, bracken ferns, as if embracing their own world, were spreading their leaves, and silver grass, boasting their resilient vitality, had emerged from various places to claim their space. The forest, which had been seemingly remained unchanged for so long, seemed to have regained its vitality. My worries proved unfounded.

Impermanence, the Living Dharma Talk

Deungun Seunim said. “We learn about impermanence through Dharma talks, and we actually see it in this burned-out forest on Mt. Deungunsan. Nature reveals itself in its true form without words. If it had remained as it was, it would change so slowly that we wouldn’t notice any change during our lifetime. But the forest fire compressed that time and shows us the result now, revealing the nature of enlightenment and the truth that all things are impermanent.”

Nothing is eternal. The idea that the forest surrounding Gounsa Temple is a “pine forest” is clearly a fixed, erroneous notion, based solely on our conceptual understanding of impermanence. Embracing change is therefore all the more crucial. In as little as 10 years, Mt. Deungunsan will be a forest of Oriental cork oaks and maples. The thought of healthy, vibrant oaks and maples that will someday surround Gounsa Temple already fills me with excitement.

Deungun Seunim said: “Even between spouses and children, too much interference can lead to conflict. It’s important not to interfere too much in others’ lives, but to trust and watch over each other, believing that we can all live together harmoniously. I think the same applies to nature. I hope humans will stop interfering and instead, trust and leave it to nature.”

Gone are the days when Gounsa Temple was surrounded by lush evergreen pines, over a century old. In the next century, Gounsa will be a temple renowned for its autumn scenery that is beautifully transformed by its ever-changing, vibrant colors, instead of winter scenes of solitary pines. The mountain itself embodies impermanence. This fall, I hope you’ll visit and take the time to listen to the forest’s living Dharma talk.