M E D I T A T I O N .
[A N E X C E R P T from my notebook:]
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My handy dandy notebook! |
"I knew it was early. I knew I should be asleep. I knew I couldn't sleep.
I found myself dressed and in the hall, failing miserably to close the door to my room quietly-- its hinges cried out unhappily through the still and silent hall. When the shriek subsided, I felt the silence and isolation surround me like a hug from the universe, as if to say, "You're the only one here, but I love you."
I knew not where I was going or why, and upon reflection I did not put much thought into who I was or where I was, either. None of this was important; none of it was real or present. What was was my movement through this weird and wondrous world in the wee hours of the morn.
I thought of wandering through town in search of a mountain to climb-- Korea is 79% mountains, so one must not walk far before running into one. Phaedrus found great meaning on a mountain in America; imagine the meaning I could find here!, I thought to myself.
The weather seemed to discourage such shenanigans: the wind was blowing constantly and with a worrisome intensity, as if a storm were coming. Something was ominous about the energy that I found outside our building, which encouraged me to head for the main Dharma hall.
Of course I tripped when entering the darkness of the temple. The thud of my foot on the raised floor broke the silence and my stumbling entrance to the hall snapped me out of my grandiose thinking and grounded me instantly in the present. It turns out I did actually have a body that was a part of the world I was fawning over.
After recovering my balance and regaining my composure, I bowed the traditional three prostrations (video) and headed to the altar at the front of the hall. Again, the silence closed in, and I let it consume me as I sat to meditate."I've "meditated" before, but never really gone anywhere with it-- it's often a very temporary and self-conscious activity, perhaps even contrived. I can never really get my mind around the fact that I'm making myself sit and making myself calm and clear-minded, and all of that making seems to prevent me from getting fully into my meditation.
This time around, that was not the case. The dimly-lit hall and the early morning peacefulness eased me into a meditative state before I even sat in the hall, and although the wild wind outside could be heard throughout the hall, focus and peace of mind came easily to me. The wind, ever the trickster, took to playing the bell that hung from the eaves of the temple; not even that constant cacophony could hold my mind back.
With my body still in the temple, I wandered through thoughts of self, of others, and of the world's existential layers and extant entities; through the positive, the normative, the true and false; and also through as much nothingness and calm emptiness as the somethingness I mentioned.
I wish I could say more on the subject, perhaps get more specific or more accessibly articulate what happened in the hall that morning, but even if I could, would it mean anything?
To summarize/generalize/conclusitize, my thoughts all had a very dream-like quality, as did everything else that morning-- they all seemed to come from nowhere and for no reason whatsoever; they had a dream-like and detached-from-reality type of novelty and originality about them; and they disappeared/evaporated as effortlessly as they arrived, leaving traces of meaning and emotion but nothing substantial to grasp or mull over. All of it was incredibly interesting, inspiring, and encouraging-- my first successful meditation! On such an ominous, auspicious, and meaningful morning, no less!
I had absolutely no conception of the passing of time, but I must have been in there for an hour or two before the first monk entered to prepare the hall for a day of activities. I watched as he lit candles, presented offerings, and paid homage to the different Buddhas and altars around the room. At no point did he pay me much mind-- perhaps out of focus on his tasks or possibly out of respect for my focus. He meditated for a moment before donning a beanie and grabbing his beautiful wooden monktak (목탁) and heading for the door. Out of curiosity and some sort of cosmic compulsion, I followed him out of the hall and onto the front steps, where he began to chant and slowly walk the grounds of the temple.
This is a monktak, used to keep time during sutra chanting, to cue bows, and various other Buddhist practices. |
We eventually returned to the main hall, where I found Dr. Yi waiting to enter and join in. I was thankful to have someone else with me-- I was worried about overstepping boundaries or ruining the rituals. Together, we went up to the front of the hall, and were the only two non-monks present for the beautiful sights and sounds that followed.
If you ever get a chance to experience morning chanting in a Korean Buddhist temple, I strongly suggest that you take it-- it was nothing short of incredible. The sounds were honestly some of the most beautiful I've ever heard-- life-changingly so, even. Call my opinion hyperbole or dismiss it if you will, but do yourself a favor and give it a try sometime-- hearing three voices chanting sutras in beautiful harmony while playing the monktak and a small metal bell was impossibly moving and fulfilling. I cannot endorse the experience strongly enough, nor can I ever hope to put it into words or pass it on, much to my chagrin.
T H E R E S T O F T H E D A Y .
T O B E honest, I have absolutely no idea what I did for the rest of the day-- all that I have in my notebook for the day besides my entry about my morning are notes from Dr. Yi's daily lecture; the only pictures from the date are of a magpie:These birds are IMPOSSIBLE to photograph... I was so excited to snag this picture!! |
...a Korean keyboard:
That key to the right of the space bar and before the Alt is the magical Korean to English button, and thus the only way I was able to effectively type anything while in Korea |
... a shot of the temple's impressive kitchen:
Because I worked as a cook to fund this trip, seeing this kitchen both impressed me (it's a really nice kitchen!!) and brought a reminiscent smile to my face |
This little dog was pretty cool! Runnin' around freely all day, eating kimchi handouts... what a life! |
It looks like this was another slow--and yet impossibly awesome and meaningful-- day at Hongbeopsa. The Baby Monks must have been on a field trip somewhere or otherwise busy, and our afternoon with the afterschoolers must have been uneventful as well.
Y I ' S W I S D O M O F T H E D A Y .
D R . Y I covered some fascinating content in her lecture this day, including language, literacy, and political power. She began by contrasting American and Korean cultures, especially Confucian and Neoconfucian influences in Korea. Due to the synthesis of these philosophies with a variety of other factors including small landsize, ethnic homogeneity, and external pressures (like invasion from Japan) which require reliance and unification, Dr. Yi made the case that Korea is essentially one big family. This leads to a degree of forwardness in interactions between Koreans that contrasts sharply with American individualism. This individualism-- views of the self as separate from one's neighbors and countryfolk-- leads to respectful distancing and politeness in American interactions that is not as prevalent in Korea. Whereas verbalization ("thanks," "sorry,") is essential in the States, nonverbal actions and emotive expressions prevail in Korea.
Dr. Yi explained the Korean language's dual traditions-- on one hand, spoken language came to the peninsula in antiquity from the Caucasus mountains (a source of European language and civilization as well?), while on the other written language was adapted from China. Due to the complexity of written language (the time and money necessary to memorize the myriad characters), language became an elite political weapon to be used by the educated aristocracy against poor, uneducated working classes to accumulate wealth, power, and influence.
This all changed in 1392, when King Sejong of the Joseon Dynasty (Korea's last and therefore most modern dynasty before Japanese invasion and modernity) invented the modern Korean language. According to Dr. Yi's lecture, King Sejong decided the country would grow more powerful if language were decentralized/spread through the people, so he went against the wills of the aristocracy (who of course opposed a dissemination of knowledge and power) to develop a more accessible language for the common people. The aristocrats called it "famine in writing" or "overnight writing" because it was viewed as disdainfully simple, even stupid and unrefined, but it signified a synthesis of spoken and written linguistic traditions into one easily-accessible and uniquely Korean language: "hangul" (한국어)--24 vowels and consonants that brought power to the people.
King Sejong developed the language from contemporary linguistic analyses of other powerful languages at the time (Chinese, Japanese, romance languages, etc.)-- his goal was to learn what works from other languages and then to simplify and improve it. This philosophy is still present in the language to this day-- Koreans are very proud of their language. Its syntax is the same as Japanese, but its characters are based on the natural shapes of the mouth and throat when producing the sounds. Apparently its vowel-consonant-vowel repetitive letter composition is akin to binary, which makes it extremely efficient for digital applications (like texting, which Dr. Yi emphasized). Apparently arguments have been made by cognitive scientists that attribute Korea's successful digital innovation to the structure of their language, which I find incredibly fascinating.
I'm not sure how much of the story is exaggerated and how much is historically verifiable, but either way, the story of the Korean language and its role in political power fascinated me. It was one of many experiences that revealed to me the real and visceral power in language and the language in power-- in other words the inherently connected nature of these two entities. Definitely something I look forward to learning more about!
Dr. Yi explained the Korean language's dual traditions-- on one hand, spoken language came to the peninsula in antiquity from the Caucasus mountains (a source of European language and civilization as well?), while on the other written language was adapted from China. Due to the complexity of written language (the time and money necessary to memorize the myriad characters), language became an elite political weapon to be used by the educated aristocracy against poor, uneducated working classes to accumulate wealth, power, and influence.
This all changed in 1392, when King Sejong of the Joseon Dynasty (Korea's last and therefore most modern dynasty before Japanese invasion and modernity) invented the modern Korean language. According to Dr. Yi's lecture, King Sejong decided the country would grow more powerful if language were decentralized/spread through the people, so he went against the wills of the aristocracy (who of course opposed a dissemination of knowledge and power) to develop a more accessible language for the common people. The aristocrats called it "famine in writing" or "overnight writing" because it was viewed as disdainfully simple, even stupid and unrefined, but it signified a synthesis of spoken and written linguistic traditions into one easily-accessible and uniquely Korean language: "hangul" (한국어)--24 vowels and consonants that brought power to the people.
King Sejong developed the language from contemporary linguistic analyses of other powerful languages at the time (Chinese, Japanese, romance languages, etc.)-- his goal was to learn what works from other languages and then to simplify and improve it. This philosophy is still present in the language to this day-- Koreans are very proud of their language. Its syntax is the same as Japanese, but its characters are based on the natural shapes of the mouth and throat when producing the sounds. Apparently its vowel-consonant-vowel repetitive letter composition is akin to binary, which makes it extremely efficient for digital applications (like texting, which Dr. Yi emphasized). Apparently arguments have been made by cognitive scientists that attribute Korea's successful digital innovation to the structure of their language, which I find incredibly fascinating.
I'm not sure how much of the story is exaggerated and how much is historically verifiable, but either way, the story of the Korean language and its role in political power fascinated me. It was one of many experiences that revealed to me the real and visceral power in language and the language in power-- in other words the inherently connected nature of these two entities. Definitely something I look forward to learning more about!
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i e b
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내가 어떤 생각, 의견, 질문, 문제, 또는 당신이 날 떠나 영감을 느낄 수있는 양식이나 패션의 의견을 듣고 싶어요.
진심으로 당신,
이사야