So when we finished with the bowing and chanting, we moseyed our way up this giant hill to a different building, but we did not go inside, rather we went onto this sort of terrace that was just outside the building overlooking the top of the hill. It was a large open area, and the 20 or so of us plopped down on mats that were laid out behind the three Buddah statues that resided on the alter up front.
First though, about the building. It is similar to the other structures that make up the whole of the temple, with the ornate Asian style roof and so forth. However, this building is smaller than the others and is adorned within by small paper lanterns, a large golden statute of Buddah, and a slew of very small shelves that have what appear to be hundreds of tiny intricately carved Buddah statues all lined up in rows, inside miniature cubbies, set behind glass. I didn't ask, but I had the sneaking suspicion that each one was carved by hand.
So we sat down and Ellen, our American English speaking temple tour guide (of sorts), told us a bit of the history of the temple. It was founded over 1500 years ago when a caravan of Indian Buddhist monks made their way into Korea and decided to settle down in the exact spot we just so happened to be in. The temple began as a network of caves inside of the mountain, both natural and man made (if I'm not mistaken) which served as both house and holy place for the monks. From where we were sitting we could see, up on the face of the adjacent mountain, the image of a 1200 year old Buddah that had been carved into the stone. It was illuminated by a large spot light, and as can be seen from the picture below, and most of the time there was a be-robed monk methodically knocking away on this drum-like hand held wooden instrument while chanting in a deep rich voice.
Sidenote: At one point, later on during my stay, I wandered my way up the stone steps that lead you to the Buddah statue only to find a monk silently meditating in front of it. Feeling like an intruder, and slightly embarrassed for interrupting him, I scuttled my way down the steps (which are made purposely over-large so you have to walk down the backwards--thereby never turning your back on Buddah), only to find out later that it would have been perfectly fine if I had wandered all the way up there, stuck my camera in his austere face, snapped a shot, and then hovered around obnoxiously (as I saw a number of other people doing later that day). I'm glad I didn't. Regardless of whether or not that kind of intrusion is acceptable there is something to be said for being left in peace.
So then the Sunmudo (Zen Martial arts) exercises began. We did some light stretching, and then some really intense stretching (to my embarrassment I openly scoffed when the monk leading the instruction took his legs spread eagle and flung them behind his head resting the balls of his feet on the floor behind him, with the greatest of Gumby-esque ease.) Then we did this sort of tai chi exercise which was relaxing and enjoyable. Instead of meditating that night, because it was Chuseok, we got to enjoy a Sunmudra (Zen Martial art dancing) demonstration by a woman who is renowned in Korea for her Sunmudra dance abilities. It was pretty damned cool.
We all sat down around the edges of the terrace and this sort of dreamy old style Korean music was cued up. The woman--who was small and looked like she was maybe in her early 40's, was swathed in baggy white clothing, with only a hint of color intruding upon her outfit at the top, in the form of a sort of blue half jacket--stood in the middle of the area in stillness. The dance began slowly, her motions were very tai chi like, all slowness, control and fluidity. As the dance got further underway, the music built up, and she began to pick up her pace. At one point she fell to the ground in a dramatic prostrated bow, her hands slapping the wood loudly, while she lay still allowing the sound to reverberate into silence. From this bow she picked herself up and started spinning, her arms arced out in front of her, first clockwise, then counter clockwise. The dance slowed, and she repeated the whole thing. The second time there was a greater calmness to the dance, something steadier, softer and more worn in her movements.
I thought this was really cool. I sat there absorbed in the passing events, thinking about the significance of the intensity, and its waning, thinking about the repetition, and how it seemed almost like a metaphor for experience encapsulated in dance. I liked this thought, and let its weight sink into me as I replayed her graceful movements in my mind.
Then it was our turn to do the dance. Haha, needless to say the lot of us stumbled around lookin' like fools, and at the end the head monk told us in English, "Very beautiful!" We all laughed, and headed back down the mountain because it was nearing time for bed.
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