Jehovah Takes on Buddha

Determined to take full advantage of our first long week-end since January, I decided to spend Buddha’s birthday exactly where I felt it should be spent So Friday morning, I boarded a bus and in two short hours was dropped off at the door of a Temple in Daejeon. Truthfully, the trip wasn’t so simple, but I won’t bore you with the details of my adventures in purchasing bus tickets. Suffice it to say that I mentally flipped through my very short Korean dictionary, but all that came out was upseyo (there is no) and boule (water). It did little to get me on the bus. I will say, however, that I had more leg room on the bus ride to Daejeon than I had on my crappy Air Canada flight here- for a fraction of the cost. The two hour trip cost me twenty dollars return, and left me questioning the ethics of charging 80$ return Montreal – Ottawa. It seems to me that transportation to the nation’s capital should be dirt cheap- if for no other reason than to spice up the mind- numbing nature of Ontario’s self-imposed 8pm curfew.

I arrived at the Temple to find children playing baseball in the lot out front. The Abbott presented me with roses and directed me towards the office. I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a coffee machine in the corner. The information packet had encourage me to leave my beer at home, which I can do. But three days without coffee seemed totally unreasonable and I was happy to see that no one would have to be subject to the consequences of 5am wake ups without coffee.

This particular Temple, I discovered, is far from traditional. Few elements of Asian culture are determined strictly by aesthetic or creativity, but in fact results from thousands of years of tradition and rich symbolism. The construction of temples are no exception. Jakwangsa, therefore is a bit of an enigma. Jakwangsa was built in 1969 and they sort of threw out the book when it came to temple design. It was a bit of a relief, in fact. As I downed my coffee, they began the tea ceremony. I had feared that my temple experience might begin with complicated details involving the tea ceremony. Turns out at Jakwangsa, it’s really quite simple; you drink it. I looked around the room. There was a Canadian girl from Toronto who was bragging to an Australian about her French. Appropriately, the Aussie didn’t particularly seem to care. He had just happened upon the temple after getting on a random bus in Seoul. He was excited that he could stay the night and that there was free food involved. The Torontonian quickly dropped the subject of her French skills when she heard I was from Montreal. There was a man from New York with his Korean girlfriend, and we would soon be joined by a family from Philadelphia. We drank our fill of teas and were then taken to the temple for an ‘Idiots Guide to Meditation’ course. And we did, yes. We did feel like idiots, and we did meditate- not altogether a far stretch from an actor’s warm-up so I felt strangely comfortable with it, even though it was all new to me. Dinner time. Korean Buddhist monks and nuns don’t eat meat, so what greeted us for dinner was rice and every type of kimchee under the sun. The family from Philadelphia filled their plates with rice and looked petrified of the kimchee and the red pepper paste that is used as salad dressing. Turns out their son, also an English teacher, met them at the airport and they immediately got on a bus to the Temple. A cruel trick I thought. They fled the temple after breakfast the next morning, realizing that there would be no variety in the food and they were subject to kimchee for the duration of their stay.

buddhas" src="http://media.livedigital.com/pictures/63/31/6331677be9e4f88dbbf3cbff14be7274_thumb.gif" width="150"> I had planned to do a lot of research on Buddhism before my stay at the temple… but being a procrastinator, I never got around to it. I have to admit that I knew little, and still know little of Buddhism. But I was shocked by how simplistic and logical it was. Just common sense, really. You are the only one who can make yourself happy, so here’s how. We had a question period with the Abbott and I was struck by how calm and peaceful he was. At the same rate, I noted how he took great pleasure in being mysterious in his answers. He reminded me of my movement professor, Phillipe Libert who would give vague explanations of exercises by saying that it was as though you were holding a small ‘Stroumph’ (Smurf) in your hand. This was his way of asking you to stop asking dumb questions. The Abbott was a very educated man. He was Korean, and had come to Buddhism while doing his PhD in Astronomy in the US. He also had a Master’s of Physics. In his words- when he heard about Buddhism, it just clicked so perfectly with physics, it all made sense. The following morning, we were awoken by the tapping of a wooden gong, followed by a bell, followed by yet another bell. I should say we should have been awoken by the traditional gongs and bells, but in truth it was the alarm on my cell phone that stirred us. Anyone who has lived with me would probably agree that no gentle tapping of a wooden gong, or a distant bell would wake me in the morning. Pre-dawn meditation, followed by breakfast. I dreamt of a greasy Canadian breakfast, but no such luck - kimchee and rice. Another meditation followed at noon, but the Americans and the Aussie were nowhere to be found. Too much meditation, or too much kimchee?

In the afternoon, I went to the hot springs with the Torontonian. She wasn’t so bad after a full day of meditation. Now here is a contradiction if ever you’ve seen one. Canadians have no problem wearing skimpy clothes at the first sign of heat (or even in some cases, in the freezing cold)- but standing in a change room in a Canadian gym or swimming pool and all around you, people are turn self consciously towards the walls. Some manage to change under their towels. Some pools even offer private change rooms. Koreans are exactly the opposite. Tank tops are only worn by ‘bad girls’ and short skirts have only just become acceptable attire. When mid-drift bearing shirts were all the rage in Canada, you can be sure the trend never reached Korea. Korean children are more embarrassed by their belly-buttons than any other part of their bodies. Put men and women in separate rooms, however, and anything goes. Bathing is a social ritual in Korea. The hot springs were completely naked and hundreds of women paraded around without the slightest display of self-consciousness. The hot springs themselves were a pretty incredible experience. For four dollars, you have access to the various pools- each set at a different temperature, with different herbs in the water. Two saunas, one normal and the other a jade sauna. I only lasted a minute there- I think I singed my nose hair just by breathing. On the way back to the change room, there are rest areas if you want to take a nap. There are hairdressers, pedicures, massages and body pumices available for an extra charge. Sometimes there are waiting rooms with TVs and movies. Saunas and hot springs are open twenty four hours a day- so that you can stop in on your way home from work- sleep there, and head off back to the office. You know there’s a problem with workaholics in your country when relaxation becomes so important that you pass up a night in your own bed.

Following my Sunday morning kimchee, I packed up my things and returned to Seoul. I was craving a hamburger and McDonald’s just wasn’t going to cut it. I made my way to Little America. I could smell it miles away, it was calling to me. My vegetarian days, it seems are long over. The challenge of Little America is that the streets are littered with crazies trying to convert you to every weird offshoot of Christianity. To get from the subway to your destination, you subscribe to an intense game of tag. There are survival strategies. Walk fast. Keep your head down- try to blend in with all the loud Americans that surround you, and above all- do not make eye contact. The biggest obstacle stands directly in front of the Burger King. Signs scattered about him reveal that he is quite concerned about the number 666. And he worries that we are all going to hell. He plays his guitar and sings at the top of his lungs. I’ve often wanted to take his picture, but I’m afraid that focusing his attention on me may result in being ‘tagged’. My quest to find the perfect burger drove me right past him with a huge crowd of equally white people. In Little America, no one stops to stare at blonds. Except creepy military men. As luck would have it, my destination was directly beside the Jehovah’s Witness headquarters (whatever they call it). I knew I should have taken the stairs, but I thought maybe, just maybe- my big headphones would keep me safe. But they failed me. No sooner had the doors closed when the woman next to me tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “Have you heard about Hellfire?” What a pleasant, creative way of introducing yourself. I smiled, trying to suppress laughter and took the brochure from her outstretched hand. I hoped that this feigned interest would make her feel that she had won. I glanced at the paper- the word Hellfire stared back at me, engulfed in flames. I suddenly felt as though I were in a cartoon episode. I was the stereotypical Fred Flintstone character, who had the angel on one shoulder, and the devil on the other. Only in this case, it was a smartly dressed Jehovah’s Witness (who in my mind, look the same as Mormons on a mission) on my right shoulder, and a peaceful golden Buddha on my left. The Jehovah’s Witness was spouting off gibberish and trying desperately to frighten me enough that I would concede and agree to come to a meeting. Buddha just sat there, eyes half closed, smiling. Which way would you go?