Do Not Do Anything

17. 아무것도 하지마

17. Do Not Do Anything

At just over 30 years of age, I packed my bags and headed up through the bay tree forest on Mandeoksan Mountain in Jinan, Jeollabuk-do. My shadow ran long under the setting sun. I greeted Ven. Seungsan and unpacked my belongings in a small room with an old desk.

Yellow stains spread over the wallpaper, and it gave off the kind of musty smell you would expect to find in a remote room in the countryside. I sat down on the bedding, propped my weary body against the wall, and closed my eyes. My mind felt blank.

With no money or job, I had fallen into dire straits. Meanwhile, my parents were putting pressure on me, accusing me of being “disreputable.” I could no longer stay home, where we were shouting and groaning every time we encountered each other. Then, someone reached out a helping hand:

Rev. Ha, an old forgotten friend from my army days in Hwacheon, Gangwon-do. He told me that if I went to Mandeoksan Mountain to recite the buddha’s name and perform seated meditation, I could stay there free of charge.

Having already been trained in nighttime work and pressured for sales results, I wasn’t the least bit nervous—not if all I had to do was recite the Buddha’s name and meditate. On my way from Seoul to Jinan, I shaved off my unruly head of hair. And so I left home, looking like an old sheep who had lost his way.

At the morning assembly the next day, I greeted the other participants at the Mandeoksan Mountain training center. As a guest, I was referred to as “Baek-gun,” or “young Mr. Baek.” That very day, Mr. Kang, who handled the more difficult work there, whisked me off to the field as soon as breakfast had finished.

He had apparently done long, arduous stints on a fishing boat in his younger days and bore tattoos on his arms and legs. He spoke in a coarse Busan dialect, and after I saw that he was missing one of his fingers, I asked him if he was a card shark.

Despite my hopes of idling my time away somewhere where nobody knew me, I ended up instead spending my time in shabby clothes, working in the mountains and fields with the trees, stones, and earth.

I harvested mushrooms, potatoes, and persimmons. I gathered acorns and chestnuts to make jelly. I shook sesame seeds, plowed the earth for fall cabbage, piled up neat stacks of firewood, cleaned, lit fires, and put out food for stray cats.

It was unfamiliar and exhausting work for someone so used to city life. Truth be told, I could probably have gotten away with shirking my duties and napping in the shade. Instead, “Baek-gun” had found himself fully invested in his role as a worker at Mandeoksan Mountain—it was as though I’d fallen under a spell.

I diligently recited the Buddha’s name and performed seated meditation, keeping closely to my schedule. And instead of trying to tell me to leave, the ministers at Mandeoksan Mountain took a liking to me, saying that I did not seem like someone who was going to leave soon. They also seemed gratified and impressed that I did my work without having to be told.

My forgetful instinct kicked in, and over time I forgot all about Seoul. I was becoming one of the people of Mandeoksan Mountain. But one day, after dinner, Ven. Seungsan asked me, “What did you do today?” Somewhat impishly, I rattled off a list of my duties that day.

Ven. Seungsan was disappointed. “There should be nothing that you have done. You must do without doing,” he said.

“Huh?”

He fell silent at my cry of confusion.

A few years later, he asked me another question after he finished a dharma talk.

“What will you do in the future?”

I told him about my plans as a practitioner, including my preparations to go to the United States. He saw me to the door and pleaded with me once again. “Please, do not do anything. Don’t do anything.”

After many years passed, I would come to realize that the mind that seeks rewards from what “I” have done and the fixation on “my” having to accomplish things is a thief that harms the true mind. The “me” that is empty and free of affairs is the true master, tranquil and clear.

On this hot day,

I made up my mind

to be a monk.

— Tosei