Daily Routine

18. 일과

18. Daily Routine

I awoke to the rustling sound of bay tree leaves in the wind. Rubbing my eyes, I stuck my head out the window to see if rain might be on its way. I saw the moon and stars glittering in an inky black sky. Turning on my old lamp, I washed up, got dressed, and headed up the stairs.

There I stood before a bell that hung low in one corner of the pavilion. I relaxed my body and gathered my breath so that I could strike the bell evenly. As the rod struck the spot where the lotus pattern had been worn down over the years, the clanging reverberations traveled through my body and rippled out all around. Each morning,

I rang the bell 33 times, expressing the wish to reach the 33 Heavens where the people of heaven live, where desires are purified and minds are cleared. Setting down the wooden mallet, I ascended the stairs once again to enter the dharma hall, where I sat upright and began performing Sŏn meditation.

After performing my seated meditation, I went up the mountain slope to gather shiitake mushrooms from an oak log. I blew the dust from them and snuck a bite; my mouth was filled with a rich and deep flavor.

I filled a basket with mushrooms, which I then spread out in a sunny spot to dry in the autumn afternoon. Just then, I heard the sound of the wooden bell announcing mealtime. I returned to receive my simple meal, folded my hands in prayer, and picked up my utensils.

I washed the dishes and set them out to dry. Then I recited an incantation for purifying the mind. Traveling along a path created by sunshine streaming in long rays through the branches, I walked up to the prayer grounds. I quenched my thirst with some spring water. Beneath a large rock, I gathered my thoughts and stopped briefly, experiencing a refreshing wash of spiritual energy.

The grounds were reverent with the recitation of scriptures meant to guide people to the right path as this life came to an end and they prepared for the next. I busily trucked my cart about. Ven. Seungsan, who had watched over Mandeoksan Mountain for many years, occupied a shady spot, where he was whittling a back massager stick from a bay branch.

He called the mallets “tathāgata sticks” and handed them out to the mountain’s visitors if they promised to attain buddhahood within ten years.

I went down to the field, where I stood under the broiling sun filling a sack with red, ripe peppers. Standing in the back of the truck, I felt the cool wind brushing over my cheeks. It was now around sunset, and I hoisted an ax to cut thick pieces of firewood as part of preparations for the winter. My mind became merry at the sight of white smoke and the smell of rice coming from the kitchen.

The sky was tinged dark red with twilight, and we sat around the pavilion, reciting “Nammu Amita’bul” (Homage to Amitābha Buddha) to the energetic rhythm of the drums. In the distance, Ven. Seungsan was fanning himself and swatting away mosquitoes.

In the autumn wind, the chirping of grasshoppers and flickering of fireflies cut through the air. My mind wavered back and forth before coming to rest on the moon high in the sky.

After the evening prayers, I bid good night to the 28 constellations and rang the bell once more. I lay down on my bedding and closed my eyes.