Tang San Mountain Tonight

I put on my new waterproof windbreaker I received via a delivery guy last week for the first time. I had already de-factoried it last week with a nice wash and ten hours in the sun hanging out my window and the smell is fresh air not plastic and chemicals. This made me smile casually. I stepped outside my, door and my neighbor across the hall was returning to her place and said “HI. How are you?” She meant it. We met a few times previously. She can speak English and is an English teacher at a hag won (institute) here in Cheonan. “Good! I am going out for a nice walk.”

Her face looked puzzled. “But it is raining outside.”

“I know. I said I was going for a walk, I didn’t say it made sense.”

She smiled warmly, “It should be good. Bye-Bye.”

“Yes it should, thanks. Bye-Bye.” And down the marble brown and tan steps to the exit door and the stone and cement walkway in front of our building. It is barely raining, one of my favorite walking environments, especially with the temperature in the lower sixties and dark. This kind of weather seems to always facilitate reflection and sensory awareness that I typically do not have at my access. I walked up the little hill across the street with the green and white concrete tiles to the main drag in my neighborhood. My neighborhood. Wow, I really live here now. I am no longer rock star nor Martian. I have achieved both neighbor and alien residentship. I am an alien. Many of my family members and friends have wondered if I was an alien for as long as I can remember. They have proof now in the shape of an ID card in my black Eagle Creek wallet.

There are less folks out on the streets than usual. This makes me happy. Tonight I brought my iPod and headphones seeking private time in public; hiding in plain sight. I do not put on my headphones yet. I want to feel the rain and hear the water and smell the freshness before I go inside the tangled web called my brain. Maybe I should take a shot at walking up Tang San Mountain. How muddy and slippery could it be? I have now passed Young Am Chatam Hokyo (elementary school) where I am an English teacher. I like teaching at a public school. The sense of hominess that is present supports me being me and them being them. Yeah, I will take a short walk up Tang San tonight. How bad can it be? I have my cell phone if it gets too bad. Crossing Ssang-yangdong 2 and heading towards the back of Highvill apartments where the trailhead begins. I hesitate at the trailhead, fear is ugly and ruthless. I take my first cautious steps up the steps to the dirt trail. I see three young guys walking down talking casually. They are not alarmed or cautious; I will be safe. They are the last humans I see on the mountain tonight. A rare contrast to the fifty or so I typically see at ten at night on a weeknight. I am grateful I will get rain, mountain, dirt and space while listening to the bugs and insects make their chirping and buzzing sounds. They are different than what I know them to sound like back in the states, more buzzing than I can remember. The dirt is soft but not slippery, which makes for a nice gentle walk. I slow down to breath in the smell of green, wet. It is its own smell without name or identification but certainly fragrant and embracing all who care to give in to its loving sweetness. The drops on my head are small; I take my hood off. I want to miss nothing tonight. Wet, the smell of greenness wet, the wet soft soil and the sounds of those who live here on the mountain. Tonight is my night here since others chose to stay indoors tonight. I feel bad that folks run for cover at any sign of inclement weather, it is such a treat on nights like tonight. Then I again smile that hidden gesture of knowing a secret that you won’t share; the secret is life is good and I am on the mountain by myself. The motion-sensor lights on the path tickle me every time they go off and on, I feel like I am walking through a scene in some movie from a time in the future or on planet Q or something. Time to turn around; I have enjoyed the walk and the mountain, no reason to get greedy. Besides, I want to listen to Vas and it seems like sacrilege to put on my headphones and iPod at a moment and place like this. Maybe even blasphemy.

I reach the bottom and enter the sidewalk with ochre, green and burnt red tiles and start up the hill to the right. I walk while searching for Vas on my iPod. They rocked me last night on my bike ride and I want to relive that again tonight in slow-mo by foot. I pass a couple who gaze at me, I feel shame at now being one of the people I judge walking in public with headphones and shutting off the world. I am back on Sang-yongdong 2 and turn left towards home. The fresh air pulls my head to the right and I notice the signs for Boar English Academy and HanKook University for Foreign Studies with its green, yellow and white sign. I approach the first of two Paris Baguette bakeries on my short walk home. The have a new Korean wheat and buckwheat cornmeal bread I tried tonight for the first timer, it was good with my jinn Ramen and Curried chicken over a vegetable salad I had for dinner tonight. I am back at Young Am Chatam Hokyo. I look up at where my classroom is. There it is, third floor on the corner facing the police station across the street. I am not ready to go home yet. I want to sit somewhere dry and appreciate the night air and mist. I remember there is a small shelter near the soccer field across the door I enter and leave daily, since my slippers are in a cubbyhole there for me to wear every day at work. I love wearing slippers at work; it should be an international law that every school in the world bans shoes worn by anyone. I imagine a lot less violence and disrespect. I plop down under the shelter on the top step of the left hand side. It feels nice. Fresh, clean, alive. I relax for just a few minutes. I am pleased and satiated; I do not want to be greedy tonight. Take what I need and leave the rest for others. Life is good.

I leave school grounds through the gate and turn right. I pass the other Paris Baguette and Nong Hyup Bank where the Korean government sends my paychecks and takes out money to pay for the delicious lunches provided at school, and I wire money to the states to pay some old balances left from six months without pay. The American dollar’s crash has cost me about four hundred dollars on Friday due to exchange rates having dropped almost 30% in the three months I’ve been here. Should I go left up the hill by the park next to Mama’s Touch Chicken or the usual way? The usual way. It occurs to me stronger and louder than earlier tonight. This is my neighborhood. I live here. This is my home! I am a neighbor again. People know me. They cannot speak with me and do not know my name, but they know me. We have exchanged bows and smiles- connection. Warmth and respect do not need words.

Tonight I will write about tonight. I have written intentional lies my last three pieces. Time to return to me, the real me. Tonight is about me. Well, not really, it is about us. Our lives, our dreams and our moments together and separate. We breathe, we eat and we love and then we cry. This is who we are. This is my home. I live here. I am a neighbor again. I can offer my home to Couch Surfers again. I have a home. I see it, there it is right in front of me now. I think I will go inside, turn on my MacBook, continue to listen to Vas and type till I am done.

I am done.

Bowing: An Energetic Transaction

On my first morning here in Korea, I entered a local “deli” to buy something quick to eat before starting work. I had arrived in my room around 1:00a.m. and did not go to sleep till nearly 3:30, with a wake up time of about 8:30a.m. The “deli” is not what I would typically call a deli but do not know the correct name for it. The woman prepares and sells different kinds of Kimchi and stews, hot and ready to go. I did not know what I was thinking when I walked in the door of her place, she bowed and said some kind of formal greeting that I know now as “Annyeong-haseyo”, good morning/afternoon/evening. But the bow is what caught me in my tracks. I had been given the information that many Koreans still bow before I left the states. I was a little excited but did not really grasp what bowing really is till that morning of little sleep after a twenty-four hour flight and a long ride from the airport to my new place in Cheonan. She bowed as casually as someone who has done so without thinking thousands of times. She did not know how strengthening and affirming that common gesture was for me. I knew I had reached my destination and was in the right place. My trip to Korea was where I supposed to be.

For the last two months I have reflected many times on what actually happens during the process of bowing that is so powerful. Is it the honoring of another person’s Self? The honoring of the Self? Is it the conscious decision that whatever we may be doing at that moment, the decision to be focused and present right now is all that matters, because there is a human being in front of me and that requires my complete attention. We are acknowledging each other, and I sense our ancestors and histories as well. Very few people do half-hearted bows here. They do half-hearted all kinds of other things, but bowing is different. Even entering the E-Mart or Lotte-Mart, the Korean equivalents of Wal-Mart and K-Mart, there is a person inside the door that bows to every single person that enters and leaves. I do not understand how, but they mean it and are genuine every time to every person, even to the foreigner who wears a backpack and has this stuff growing on his face all the time.

Where does the bow come from? I do not mean mean its history, although I will assume it is a Chinese tradition initially. I am referencing the actual energy of the bow itself. It is too powerful for each one of us regular people to muster up the kind of energetic exchange that a bow transmits hundreds of times a day. It is like a shot if Reiki, Qi Gong, Prayer and a loving hug from your best friend and grandmother all in one, without touching or saying a word- Taiqi in its purest form.

I get to share bows with all three of the women that serve lunch in the school cafeteria daily. All of the clerks, stockers and employees at the grocery store by my home almost daily. I enter the cell phone place on my way home just to share a bow with the guy who owns the shop where I purchased my cell phone, because his bows go right through me and fill my spine every time without exception. It is worth the two steps to his shop to receive his warm smile and bow. When walking the halls at school, most of the kids and all the teachers share a bow with me; it does not get old for them or me. Each time, the exchange is present and refreshing to me, the Real me. It is hard to be miserable, angry or resentful when bows are plentiful to ruin my negativity, like it or not. I have been aware of what a challenge it is to hold onto whatever self-centered or selfish thoughts and emotions I am clinging to while being immersed in bowing. Bowing is in my spiritual lineage and blood. I think if we were able to trace DNA to see who has the bowing gene, I would be profiled as such. It is who I am, it just took a long plane ride to find this out.

Two specific bows stand out to me at this moment. The first being my initial introduction and hello to a Reiki Teaching Master I met in Kyoto, Japan. He came up the steps of the subway station in his black monastic attire and bowed before saying hello. I felt him, the Reiki lineage and our Inner Connection at that moment. Our shared history finally had the opportunity to greet each other in physical form. The acknowledgment that this particular bow shared is still part of my dreams at night and Reiki sessions in the morning. In that bow, my connection to Mikao Usui, the man who rediscovered Reiki and the Reiki lineage was immediately strengthened and fortified. I am grateful for this bow and our meeting. I know we will share another bow someday.

My other favorite bow happens Monday through Friday. One of the women that shares office space with me and I, do a mini bow while she is sitting at her desk every day when I enter the space. Her smile and warmth tickle my core and remind me why I am a teacher and what being a teacher means. I find her attractive on many levels and since there are some language barriers, bowing is the time we connect and acknowledge each other. I wish bowing could be the method of getting to know women for me in all attractions; it is honest, pure, respectful and loving. The other stuff that trends to cloud my attractions to women dissipate in that brief second we share. I want to expand that statement to include all relations, male, female, friends or otherwise.

And I thought bowing was just for spiritual rituals and old folks.