Go Ask The Mountain

Go Ask the Mountain

It’s just a simple three-kilometer hike, nothing of great proportions. I do it almost daily, well, really nightly. It is a mountain, like but not like every other mountain in Korea, with one bug except. It is the mountain I will miss when I leave here. Tang San is my best friend in Korea.

Tonight while climbing up the side by the Golden Buddha of the Temple I sit at on occasion, it occurred to me I would leave this mountain, soon. I was sad for a moment and then felt my heart twitch with joy. I have lived and learned on this mountain. I meditate every morning in my room but Tang San is where I ask the questions that I need and often do not want the answers. Tonight the question was simple while slowly stepping on the bed of fallen pine needles with the refl3tio of the almost full moon shining a light for me over the branches and stumps. “What do I need to learn to tonight about myself, us or how I can be of better service or become of better man?” A simple question.

What struck me as I came to one of the side paths which I took a left around the family trying to coax their little dog with a red light blinking around its neck is this; why do I always ask to be a better man? Why not a better person?

I passed the dog and headed toward the bench I spent Saturday afternoon in the slight drizzle on Buddha’s Birthday sitting and reflecting. It one of my favorite spots on the mountain. Yesterday late afternoon I had an energizing experience of standing Qi Gong in front of the bench while sensing the curious Koreans passing by looking at the strange Foreigner. Strange indeed but not because I was standing and meditating. Tonight I kept walking. I wanted to stay focused and present. There is something here I need to learn.

Then another question slid into my consciousness. Why do I get irritated when women speak of themselves as something separate and, therefore, special and seem totally fine with making that distinction myself? Hummm good question. Maybe someday I will have the answer. I was not able to let go of a nagging feeling in my belly. It was initially stirred yesterday afternoon during a Skype session with a friend discussing our departures from Korea. What have I done here? How is it that a mountain in a city of a half million people is my best friend? Maybe my only close friend? How did I spend this much time here and really only make a few semi-strong relationships and they were predominantly with Koreans? Why have I avoided non-Koreans with such commitment?

Well, I have done some things! I have done the rough drafts of a novel, a book of essays and memoirs and the foundation of a cultural and social book about Korea and Koreans. That is something. And I learned about non-verbal communication, especially energetic exchanges between people. I leaned that sex is not a given. Good friendships can be formed with folks I have never seen or heard online. That writing is important to me, no, essential at this point in my life. That I could fly 8,000 miles but still miss my dead family members. I still don’t have a clue about much, not a surprise. That going months between ANY physical contact with humans above grade six is challenging, very challenging. Koreans do not share physical affection with other that are not family except for women who walk with their hands or arms wrapped around each other as a matter of course. Hugging matters, even to a semi-cold distant man like myself.

Tang San is my friend. It is hard for me to visualize my experience here in Korea without my time on this mountain. Like all good friends, Tang San lets me come to my own conclusions but rarely leaves me without something new to chew on. Tonight, while reaching the base of the mountain and walking down the staircase in front of the Church with large red cross in the sky and the larger painting of Jesus n front of the building I realized where I am headed next has many mountains. They are larger and dry with little else but rock. Deserts are like that. This particular desert is without sand, just rocks, mountains and space. I will try to make friends with those mountains like I have been fortunate enough to with this one. And hopefully that will not give me the answers without forcing me to search and claw a bit first too. Tonight I was thinking of Gurdjieff while walking- a Teacher, a model and haunting face with intense expressions of locked eyes, forceful cheeks and a forehead that tells stories of many miles. I will walk some of those same miles soon enough.

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.

Bread and Walking

10:45p.m. I promised myself I would go for a walk tonight. I have not done so since I returned from Busan on Tuesday night, it is now Friday. I motivate myself through putting a practical spin on my walk; I will stop at KB Bank, take out some money and pay some bills with the ATM machine. Yes, pay bills with the ATM machine. They don't use checks in Korea. You either pay in person, online or by bank transfer, which can be done at any bank on any ATM instantaneously. It is fun and I like paying bills this way, at least while it is a sixty-five degree night in Cheonan. Winter may be another story.

After taking care of my financial transactions, I asked my Higher Self which way to walk. I crossed Ssang-yongdong gil 3 to the other side and walked along the three-lane road that goes through Cheonan to Asan and all points south. As I walked down the red, ochre and forest green sidewalk in my $4.00 soft brown plastic sandals I bought from the Walgreen’s in Williamsburg, VA, USA; I received a rush of gratitude for the gift of walking. It seems irrelevant how I feel, when I put on my sandals at night and walk these streets I feel better, alive. My connection to Self and the world around me increases almost immediately. Even though it is approaching 11:00p.m., families are still out walking and playing badminton in parks together. Young kids and mothers hit the birdie back and forth while dads play with older children. They do not have the same need for children having routines at night including bedtimes. It is nice out, so they go out and be a family together.

As I pass the wonderful plant shop were I picked up two little desk plants and a large floor plant of a variety I have not seen before a couple of weeks ago; I see the blue, white and red lights of the Paris Baguette on the left corner I was approaching. I love that bakeries are often open till midnight for street wanderers like me. I step up the ramp and inside the brightly lit shop. The owner says “Aneoyounghi-gaseo”, good-bye, to the customer leaving and warmly greets me in perfect English, “Hello”. I smile and return the greeting. I search through the sweet breads and almost submit to the cream filled sweet potato bread but remind myself I do not want sweet bread. I want a bread to eat with meals over the weekend, mainly, a killer vegetable and potato omelet, a Sunday morning ritual of mine. I see the corn bread with actual corn in it that I enjoyed last week but then glance to the right and see the Korean version of nine-grain bread. American nine-grain bread is brown and dense, which is something I miss dearly. Korean nine-grain bread is white bread with grains in it for flavor, not texture, substance or health. Yes, the nine-grain bread is tonight’s bread. I pay the 1,700 won, $1.70 for the half a loaf and refuse the bag when offered knowing I live only a few blocks away and really do not need it.

I cross during the red light after watching the young guy do it and slow down to take in the night. On my right are three long benches that are really comment blocks with wooden planks on top to sit for a moment. While looking up at the cement apartment buildings surrounding me, I feel moved to practice some sitting Qi Gong. I have been lax in my Qi Gong practice and gladly jumped at the opportunity. Three meditations later and a full belly of Qi, I decided that some walking Qi Gong would be a nice way to complete my evening walk. I find Body Breathing exercises revitalizing and rejuvenating. This was no exception. Feeling renewed as i came upon the elementary school I am an English teacher for amazingly cute, enthusiastic and frustrating young kids. I have noticed how much I enjoy walking through the property when not working, the sense of connection and community tend to produce warm and yummy feelings within the head, mind and belly. I pass the market I shop at and then the aromatherapy store next to my home where I purchased some lavender lotion and liquid soap last Friday night.

I cross the street and down the mini hill that has a green and white tiled sidewalk and road, and there is my building with two apartments with lights on in the front side of the building. I live on the side above the alley where the restaurant chops their vegetables and garlic. Up the two short sets of ceramic stairs and home. I put the key in the lock and the motion-sensored light turns on. I step in and let my light brown sandals slide off my feet and smile again in appreciation of my home, both the physical space I live in and this place called Korea.