Spirits In the Moonlight

I woke to the sound of drums in the temple yard. I dressed and stepped down from the door of my room onto the grounds. There were nine buildings in the temple yard, all with the sloping, tiled roofs of the Orient. It was cold and still and the sky clear and black. My friend and I pointed out constellations, speaking in low-voices to preserve the calm. Our breath came out in warm vapors and a mist rose from the ground all across the yard. Ahead of us two monks walked slowly in single file, both in robes and shaved heads, and the lead monk carried a small wooden drum, singing an old song that came from deep in his body. The fog, the way they walked, and their robes flowing over the ground gave them the impression of floating. They were spirits awoken in the moonlight.

The monks disappeared into the largest temple. We heard a sharp signal from inside and then, across the yard, three more took up the song. One stood in front of a drum and began a soft tapping that escalated into a tribal march, where he was using the short sticks in his hand heavy and hard against the center of the large drum. Then the song was taken up by one standing under a wooden dragon, where he too held short sticks that he used inside the dragon's belly. And then the bell. In my travels of Korea I have often seen these bells and occasionally heard them rung, but never in the still of deep night. Never only feet away. Never felt the vibrations move the water in my body.

When the drumming stopped we entered the temple and bowed repeatedly to three gold Buddha statues. We joined a dozen or so monks and would kneel, then put our heads to the floor with our palms up, then up to our knees, then in a standing position with our palms together, then back down again. The monks sang in voices immeasurably old. Songs about salvation and torment, about elevation from pain and release from struggle.

After the worship, Muchin, a leader, invited us to sit in an open-air temple. It was black and cold. He told us he was a Zen master and instructed us in meditation. When the lesson was finished he took us to a room and gave us both gifts of tea grown across the river from the temple. He told us it is important to remember that life will rise and fall, and that when it is good and high, to remember to be polite and kind, because it will fall, and then we will need help.

Then we left him and walked into the forest. Autumn had come to give color to the trees. We walked a mile along a stream, breathing in the air. The hike was good in the cold air. By the time we returned to the temple we were warm and the sun shone over the mountain. The temple was holding a photography contest. In order to preserve our calm, we quickly packed up as a group of fan dancers introduced the contest.