Like an Undammed River

by Hwajin Shin (Korea South)

A leap into the unknown Korea South

Never in my life had I considered myself a devout Buddhist; in fact, I proudly labeled myself an atheist. Like countless others before me, however, life’s cruel vicissitudes drove me to seek solace in religion. After much waffling and wrangling with my busy summer schedule, I made the unsettling decision to quest for inner tranquility through Buddha. To this end, I left my worldly belongings behind and set off for a temple stay to toil and meditate under the tutelage of Buddhist monks at Gilsangsa, a small mountain temple. Every minute aspect of the temple stay served as a fresh reminder of a simpler life: no electronics, sparse conversation, sauce-free meals. For the first time in my life, I tasted the unadulterated flavors of fresh ingredients. Without sauces veiling the dishes, qualities such as texture and temperature suddenly mattered to my palate. The water tasted cleaner, and the fragrance of each ingredient lingered on my tongue. The lurid sauces—salty ones, sweet ones, spicy ones—had been defiling my senses for years. Meditation too served as a reminder of a simpler life by removing social sauces from my mind. Every day in the prayer room, we sat before Buddha with our eyes closed in order to focus our minds. A monk whose age I could never guess at advised me to release every worry and focus on one thought. Then, he instructed, Buddha would answer. So, I closed my eyes and thought solely on the questions that had driven me to the temple: why do I keep living and what must I do to find the true meaning of life? Buddha, however, remained resolutely silent. My inner peace remained adulterated by thoughts of doubt and resentment. The next day, I closed my eyes again and meditated. But this time, instead of asking Buddha for facile solutions, I questioned myself about the events that led to my suffering, and about how I could achieve inner peace. This reversal was akin to scraping the ketchup and salt off a French fry. Suddenly, I could taste potato; I could sense Buddha. Life happens, and life is suffering. Suffering derives from desire. If I could scrape the sauce of desire from my thoughts and actions, I could experience life in its pure, unadulterated form, just like the food at the temple. My final days at the temple were spent in trying to apply this sauce-free life. I concentrated on breathing—nothing but the simple inhaling and exhaling of air. None of my previous entanglements mattered anymore—I just breathed in clean air and clean thoughts. My epiphany was that a simple, yet original and honest lifestyle was the correct path for me—in other words, a sauce-free life. Since leaving the temple and returning to the world, I’ve attempted to follow the sauce-free path. I haven’t always succeeded, both literally and metaphorically. I sometimes dip my sushi in wasabi-laden soy sauce, for example. Likewise, I sometimes lose my patience when Muhammad, my roommate takes more time for her morning shower than I anticipated. I’m sometimes filled with doubt when I choose to express serious inner thoughts with a metaphor like “sauce.” I sometimes relive past struggles, boiling with consternation. Despite still consuming these sauces, however, I’m better able to focus my senses. Thus, I taste the pure flavors of the rice and fish in addition to the pure flavors of the wasabi and soy. Thus, I feel patience, confidence, and peace in addition to their opposites. So, here I am, approaching daily strife with the attitude of embracing life as it is. Whenever I have to take a frightening leap, I recall some advice from the Gilsangsa monks: “live like an undammed river, free of its bindings and the desires of the world, and continue until you reach the calm seas.” Then, I close my eyes and look to my mind for answers from within.