In a Temple on a Sunday

Today, I spent a hour in a temple called Myoung-jong-sa, which means bright-something-temple. I'll have to ask what "jong" means, the next time I'm there.

In university, after I discovered and became attached to Buddhism, I longed to see "real" Asian Buddhist temples. There were temples in Ann Arbor, and I often visited a a Japanese Zen temple close to downtown Ann Arbor. Yet I rather naively thought "it's not the same."

Myoung-jong-sa was the first temple I ever went to in Korea. It's an urban temple, meaning it's pretty easy to get to, sitting as it does right in the middle of downtown. My first room-mate Michael and I were walking downtown and kind of discovered it by accident. He wasn't even sure it was a temple, but I recognised some of the paintings and wall decorations. I still remember the thrill I had when I achieved one of my university dreams.

Despite being an urban temple, Myoung-jong-sa sits in a forested nook, which lends a nice backdrop to the temple; the birdsong lends a nice compliment to the fish bells ringing in the breeze.

As temples go, it is not a spectacular one, although I didn't know that at the time, of course. Since then, it has improved a good bit: a massive main hall has been built, for instance. It's three stories high, with a long balcony running all the way around the hall. Downtown stretches into the distance below you, and the view is incredible.

The new main statue, one of 1000-handed Kwan-seum (better known for her Chinese name, Kwan Yin), is quite large. Also, unusually for a Korean temple, she is multi-armed (12, I think). In each arm is a an object used to relieve the suffering of all sentient beings: a sword, book, bell, etc.

I spent the hour doing sitting and walking meditation. The new main hall is cavernous, a virtual barn of a temple. And I had the whole thing to myself for most of the hour. At one point some southeast Asians came in, which surprised me. Towards the end, a woman sat down with her back to the wall, and immediately began chanting "Kwan-seum bo-sal" again and again in a melodic voice.

Temples are always very calming places. I like to think of buildings as semi-sentient, that they've soaked up the events that happened within their walls. A house in which a murder has taken place retains an atmosphere of pain and fear, for instance. Buddhism is a religion of peace: therefore temples are islands of calmness and silence [even if they are in the middle of a city!]. For me at least, to enter a temple, is to enter a space filled with solemnity and silence. When I leave, my mind is settled, and I want to smile and give a "namaste" bow to everyone I meet.