Losing My Religion

I’m sure I've got my pants on backwards. I look down at the velvety, maroon trousers that are ballooning out around my legs. They are way too big. Now, was I meant to tie the cord around the back or around the front? The lady at the office demonstrated how to put on the pants less than five minutes ago, yet I’ve forgotten already. I try to check in the bathroom mirror but it’s barely big enough to reflect my torso. I consider Googling “how to put on Buddhist temple pants” but then I remember I’m in a Buddhist temple and I don’t have access to the internet.

It’s early afternoon and I’ve just arrived at the Golgul-sa Temple in the outskirts of Gyeongju. I’m here for a ‘Templestay,’ a short, twenty-four hour immersion in Buddhist practice where I eat, sleep and pray like a Buddhist. It’s not an uncommon thing to do during a trip to South Korea and I’ve selected the Golgul-sa Temple because it has a high rating on TripAdvisor. For a small extra fee you can even do archery or horse riding on the second day. I was a bit sceptical about this because it made the experience appear less like a one day search for enlightenment and more like a Buddhist summer camp (I’ve never seen Korean monks riding horseback, shooting arrows ‘Robin Hood’ style) but I thought I’d still give the temple a go. The temple complex is made up of a series of buildings spread through a small valley. They lead up to the main temple perched on the mountainside next to a Buddha carved into a rock-face. The area is abundant with green vegetation and the sounds of crickets and cicadas.

I’ve just arrived in my room and I am trying to get dressed in my temple outfit. I’ve been told I need to wear these clothes throughout the duration of my stay. Along with my oversized, purpley-brown pants I have an orange vest to wear over my shirt which I am thankful has some internal pockets that I can store my phone and room key in. I soon discover that my vest is on inside-out and am sad to realise that my internal pockets are, in fact, external. I try a few more times to get the pants on the right way. I eventually decide that the cord should be tied at the back and I pull it into a tight bow. I am now in my full Korean-Buddhist regalia, ready to discover inner peace wherever it is lurking.

I start making my way up the hill towards the main temple, past the second carpark and the souvenir shop, ready for my first authentic Buddhist experience. The Golgul-sa Temple specialises in the martial art of Seonmudo and so first off we are getting a demonstration from the temple’s instructors. I arrive a few minutes late - I hadn’t expected it would take me so long to put on my pants - and take a seat next to another Templestay-er. There are about fifteen of us in our orange vests, unsure of exactly what the next day has in store. There is also a smattering of normally-clothed Korean tourists who have come to watch the free Seonmudo demonstration. I’m not sure if they know that we are here for the Templestay or if they think we are all waiting to audition for a part in the Village People.

The demonstration goes by well. The audience applauds at the appropriate moments and dispenses a regulated amount of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ when the martial arts instructors jump in the air. Before I know it, I am in a large hall waiting for the orientation-proper to start. I look around. Among the group of us there is a family of four, a Spanish couple in their early thirties, a German couple and a handful of twenty-something backpackers. Some people are meditating while we wait for the instructor to arrive, hoping this will get them extra points. Others, like myself, are looking around cluelessly, unsure of what is about to happen. All of us sit in silence.

A short Korean lady arrives and turns on a television in the corner of the hall. She is trying to get the orientation video to start but is having trouble selecting the correct source, unsure of whether the DVD player is connected to ‘AV1’ or ‘AV2.’ After a few moments of struggling, a German girl, not in an orange vest, walks over to the lady. Despite being half the age of the Korean woman, the German is double her height so she leans down to say something in the Korean’s ear. The German girl then approaches the centre of the room and says that she will explain the rules of the temple instead. She, like us, is a Templestay-er but she is staying for a month. I read about this before arriving. Whilst most people stay just for a night, you can stay for as long as you want. In fact, if you stay for a month then you only pay for the first twenty nights. (When I saw this I envisaged a monk in a discount rug style ad: “Stay for twenty nights and the next ten are freeeeee!”) The German tells us how we should bow to the monks when we pass them in the temple grounds, how we should avoid talking while eating our meals and how we should treat all creatures with respect whilst at the temple. I have killed at least twenty mosquitos since arriving at the temple an hour ago. I have been indoors for most of that time.

After our Korean orientation we are straight into martial arts training. One of the instructors from the earlier demonstration arrives and lines us up in rows on yoga mats. We perform a range of different stretches and movements. Given that the most athletic thing I’ve done till now was my exodus from the birth canal, I’m finding some of these poses and stretches a bit difficult. The entire thing feels like a mix between the warm up for a high school drama class and torture. The instructor speaks English pretty well although all he really says is “breathe in” and “breathe out.” Otherwise, everyone just mirrors the movements he makes. He goes to wipe his face and half the class does the same, thinking this is all part of the training.

After over an hour of training we have the ‘108 Prostrations.’ That is, bowing to the ground, without stopping, over one-hundred times in a row. We are just finishing up our Seonmudo training and another instructor has arrived. The new instructor tells us to swap our yoga mats for a thin cushion in the cabinet at the back of the room. We are getting ready for the prostrations. But obviously, I assume, we’ll have a break for a few minutes to go to the bathroom, have some snacks and discuss the hour of pain we just endured before the bowing begins.

I bring a flat cushion to where I just had my yoga mat. “Whack!” The instructor slams a piece of bamboo against his hand and the sound reverberates across the hall. He half-bows to us and we half-bow back. Wait, we aren’t starting are we? We haven’t had any snacks between sessions. “Whack!” Everyone leans down to the ground and does a full, face-to-the-floor bow and I’ve noticed that I’m doing the same. Why are we starting already? “Whack!” I haven’t even checked if we are facing Jerusalem.

Okay that wasn’t so bad. I've just done a bow. I can do another one-hundred and seven of these. This is going to be easy. “Whack!” I’m down on the ground. I sneak a glance at the instructor to check if we are meant to stand up yet. Yep, we should. I ascend back to standing position. Everyone else seems to hold their palms together when they’re standing. I should do that too. I do that too. “Whack!” Okay. Down on the ground again. I’m at bow number three. “Whack!” Fourth bow. This isn’t so bad. I don’t get what the big deal is. “Whack!” Fou... No Fifth bow. Wait. No. The previous one was the fourth so it’s now the fifth. Or did I just do the fifth? “Whack!” I’ve lost count. “Whack!” I hope the instructor is keeping count. “Whack!” This is not so bad.

“Whack!” This is hell. I have no idea how long we have been going for. I have no idea if I’ve bowed fifteen times or fifty times. “Whack!” I’ve never bowed this much in my life. Even in the afternoon service on Yom Kippur we don’t bow this much. Jews don’t like bowing. Jews like sitting. “Whack!” I enjoy the floor. The floor means I can have a quick break between reengaging muscles that have not been used since my grade six swimming carnival. “Whack!” Is the instructor even counting this? Does he know which bow we are up to? Is there a big scoreboard behind me? “Whack!” I’m noticing a bit of a sweat mark on my cushion right where my forehead lands during each bow. “Whack!” Great! Now I can’t even rest my face in between bows because I’m making the cushion all sweaty. “Whack!” When will this end?

“Whack! Whack! Whack!” We’re done. After about twenty minutes of nonstop bowing we all half-bow the instructor and he tells us to return our cushions to the cabinet in the back of the hall. It’s over. No ‘well done’, no orange slices, no pearls of wisdom as to what all of that meant. I pick up my cushion and start walking to the back of the hall. I’m stiff and sore but at least I have dinner to look forward to. I waddle towards the dining hall.

The dining hall is long and narrow with tables two feet high to accommodate diners sitting on the floor. I’ve filled my plate with an array of Korean vegetarian food and I take a seat opposite one of the few Koreans partaking in the Templestay. Who I’m sitting with doesn’t matter anyway since we aren’t supposed to talk while eating. I pick up my stainless steel chopsticks and make my way through the foods I’ve selected from the buffet. I have rice, kimchi, lotus roots cooked in soy sauce, dried radishes in chilli paste, bean sprouts, a vegetable pancake, grilled tofu, tofu cooked in chilli paste, battered fried pumpkin and a bowl of zucchini and tofu soup. I devour the food in silence.

A piece of paper slides across from the woman opposite me. It’s the schedule for our Templestay. Pointing at some Korean text preceded by ‘6:30’ she says quietly “Breakfast is not till 6:30 tomorrow. You don’t have enough food.” I was planning on getting more if I was still hungry after my first helping but I find it hard to explain this to her. I am worried about getting in trouble for talking. I’ve already massacred an assortment of insects today and I don’t want to break any more rules. I tell her it’s fine. She returns a face that says she doesn’t believe me. I eat everything on my plate and return to the buffet. I get another bowl of soup and, in doing so, end up cutting off a monk in order to steal the last pieces of tofu.

After dinner I’m back in my room and it’s 18:40. It’s still light outside and yet I have nothing to do until the morning. I start thinking about how I don’t have access to food until breakfast. We were told not to bring any food to the temple and so I know I have to live with that reality. But I just remembered that there are some covered peanuts I bought at the convenience store last night that are rustling around the bottom of my backpack. I’m stuffed from dinner but the thought of maybe being hungry tomorrow makes me hungry now. I take a handful. I have broken another temple rule. But, considering how highly processed the snack is, it seems far fetched to call what I’m eating food.

Whilst I was meant to be sharing my room with another male attendee, the uneven number of guests means that I have the room to myself. The room is square and bare apart from the air conditioning unit that sits in the corner. There is a sliding paper screen door across one side of the room which leads to a small ensuite and the outside door. I take out one of the futons and place it down to one side of the room. But there’s no one else in the room so I take the other two futons and lie them on top of the original futon making a three layer mega-futon. Lying down, I still feel the rigidity of the floor but it’s more comfortable than some of the hostel beds I’ve stayed in. I set my alarm to 5am, ready for the first session tomorrow morning at 5:30.