christmas morning

Before coming to Korea, I wasn't sure how I'd react to missing Christmas. Christmas has always been very familial, as one might expect, and like many other families mine has had traditions and rituals, things which originated as a consequence of the day but have evolved into the purpose of the day. Plus, being raised in a very Christian environment meant that the religious significance was never lost, or even overshadowed, by the materialistic element.

I think that had I spent Christmas morning sitting alone in my tiny apartment a million miles from home it would've been difficult to handle. As it turned out, I spent the morning of the holiest of Christian holidays at a Buddhist temple.

Called the Yakcheon Temple, it is the largest Buddhist building in Asia. It was very quiet, with few other tourists.

And Christianity take note: acknowledging the holidays of other religions makes your own religion all the more sympathetic and likable.

So for about an hour, during the exact time of the year I'd normally spent opening Christmas presents with family, I walked around this Buddhist temple. It was an odd feeling for sure, a mixture of emotions; inwardly experiencing a day with so much significance to my family's religion while outwardly observing an entirely separate religion.

When I went inside the temple things became more surreal. Upon walking in, the first thing I saw was a giant Buddha ornate with all sorts of things I don't know what to call or how to describe. A few Buddhists were scattered in front of it, bowing and saying prayers. A few monks were walking around here and there, going about their morning routine. I climbed up the stairs to the higher floors, viewing the different spectacles and sights that a Buddhist temple has to offer. I was reminded of a quote from Zooey by JD Salinger, himself a Buddhist, which goes, "...the religious life, and all the agony that goes with it, is just something God sicks on people who have the gall to accuse him of creating an ugly world." Amidst the outward beauty of Jeju and the tumultous past month of my life, that quote seemed especially poignant and particularly vexing.

I took no pictures of these things, because I didn't feel like a tourist. When viewing a waterfall or a scenic seaside view, one wants to preserve the moment's outward beauty so that time can't completely diminish its value. But while inside this temple the importance of it seemed more intrinsic, and photos would do nothing to capture any significance. More than anything else they would debase the reason for it all. I was staring into a completely foreign way that people have found to cope with the ups and downs of life; a picture of it would go as far in encapsulating it as a ray of sunlight does the sun.

When I got to the fourth floor of the temple I was startled by the first loud noise I'd heard since I got there. I looked down into the main part of the temple and saw three monks kneeling in front of the large Buddha. They were chanting prayers and bowing repeatedly. I watched them for a while trying to understand the point of it all and wondering what exactly they were saying. Despite my inkling that I should leave well enough alone, I discreetly snapped a photo of them. I like the fact that it's blurry, because if you think about what I've said here so far, a photo of it should be.



I immediately regretted doing it, but now I'm glad that I did. While a sunbeam doesn't encapsulate the sun, it does remind you of what's out there, even if you can't comprehend it in the slightest.

All in all, it turned out to be the most numinous Christmas I've ever had, void of materialism, smothered in spirituality.

I've got about 200 other photos of a dozen or so other things in Jeju, I'm thinking that maybe once a week or so I'll devote a post to each sight. Stay tuned.