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´ÙÀ½Àº ¿µ¹®¿ø°í Àü¹®
A Totally Different Style of Buddhism
I met Ilmee Sunim in a class on ¡°Buddhism in America¡± at Harvard about eleven years ago. The professor had assigned books that discussed the differences between ¡°ethnic¡± or Asian-style Buddhism and ¡°convert¡± and American/Western-style Buddhism. I had been critical of the distinction and felt it was disrespectful to Asian Buddhists to call their Buddhism ¡°cultural¡± rather than animated by study and practice, as it was by convert Westerners. A few months into the semester, Ilmee Sunim invited me and several other graduate students to visit Bulgwangsa, three hours away, in New York. I was hesitant at first, because I worried that the temple members would feel weird having Westerners there. Ilmee Sunim assured me that they¡¯d be happy to see some non-Koreans. I also felt nervous about going to a place where I didn¡¯t know the language and customs. But I also considered the possibility that our shared tradition of Buddhism would be a uniting force greater than the cultures that divided us.
This would be my very first contact with an Asian form of Buddhism. I was enormously naive.
A few days later, Ilmee Sunim¡¯s Kia Sephia wound up the forested driveway of the temple and into a gravel lot. The colonial-style house looked like something from eighteenth-century America, but a mass of shoes outside the door indicated a new use. It was Saturday evening and the Korean mothers and grandmothers were moving around getting ready for Sunday¡¯s service. This was one of the first things that struck me, the separation of duties by gender and the disproportionate number of lay females doing the physical work, while a few male monastics attended to larger issues. The feminist in me felt a bit upset by this imbalance of power and gender.
Ilmee Sunim guided me and the other graduate students, who also had not visited an Asian Buddhist temple before, into the Buddha hall. This was my second big shock. Before us was a dazzling display of color and light, with three golden Buddhas, flowers, an array of fruits and foods, and electric lights. In many Western centers, if there is a Buddha or any decoration of any sort, it is very minimal. I remembered in my reading how the Buddhists of my parents¡¯ generation didn¡¯t like traditional religion and did their best to stay away from it, including in their new spiritual path. Having grown up with that bare style, which reflected the impact of Japanese Zen aesthetics on Americans, I at first found this Korean altar too elaborate. The gold was showy, the Buddha looked overweight, and the offerings did not make sense to me, given that Buddhism says the Buddha no longer existed after his death.
But the smell of the incense was divine, and brought me back to my childhood growing up in the Zen community. The zabutons, the meditation mats, were familiar, too. Indeed, as I made three bows, I felt very much at home. For the other students, who didn¡¯t grow up with Buddhism, the room was very foreign, indeed.
The abbot of the temple, Hwi-gwang Sunim, had a round face and wore thick glasses and a beret. At first, we students were formal with him, not even sure if we were allowed to touch him or not. Then he shook our hands, said that he thinks he looks like a mafia guy, and waggled his lips with his fingers to make a machine gun sound. We broke out laughing and relaxed. The other monks were shyer around us, and held back. For us, it was new to see monastics as temple staff, because we had the misconception that monks only meditated in far-away mountain monasteries and also because in Western centers, the leadership and teaching is almost always performed by lay people, both men and women.
That night, we students stayed in a nearby hotel while Ilmee Sunim slept at the temple. This was another surprise to us students, that monks and lay people stay separately. It makes sense, but we had never thought about it because, again, we thought monks lived only in monasteries. Some of the monks were young and good-looking, and I wondered about the dynamics among the members and these monks.
Early Sunday morning, after the monks performed their chanting, the abbot took us to a local diner for breakfast. It felt strange to be walking into an American diner with five monks in robes. But the waitress knew them so well, she didn¡¯t even have to ask what they wanted: coffee and Western omelets. By the time we got back to the temple, the ladies from the night before were bustling around preparing huge plastic bowls of food. By 10:30, several buses from Manhattan delivered lay people, who flowed directly into the hall and began bowing. We students stood in the back, expecting that we would soon start meditation. But that is not what happened. Instead, we all began bowing and chanting. I was exhausted by the ninth bow but, more importantly, I was terribly concerned that my head would bump into the bottom of the lady bowing in front of me.
Even though I had grown up with bowing and chanting, that was just five percent of the time, with 95 percent spent in meditation. At this temple, we did only five minutes of meditation! I began to see that the books were right: This style of Buddhism is very different.
 
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