Five Icons of Bogwangsa: A Sacred Assembly

There is a second altar in the main hall of Bogwangsa. It houses a group of five major Buddhist icons:

At the center sits Shakyamuni Buddha (석가모니불, Seokgamoni-bul), the historical Buddha Siddhartha Gautama, who attained enlightenment and shared the Dharma. He is seated in the Bhumisparsha Mudra—his right hand gently touches the earth, a gesture that symbolizes his awakening under the Bodhi tree. His face is calm, his eyes half-closed in deep meditation.

To his left sits Amitabha Buddha (아미타불, Amita-bul), the Buddha of Infinite Light who rules over the Western Pure Land (Sukhavati). His right hand is raised in the Vitarka Mudra, a gesture of teaching and wisdom.

A compelling example of the Amitabha Triad in Korean Buddhist art is preserved in the Cleveland Museum of Art.

Healing and Ignorance: A Moment Before Shakyamuni Buddha

To the right of Shakyamuni is Medicine Buddha (약사여래, Yaksa Yeorae), also known as Bhaisajyaguru—a figure of healing and spiritual wellness. He is venerated in Mahayana Buddhism as a protector against both physical and mental suffering. Often depicted with a medicine pot or healing fruit in his hand, he symbolizes the promise to cure all beings of the ailments that arise from ignorance.

My state of mind makes me realize that Medicine Buddha is not merely a healing guide, but a mirror—an icon that reveals suffering, including my own, as a result of ignorance. Not just mental, but also physical. An ignorance that is not guilty, but formative. And perhaps healing begins there: in recognizing what I do not yet understand.

A notable example of a Korean Medicine Buddha can be found in the collection of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

👉 first part of our Bogwangsa journey

The Listening Presence of Gwanseum-bosal

The Listening Presence of Gwanseum-bosal

On the outer left side stands Avalokiteshvara (관세음보살, Gwanseum-bosal), the Bodhisattva of Compassion—one of the most revered figures in Mahayana Buddhism, known for listening to the cries of all sentient beings. Avalokiteshvara can appear in various forms and genders, and is often depicted holding a lotus or a flask of holy water, radiating peaceful grace.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art holds a renowned 14th-century depiction of Water-Moon Avalokiteshvara, embodying the grace and serenity of this bodhisattva.

On the far right: Mahasthamaprapta (대세지보살, Daeseji-bosal), the Bodhisattva of Great Wisdom. A key figure in the Amitabha Triad, he embodies the spiritual strength and insight that lead toward liberation. Where Avalokiteshvara expresses compassion, Mahasthamaprapta represents the power of awareness and wisdom. He is often shown holding a lotus or a vessel, calm and resolute.

Between Wisdom and Compassion: Bogwangsa’s Fivefold Vision

The icons deeply move me. Their golden bodies, contemplative faces, and the exuberance of color seem to take hold of my soul. I don’t know if it is allowed, but I sit down in front of the altar and try to become one with my surroundings. I smell the rising smoke from the incense burners—like prayers drifting toward the spiritual world.

No… I’m not sure if I am allowed to sit there, or if it’s even presumptuous of me. But I do it with respect and dedication to the Buddhas and bodhisattvas. Jijang may not be present on this altar, but perhaps he rides on the curling smoke.

As part of the larger narrative “The Jijang Fractal,” this exploration weaves together place, memory, and spiritual inquiry. 👉 The Jijang Fractal – book hub

Murals, Memory, and Dialogue

The Murals Behind Shakyamuni: Visions of Bogwangsa

Behind the figures is a vivid thangka-like mural. I believe it shows Shakyamuni Buddha surrounded by bodhisattvas and celestial beings.
I say believe, because as someone raised in the Catholic tradition, distinguishing these figures is not always easy. Where I make mistakes, I hope to be gently corrected—and forgiven.

The central figure appears to be an exalted form of Shakyamuni, seated within a golden halo. Around him are disciples, bodhisattvas, and guardian deities, symbolic of his teachings. The painting is rendered in bright reds, blues, and golds—hallmarks of Korean Buddhist art.

The boy from Rotterdam still feels the pull of Catholic iconography. I remember watching the smoke rise as the Requiem by Verdi filled the church. I was part of the boys’ choir then—allowed to sing along, even if I barely understood what we sang.

And yet, I remember the moment my heart hesitated: my fingers tapping my chest as I whispered, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and I shall be healed.”

Here, in the hall of Siddhartha, I realize: while Jesus invites the heart to open, the Buddha invites the mind to become still. They do not cancel each other out.

They coexist—just like the icons on this mural.

Where the Ceiling Whispers Prayer

Above the altar hang lotus lanterns (Yeondeung, 연등), each bearing a name or prayer. They symbolize enlightenment and spiritual protection. In the background I discern rows of small golden Buddha statues—likely dedicated by pilgrims or families in memory of deceased loved ones.

When the Icons Mirror Us: Insight at Bogwangsa

In that silence, a dream returns.

Once again, I find myself seated in the plaza in Seoul, between two giants of Korean history: Admiral Yi Sun-sin, who protected the people with his sword, and King Sejong, who enlightened them with his words. One stands, unwavering. The other sits, immersed in thought. Between them, on a simple mat, Jijang-bosal and Gwanseum-bosal share a cup of tea.

And so the conversation begins.

Jijang-bosal takes a sip and looks at Gwanseum-bosal.

“You listen to the cries of those who suffer in this world. I guide those who seek their way beyond it. And still, their sorrows return. How can we help them let go?”

Gwanseum-bosal smiles and gently turns her teacup.

“Suffering is like this tea. Warm, bitter, but fleeting. The taste does not remain. Yet many cling to it, as if it were eternal.”

Jijang-bosal nods.

“I show them the path, but few dare to walk it. They fear what they must leave behind—or what awaits them. But in truth…” Gwanseum-bosal finishes his thought: “…there is nothing to hold on to.”
Jijang-bosal watches the steam rise from his cup.
“Exactly. Just as tea was once water and will soon evaporate again, so are we always in motion. Suffering is not something to carry—but to let flow.”

Gwanseum-bosal lifts her cup.

“And when they realize that, there will be nothing left to release.”
The tea is gone. The cups are placed down. No longer full—but not empty either.

The city fades. The dream dissolves. What remains is the scent of incense, the shadow of Jijang, and the realization that none of the icons here stand alone. They mirror each other. They mirror us.

I look once more at the altar. Perhaps it’s not what I’ve seen that matters, but what it has stirred within me. Just as the Jijang fractal reveals itself when attention meets surrender, insight too does not grow from certainty, but from stillness.

But this temple holds more layers. Beyond this hall lie other spaces, other voices, other rituals. The story does not end here. It deepens.

I rise. The air is still. My footsteps echo softly on the stone floor, as if the temple itself says: you’re not finished yet.

Meditation and Closing

Meditation in Five Lines

Where Siddhartha teaches,

Amita does not receive.

Yet in my mind, Yaksa Yeorae heals.

Gwanseum-bosal’s compassion becomes possible

Only when I, for myself,

Complete Daeseji-bosal’s wisdom

And carry forth Jijang’s fractal.

As I leave the hall, the echo of the icons still resonates—not as doctrine, but as presence. They are not answers, but companions. And though this altar offered a deep and quiet wisdom, I know that Bogwangsa has not yet spoken its last.

There are other halls to enter. Other guardians to meet. Other silences to sit with.

In the next part of this journey, I return to the temple grounds—with eyes attuned to detail, and a heart still learning how to bow.

I invite you to follow me Hugo J. Smal, Jijang’s fractal or Spiritual East Asia

Disclaimer:

I’ve done my utmost to describe the icons, halls, and rituals of Bogwangsa with care and accuracy. Still, any misidentifications or symbolic misreadings are entirely my own. Should you spot any such errors, your insight is warmly welcome. But above all, I hope what resonates is the spirit of the story—the atmosphere it conjures, the openness it invites, and the sincerity with which it was written.

— Hugo J. Smal