chapter 1 Written by: Hugo J. Smal
Holy spiritual transitions,
the ancient Korean and Tibetan spiritual transitions, rites that bridge worlds and eras. For me, the narrative is always the same: writing is an endless cycle of reading and re-reading, each turn making me dizzy. The ideas for The Koreans and I keep me awake at night, swirling between reality and fiction. In my mind, autobiographical truths intertwine with fictional possibilities, creating a labyrinth of endless paths. There are no limits to human thinking. Sometimes mine feels like the universe, vast and uncharted. It goes on and on. One question leads to another. Before I know it, I’m drifting on the fringes of the solar system, my thoughts yearning to leap light-years beyond the confines of mortality.
Muga: The Ritual Song of the Bridge.
For The Koreans and I, I delve into Mu-ga: The Ritual Songs of Korean Mudangs by Im Sok-Jae, exploring the spiritual transitions reflected in ancient Korean spiritual practices. These songs date back to the GoJoseon period, approximately 7 to 4 centuries BC. During this time, Wangeomseong served as the capital, a name shared by two cities. The first Wangeomseong was located on the Liaodong peninsula. Conflicts between the Han Chinese and the Wiman Chosun culminated in the establishment of Goguryeo.
Later, the capital also bore the name Wanggeomseong, located near present-day Pyongyang. However, Goguryeo fell in 108 BC to the Han Chinese, ending its reign as the northernmost state of the Korean Three Kingdoms period. The people of Goguryeo, resilient in spirit, expelled the Han commanderies from the peninsula and expanded deep into China.
The shifting capitals—from Jolbongyoo in the Biryu River basin to Guknaeseong and eventually Pyongyang—reflect the dynamic history of Goguryeo. King Yuri, who moved the capital in three AD, plays a pivotal role in these transitions. Interestingly, his younger brother Onjo, the founding monarch of Baekje, also embarked on his own journeys, which I will explore further The Koreans and I.
Holy Korean spiritual transitions.
Holy Korean transitions are deeply reflected in the ancient traditions surrounding royal tombs like Gyeongneung, the resting place of posthumous King Deokjong and Queen Sohye. This is closely tied to The Ritual Song of the Bridge, also known as The Ritual Song of the Ten Kings or Tari Kut. The bridge referenced in this song may well be the Taedonggang Daemogyo bridge, constructed during the reign of King Jangsu. This ancient wooden bridge not only provided direct access to the Anhakgung Palace but was also believed to serve as a symbolic passage for Kings, ordinary people, and the dead, each with their designated structure.
This blend of Shamanism, Buddhism, and Confucianism is deeply woven into Korean rituals, where boundaries often blur. The Royal tombs from the Joseon period showcase this complexity with bridges like Geumcheongyo, reserved solely for the deceased King. The Chamdo, the stone path leading to the bridge, is divided into Sindo, the way of the Gods, and Eodo, the path for Kings. Although ordinary people could walk on Eodo, to me, it feels almost sacrilegious to step onto Sindo, the sacred path of the Gods. Yet, in the palaces of Seoul, where raised walkways are reserved for Kings, I find myself crossing them without hesitation—an echo of how tradition and modernity coexist in Korea.
[embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3SNvqsAMLg[/embedyt]Korean Holy spiritual Transitions: The Taedonggang Daemogyo and the Journey to the Afterlife.
The Taedonggang Daemogyo bridge was revered as a sacred passage from this world to the next. As the bier of the deceased was carried across its wooden planks, the bridge became a threshold between life and death, a solemn journey towards eternity. According to tradition, female escorts were not permitted to set foot on the bridge, symbolizing the finality of the departure and their role in the earthly life of the deceased. They would bid farewell at the entrance, their songs lingering in the air as the procession moved forward.
As the mourners crossed, they sang the Song of the Bridge, also known as the Ritual Song of the Kings. This sacred chant was believed to guide the soul on its journey through the ten palaces where the deceased would face judgment. The song’s verses evolved over time, with Part III mentioning the local names of these palaces and Part IV adding their corresponding Buddhist names, intertwining local beliefs with Buddhist doctrine. The journey begins at the first palace, ruled by King Chin-Kwang the Great. Here, the soul must pass over the treacherous Sword Mountain Hell, a realm of sharp blades and torment, where only the righteous are granted safe passage by the Wǒn-Bul (Dipankara?), the merciful Buddha of Eternal Light. This harrowing trial is the first of many, each palace presenting its own challenges as the soul seeks redemption or damnation.
The first is the Palace of
King Chin-Kwang the Great.
Chǒng-Kwang Bul-I
Is the Wǒn-Bul.
To the hapless, soul-bearing chariot
He affords passage over
The Sword Mountain Hell.
Buddha of Eternal Light guiding spiritual transitions.
In the rich tapestry of Buddhist traditions, the concept of the Buddha of Eternal Light plays a pivotal role in guiding souls through the afterlife. In the notes, we read that Chǒng-Kwang Bul-I, known in Sanskrit as Dipamkara, is revered as the Buddha of Eternal Light, a guiding figure who predates Gautama Buddha. In this context, Wǒn-Bul, or Dipamkara, is seen as the specific Buddha one might invoke for personal guidance or protection. So, which Buddha resonates most with my journey? Amitabul, the compassionate overseer of the green paradise, who promises peace and rebirth? Or perhaps Vairochana, the primordial Buddha, embodying the vast emptiness of the cosmos and the origins of all existence? In many Buddhist traditions, the choice of a Buddha to guide one’s spirit is deeply personal, reflecting one’s inner beliefs and aspirations. For the deceased, this chosen Buddha could be seen as a beacon of hope and a guide through the trials of the afterlife.
The Bardo Thödol, the Tibetan Book of the Dead.
I cannot help it; I am stubborn when it comes to connecting spiritual texts. The Song of the Kings reminds me strongly of another profound work: the Bardo Thödol, the Tibetan Book of Death. I first encountered the Bardo Thödol when I was about twenty years old, and its mystical teachings left a lasting impression on me. Now, years later, I find myself diving into its depths once again. The Bardo Thödol was transcribed around AD 750, during the time when Padma Sambhava founded Lamaism in Tibet. Prior to this, the sacred verses were passed down orally for centuries, echoing through generations.
It’s said that the text bears influences from the ancient Bon tradition, which predates Tibetan Buddhism. Bonism, an indigenous spiritual tradition of Tibet, traces its origins to the sacred Mount Kailash. This revered mountain, standing at 6474 meters, is venerated by Hindus, Buddhists, Jains, and Bonpos alike.
Each tradition sees the mountain through its unique lens: Hindus regard it as the abode of Shiva and Parvati, the axis of the universe; Buddhists revere it as the domain of Demchok, the Buddha of ultimate bliss; Jains honor it as the site where their first Tirthankara attained Nirvana; and for the Bonpos, it is the spiritual center of the world, the home of all gods. Such is the reverence for Mount Kailash that it remains unclimbed, untouched by human feet. The mountain is believed to be charged with mystical energies, so potent that any attempt to conquer its peak is said to result in death within a year—a tale that underscores the profound respect and awe it commands across various spiritual traditions.
Holy Tibetan spiritual transitions.
As I delve deeper into the Bardo Thödol, a particular passage captures my attention, shedding light on the intricate connection between consciousness and the cosmos. In this passage, ‘the germ’ refers to the subtle body that carries consciousness within the Bardo, the intermediate state between death and reincarnation.
This body is shaped by the karmic impressions accumulated over past lives. Here, consciousness and life are seen as distinct forces, with yin and yang, or sing and ming, still recognized as separate. The Tao, or central clear light, represents the ultimate reality, guiding the unification of these dualities within the mandala.
Holy spiritual transitions Buddhist and Mudangs consciousness
While Tibetan Buddhists describe the Bardo as the realm we traverse between death and reincarnation, Korean Mudangs interpret this journey through the metaphor of passing through ten palaces, each representing a stage of judgment or transformation. On the first day within the Bardo, Vairochana, the primordial Buddha, manifests before the deceased. Clad in white and seated upon a lion’s throne, he holds a wheel with eight spokes, symbolizing the Noble Eightfold Path. As one of the five Dhyani Buddhas, Vairochana embodies the dharmakaya, the truth body of the Buddha, representing the ultimate reality and purity of consciousness. Positioned at the center of the mandala, he is associated with the element of space and the sacred syllable ohm, which resonates as the sound of the universe.
Vairochana: The Primordial Buddha in Korean and Tibetan Spiritual Transitions.
Vairochana’s hand gesture, the dharma chakra mudra, symbolizes the teaching of the dharma. This gesture reflects his role as the primordial Buddha in Korean Buddhism, where he embodies the Buddhist concept of emptiness, or sunyata. Vairochana, revered by the Yogachara school, was instrumental in the development of the Shingon sect. In Korean Buddhism, he is known as Daeil Yeorae, or the Great Sun Buddha, and Birojana Bul, where he represents the all-encompassing nature of the universe. His presence is a reminder of the interconnectedness of all things and the ultimate reality of emptiness.
Vairochana is often depicted wearing a simple robe, his hands forming the mudra of the six elements. In this gesture, the index finger of the left hand is clasped by the five fingers of the right hand, symbolizing the union of the five elements—earth, water, fire, air, and ether—with the sixth element, consciousness. This mudra represents the integration of the material and spiritual worlds, a core principle in Buddhist cosmology.
Is Mount Kalash the holy Korean and Tibetan spiritual transitions site?
Is Mount Kailash the Sacred Transition Site in Korean and Tibetan Traditions? I wonder if there’s a parallel between day one of the Bardo Thödol and the first palace in the Song of the Mudang. Could it be that in both traditions, the Tao—the way—is the ultimate guiding force? According to tradition, Shamanism, with roots tracing back to Siberia, also reveres sacred sites like Mount Kailash, located in the Himalayas. This mountain holds profound significance in many Asian faiths, serving as a spiritual axis where the physical and metaphysical realms intersect. Both the Song of the Bridge and the Tibetan Book of the Dead seem to converge on the idea of a spiritual journey, a passage through realms of judgment and transformation. These texts, though rooted in different traditions, reflect a shared understanding of the soul’s journey and the sacred sites that anchor these beliefs. But there is more—deeper connections and hidden truths that bind these traditions together, waiting to be uncovered.
Wonhyo: The Master Who Bridged Korean and Tibetan Buddhism.
Wonhyo, one of the greatest Korean Buddhist philosophers of the 7th century, was not only a prolific thinker but also a transformative figure in the development of East Asian Buddhism. He was a pioneer in synthesizing diverse Buddhist teachings into a coherent and comprehensive system, making profound concepts accessible and applicable to daily life. Wonhyo believed that Buddhism should not be confined to monastic study but should be lived and experienced by all, often teaching through song and dance to reach the common people.
The learned monk authored over 80 works on topics such as Buddha nature, Yogacara, Hwaeom, Pure Land, Madhyamaka, and Tiantai, many of which were of great importance to Tibetan Buddhism. Wonhyo’s influence extended far beyond Korea, as many of his works were translated into Tibetan and became foundational texts for Tibetan scholars. His treatise ‘Awakening of the Faith’ was translated by Rinchen Zangpo, and his commentary on the Nirvana Sutra was adapted by Yeshé Dé. These texts contributed significantly to the development of Tibetan schools such as Nyingma and Kagyu, which emphasize the intrinsic nature of the Buddha and the interdependence of all phenomena. Wonhyo’s teachings continue to resonate, bridging cultural and doctrinal divides, and his legacy endures as a testament to the universal applicability of Buddhist wisdom.
Writing is reading, Holy spiritual transitions, and the dizziness stops.
A Journey Towards Clarity. As thoughts spin in my head, they gradually settle into clarity. The more I read, the more the fog lifts, revealing that ultimately, all Asian philosophies of life converge into a unified understanding. I hold fast to the words of the Bardo Thödol, which remind us that its teachings are for all living beings:
“O you lingering who do not think of death. While indulging in the useless things of this life, you are careless in wasting your eminently auspicious opportunity. If you return from this life empty-handed. Then surely your aim will be wrong.”
Ohm Mani Padme Hum. What is my goal? Writing The Koreans and I, a journey that mirrors my own quest for wisdom. As I delve deeper into this sea of knowledge, I find myself drawn to the Mantifang—the legendary court where Yellow Emperor Huang Di (2698-2598 BC) sought counsel from priests, monks, Shamanic intermediaries, Mudangs, and leaders of all faiths.
Choose spiritual transitions.
It is here, in this metaphorical assembly of knowledge, that I seek to anchor my thoughts. As a personal vow to this journey, I intend to tattoo the sacred ‘uhm’ symbol on my hand—a reminder of the unity of all things and the impermanence of life. This act, simple yet profound, is my way of carrying the wisdom of the ages with me, even in a place where the Mudang’s song no longer echoes, nor the tak tak of the moktak sounds.
Perhaps it’s a bit opportunistic to have such a tattoo engraved. Maybe even a little pretentious. But for now, let me softly chant “나무 지장 불” (Na-mu Ji-jang Bul) as I hear Jin-do barking in the distance along the banks of the Seongsaheon River.
Ji Jang Bul, also known as Kṣitigarbha, is the Bodhisattva of the Underworld, Protector of the Dead, and the Guardian of Travelers. He made a profound vow to never attain Buddhahood until all beings are freed from the sufferings of hell. His role extends to guiding and protecting those who journey, whether across physical landscapes or through spiritual realms. As I chant his name, I reflect on his endless compassion and the sense of safety he offers to those on any path, feeling deeply connected to the journey that lies ahead. The spiritual transition that Korea and writing brings.
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[embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ic_h_cU9pVQ[/embedyt]
