The Typhoon

Supposedly a typhoon was coming through today. It’s been on the news. It’s been in the papers. The umbrella salesmen have been out full force. So, unlike most Sundays, I planned to stay inside. I rented a few videos; I dusted off a couple of books I’ve been meaning to read. I spent all morning doing “indoor” things, waiting for the typhoon. Every so often, I would go to my sliding glass doors (covered by opaque material), open them, peek outside. Yes, the skies were definitely ominous, but no rain, winds, or destruction in sight. Finally, by early afternoon, I was completely restless. I called Sang Jae. Let’s go somewhere. Let’s go hiking or something. Anything. I want to get out of the house. “But Lori, typhoon.” It’s not raining yet. “Okay. We will go. But only in car.” This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it was a start.

He arrived soon thereafter and threw me the keys. “You drive.” Where? “Anywhere. Let’s go.”

We headed towards the World Cup Stadium, a relatively undeveloped area of town. We passed the stadium, where many children were at play – rollerblading, flying kites, chasing each other. We continued up a smaller, more winding road, barely wide enough for two cars to pass. As we drove higher, I wondered what could possibly be at the end of the road. All of a sudden, a lake came into view. A beautiful, dammed, greenish blue lake. We both drew in breaths of shock. I didn’t realize there was a lake up here. “Me, too,” Sang Jae replied. We drove to the other side of the lake and parked along side the now dirt road.

The road continued up the mountain. We began walking. A stream was to one side of us. Several people had spread picnics along the water’s edge, mostly groups of elderly women. The soil was slightly muddy due to the heavy moisture in the air. A syrupy stickiness surrounded us. We avoided the puddles formed by random trickles crossing the road. We stopped to try to identify the various lush green plants alongside the road which was becoming more and more like a path.

Finally, the road ended. There, in the shadow of the mountain, a temple was being constructed. I started forward. Sang Jae stayed put. Come on, I said, Let’s go look. “I don’t want.” I shrugged and continued. The temple was unusual in that it was made entirely of cement. Every last detail. The form was the same as other temples I’ve visited, the intricate eaves, the beautiful carvings, but instead of being constructed from wood, it appeared concrete was poured into a mold then left to set.

I walked around a bit then headed back to where Sang Jae was standing, watching me. We started back down the path. “Do you know why I don’t like?” No, why? “Because. At the temple, they want me bow. I’m Christian. I don’t want.” But, Sang Jae, I’ve never been asked to bow when I enter the temple. “It’s different. I’m Korean. They expect from me. I don’t want.”

We walked for a few more minutes in silence, enjoying the gray day, wondering how long it would be before the typhoon arrived.

“Do you think that Buddha comes true?” What? I don’t understand. “Say to Buddha, what’s that?” Prayer? When you bow to Buddha and ask for something? “Yes, that. Prayer. Do you think it’s true?” Wellll, I think that when Buddhists pray to Buddha, they believe in the power of prayer. Just like when you pray to God, you believe. It’s just about the same. “No. Not same. God is alive.” Sang Jae, Buddha was alive, too. He was a person. He was a spiritual leader. And technically, God as a person isn’t alive today. Only his spirit is alive. “I still don’t want the temple.”

As we walked along the stream, I realized that this was the most in-depth, meaningful conversation I’ve had since arriving here. And it lasted all of 5 minutes. As we reached the car, the drops started. We stopped by the lake to watch a fisherman checking his poles. The drops started slowly at first, then continued more and more rapidly. We scurried back to the car, escaping the deluge by moments.