The first day I left my inn I felt extremely unsafe. Streets, people, the language—all of it looked so unfamiliar. I was exhausted by the time I came back to my room. Although the room is not my own, I could not help feeling so comfortable and safe on the bed. I sleep like a corpse at night. Due to anxiety over the last few days, I have already lost 4 pounds. Losing this much weight without doing any exercise proves I have been quite nervous. I lay down and as I look at the ceiling, I think about my first day here. The only place I could be safe was in this room. As long as I was in my room I did not have to worry about whether a foreign person would come up to me and start speaking a language I don’t understand or whether I would get lost. Yet, these fears are not the purpose for me coming all the way here. This is not my house either. Was I born just to rely on safety? According to Buddhism, this world is full of things that make us suffer. Am I willing to bear all my pains? I am not here for safety and comfort. If we were bounded into a cage and received delicious food, a warm bed, and entertainment, how many would be willing to live there forever? Everyone has a different perspective, but if it was me, I would hardly enjoy staying there. I once read that “we feel safest when a ship is in a harbor, but we do not make a ship just to leave it there.” Yes, prayer and asceticism must work the same way. We don’t stop our prayers; we don’t stop our ascetic practice when we feel enough fulfillment. Despite a sense of fulfillment, we continue to step forward. Although it may be exceedingly harsh and fearful, we can strongly believe that a journey is the right way because of the fear we feel. Then why should we have any fear? This idea comes from a book titled The Great Monk Guangduk’s Ideas and History, found at my temple,
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Should Stay Only At Home to Be Safe – But That Is Not the Purpose of Coming Here
Translated by Ian Haight and Hwajin Kang (original: http://blog.naver.com/mahabira6061/70135178570)
The first day I left my inn I felt extremely unsafe. Streets, people, the language—all of it looked so unfamiliar. I was exhausted by the time I came back to my room. Although the room is not my own, I could not help feeling so comfortable and safe on the bed. I sleep like a corpse at night. Due to anxiety over the last few days, I have already lost 4 pounds. Losing this much weight without doing any exercise proves I have been quite nervous. I lay down and as I look at the ceiling, I think about my first day here. The only place I could be safe was in this room. As long as I was in my room I did not have to worry about whether a foreign person would come up to me and start speaking a language I don’t understand or whether I would get lost. Yet, these fears are not the purpose for me coming all the way here. This is not my house either. Was I born just to rely on safety? According to Buddhism, this world is full of things that make us suffer. Am I willing to bear all my pains? I am not here for safety and comfort. If we were bounded into a cage and received delicious food, a warm bed, and entertainment, how many would be willing to live there forever? Everyone has a different perspective, but if it was me, I would hardly enjoy staying there. I once read that “we feel safest when a ship is in a harbor, but we do not make a ship just to leave it there.” Yes, prayer and asceticism must work the same way. We don’t stop our prayers; we don’t stop our ascetic practice when we feel enough fulfillment. Despite a sense of fulfillment, we continue to step forward. Although it may be exceedingly harsh and fearful, we can strongly believe that a journey is the right way because of the fear we feel. Then why should we have any fear? This idea comes from a book titled The Great Monk Guangduk’s Ideas and History, found at my temple,Bul-Guang Temple
The first day I left my inn I felt extremely unsafe. Streets, people, the language—all of it looked so unfamiliar. I was exhausted by the time I came back to my room. Although the room is not my own, I could not help feeling so comfortable and safe on the bed. I sleep like a corpse at night. Due to anxiety over the last few days, I have already lost 4 pounds. Losing this much weight without doing any exercise proves I have been quite nervous. I lay down and as I look at the ceiling, I think about my first day here. The only place I could be safe was in this room. As long as I was in my room I did not have to worry about whether a foreign person would come up to me and start speaking a language I don’t understand or whether I would get lost. Yet, these fears are not the purpose for me coming all the way here. This is not my house either. Was I born just to rely on safety? According to Buddhism, this world is full of things that make us suffer. Am I willing to bear all my pains? I am not here for safety and comfort. If we were bounded into a cage and received delicious food, a warm bed, and entertainment, how many would be willing to live there forever? Everyone has a different perspective, but if it was me, I would hardly enjoy staying there. I once read that “we feel safest when a ship is in a harbor, but we do not make a ship just to leave it there.” Yes, prayer and asceticism must work the same way. We don’t stop our prayers; we don’t stop our ascetic practice when we feel enough fulfillment. Despite a sense of fulfillment, we continue to step forward. Although it may be exceedingly harsh and fearful, we can strongly believe that a journey is the right way because of the fear we feel. Then why should we have any fear? This idea comes from a book titled The Great Monk Guangduk’s Ideas and History, found at my temple,
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