103
First Day in the Mountains
After the rite of entering the mountain ended, the old man walked deeper along the mountain path without a word.The wind brushed through the leaves, and now and then the cry of some unknown bird crossed the valley.The mountain had no words, and that silence led the way.
The hermitage sat beneath an old rock halfway up the slope.It was a simple house of about three bays.Moss clung to each pillar, and from the eaves the icicles that had hung all winter were melting, water drops falling one by one.
Pushing the door open, the old man said,"This is where you will stay.Work as you learn, steady your breath as you practice."
He pointed to an old basin set at the edge of the porch."First, draw water.There is a spring below the mountain.With that water, wipe the floor and wash the room."
Park Seong-jin bowed instead of answering.
When he stepped outside carrying the water jar, cold air struck his cheeks.The path down to the ravine was strewn with stones, and from the snow-melted earth a heavy, damp smell rose.Clear water was flowing between willow branches.
He removed a single leaf floating on the surface and carefully dipped his hand in.As the cold water ran over the back of his hand, his heart rang once, hard.In that instant, a sensation passed—something language could not easily hold.
He returned and began wiping the floor.The chill of early-spring stone climbed into his fingertips.Where the rag passed, dust and mud disappeared.Thoughts, too, washed away with it.
The old man watched in silence for a long time, then said quietly,"Do the work, but do not do it with force.Do it with breath."
Park Seong-jin stopped his hand."With breath?"
The old man's voice was calm."Yes.If breath goes first, the body follows.If the body goes first, the breath scatters."
Park Seong-jin nodded without speaking.He lowered the hand holding the rag and slowly drew in a breath.Air traveled down his throat and sank deep into his chest.With the exhale, his hand moved again.
Cleaning one small section of floor had, before he knew it, become a study of breathing.
The water inside the jar trembled in a gentle ripple.
As the sun began to tilt, the old man sat on a small rock.Park Seong-jin sat beside him.He had used his body all day, and yet his body was lightly awake.
The old man said,"Today you drew water, you wiped the ground, and you governed your breath.Those three are a single study."
Park Seong-jin bowed his head."So this is what it means to learn."
The old man smiled faintly."The blade you used—now you must temper it again with a new breath."
With those words, the sun dropped behind the mountain.
The evening wind of Guwolsan came and shook the hermitage candle.In that light, Park Seong-jin's eyes were quietly, deeply shining.
How to Split Firewood
When morning mist wrapped the hermitage, the old man was already out in the yard.At his feet lay a pile of dry firewood, and an axe rested on a rock.
The axe blade did not gleam.It looked like a tool worn down by long use, its grain dead—yet it was the only tool used on this mountain.
"Split wood."
The old man's words were an instruction.They marked the day's routine.
And they were study.
Park Seong-jin picked up the axe.A heavy sensation came into his hand.It was different in nature from the sword he had handled on the battlefield.
A sword tightened the hand and drew concentration inward.An axe opened the hand and made one receive the flow.
He set a log upright.It was knotty, its grain twisted.
He studied the wood first.Instinctively he gathered his breath and loaded strength into his shoulders—
and the old man's voice reached him.
"Not like that."
The axe stopped just before it came down.
"Do not cut.Split."
Park Seong-jin lowered the axe.
The old man pointed at the log.
"To cut is a method of trying to win by the blade.To split is to follow a crack that already exists."
He lifted a piece of wood and traced the grain with his finger.The surface was rough, and toward the center a thin split-line was hidden.
He did not lift the axe.
He set the log on the rock and pressed it lightly with his palm.
Tuk—the wood opened into two.
"A tree already carries a path inside itself.See the breath first."
Park Seong-jin raised the axe again.
This time he loosened his shoulders.He drew in a breath and felt the point where it settled.He set the blade along the grain.
The downward motion was closer to letting go than striking.
Tuk—the wood split.
It was not a large split, but it was clear.The wood opened its own path.
Park Seong-jin stood still for a moment.His fingertips were steady, and his chest was quiet.
"Again."
At the old man's word, he set another log upright.This one had deeper knots.Its grain was hidden.
"Again."
He set the axe down and rolled the wood.He turned it, tapped it, traced the grain with his palm.
At last, a faint seam revealed itself.
"Again."
He inhaled.The breath lingered in his chest, then sank down.
Tuk—again the wood made no loud sound.It split because the time to split had come.
Watching him, the old man said,"If you cut with force, the wood breaks.If you split with breath, the wood answers."
Park Seong-jin lowered the axe.
On the battlefield, he had always chosen to cut.He cut enemies, he cut paths, and at times he cut his own mind.
To split was not an act of smashing.It was an act of dividing by following what already existed.
The old man pointed to the last log.
"People are the same.If you try to cut, a person breaks.If you try to split, the path that was inside comes to light."
The morning mist slowly lifted.Sunlight settled into the yard.Light pooled over the pile of split logs.
To Embody the "Living Breath"
The day passed quickly, and night fell fast.The mountain air was deeper and heavier than daytime.
The sound of water rising from the ravine belowand the wind passing through millions of treeslayered over one another,as if whispering in a language older than human speech.
Park Seong-jin sat on the platform in front of the hermitage.The old man, turned away, lit incense.White smoke rose slowly and mixed with starlight.
"From now on, do nothing.Sit and only breathe.Let breath carry you to a far place."
The old man's voice was lower than the wind.
Park Seong-jin straightened his back and placed both hands on his knees.His eyes were half closed.
He inhaled.
Early-spring cold air passed through his nose and seeped into his chest.
At first, desire went first.When he breathed in deeply, heat rose inside him.
The old man's words touched him softly.
"Do not seize it.Breath is not yours.Let it come and go."
He released force.
If wind came, he let it enter.If it stopped, he let it leave.
Whenever thoughts surged up, he did not grasp them.Like ripples on still water, he let them rise and vanish.
He could not tell how much time had passed.
The wind that had brushed his ears no longer sounded like sound.It was breath.
At some point, he realized:his breath and the mountain's breath were soaking into each other.
When he exhaled, leaves trembled.When wind passed, his chest answered, faintly.
The boundary between himself and the mountain disappeared.
In that moment, the beating of his heart grew distant from awareness.Instead, a vast stillness filled its place.
Far away, an owl cried once.
That sound traveled the valley and seeped into his body.It was not his skin that received it, but his breath.
It was not loneliness.It was proof of being alive.
He opened his eyes slowly.
The sky was full of stars, and the wind was still blowing.
Now that wind felt like his own breath.
Behind him, the old man asked quietly,"Did you hear it?"
"Hear what?"
"The sound of the mountain breathing."
Park Seong-jin did not answer.He only lowered his head.
Dew gathered at the corner of his eyes.It was not tears.It was the trace of the mountain's breath touching him.
The old man watched for a long whileand smiled.
"Now your breath has come alive."
He chose his words for a moment, then continued.
"See with that breath.Move with that breath.Sword, steps, speech—everything will come from that breath."
When he finished, the wind passed once, hard.The candle flame shook, but it did not go out.
The flame seemed to breathe, as if alive.
He understood.
What had been reborn was not the body,but breath.
And that breath would lead all the study to come.