108
Iwol-gun's Warning — Those Who Went Mad at This Stage
It was before the sun climbed to its highest point.The mountain was clear.There was no trace of yesterday's mist.It was so clear that it felt ominous.
Park Seong-jin was moving firewood in the yard.His breathing continued evenly, and his body felt light.Since that moment yesterday, the world looked sharper than before.
Iwol-gun watched in silence for a long while, then suddenly said,"This is when you must be careful."
Park Seong-jin's hands paused."From when?"
"From now."
Iwol-gun perched on a rock.Sunlight fell behind him, leaving only half his face visible.
"At this stage, people go mad more than anywhere else."
The truth was low, and heavy as stone.Park Seong-jin did not ask.He waited for Iwol-gun to continue.
"When the inner sword shows its first response, a person falls into two illusions.Either he believes he has become strong,or he believes the world has begun to recognize him."
He picked up a small stone and rolled it between his fingers as he spoke.
"First—he takes what the breath produced as coincidence, and calls it his own power."
The stone tapped onto the rock.
"He sees wind stir without a blade,or an animal stop at a single glance,and he decides he has entered a higher realm."
Iwol-gun's voice dropped even lower.
"So next, he mixes in intention."
Park Seong-jin understood immediately.
"The moment intention enters, breath stops being flow and becomes desire."
Iwol-gun shook his head.
"From then on, the sword is no longer a living sword.It becomes a knife for proving the self."
A silence passed.
"Half of them were already standing in the place of beasts."
A breeze brushed through.Leaves trembled, but there was no loud sound.
Iwol-gun raised a second finger.
"The second is more dangerous."
"What kind of people?"
"Those who believe the world recognizes them.Their breath touches—so birds cry, wind stops, people lower their heads."
Cold ran down Park Seong-jin's spine.
Iwol-gun continued quietly.A bitter smile crossed his face.
"They accept it as Heaven's will.From then on, they call their thoughts a mandate."
Park Seong-jin bit his lip.
"Then those people…"
"Most of them die by their own hand.Or someone ends them instead."
Iwol-gun spoke as if stating a simple fact.
He looked straight at Park Seong-jin.
"Seong-jin."
It was the first time he used his name.
"The inner sword does not make a person special."
"Then what does it…"
"It reveals the person more."
Iwol-gun tapped lightly at his own chest.
"If you are empty, emptiness appears.If you are greedy, greed becomes a blade.If you are fearful, you call on gods until you go mad."
He rose slowly.
"That is why, at this stage, I told you to do nothing."
"Do not move.Do not try to be seen.Do not try to understand."
Iwol-gun said one last thing.
"Breath is not yours.You only borrow it for a while."
The words seeped in like the mountain air.
Park Seong-jin bowed deeply.
"Then what should I do?"
Iwol-gun thought for a moment, then said,
"Yesterday, you turned over a pine needle."
"Yes."
"Do not try to turn it over again."
He smiled.
"Forget that the pine needle is even there."
"People call it mang-a (忘我).That name came to me just now.I can't recall what we used to call it—there may have been another word."
Then he added, softly:
"That pine needle was you."
After that day, Park Seong-jin did not wish for any miracle.And yet he understood clearly—
the state in which you no longer need to wish for miracles:that alone was the only condition for passing this stage.
The Same Daily Life, Every Day
Every day was the same day.And yet every day was a new beginning.The days were identical, but he advanced, and so each day became different.
In the morning, mist filled the deep valley.Iwol-gun always rose before it.Park Seong-jin opened his eyes a little later and, without speaking, took up the broom.
He swept the empty yard.The yard—like an old temple site—kept receiving fallen leaves.He swept them away, and it lasted only a moment.The wind returned and filled it again.
It was a strange scene.In that small yard, all four seasons seemed to exist—blooming, fading, falling, freezing.
Still, he swept.That was the start of the day.
With a water jar he went down to the stream.The sound of ice-cold water struck his chest.He scooped water into jars.He washed his face.He washed Iwol-gun's teacup.With the remaining water he did laundry.
The clothes were old hemp garments—not the thick layers worn in camp,but clothes that must endure on body warmth alone.
As he laid them on a rock to dry, he always returned to the same thought.
This too is study.Endure, persist, and go until the discomfort is forgotten.
In the daytime, he gathered wood.He climbed the slope and descended again, collecting dry branches.The bundle on his back settled heavy.
But the weight did not crush him.Each movement matched the breath.He lifted on the inhale, and set down on the exhale.
Iwol-gun called it donggong (動功).Movement itself as practice—a learning that can only be reached by moving.
Around midday, he entered seated meditation.Before lighting the fire, he sat on the porch and closed his eyes.Awareness walked quietly along the path where breath came and went.
Sometimes stray thoughts rose—scenes from the battlefield, the smell of blood, vanished faces.
He did not seize them.He treated them as winds of the mind.Let them blow, let them stop.
As the sun leaned low, he practiced haenggeom—moving sword practice.First he formed the "blade" with empty hands.Then he added the sword.His fingertips cut the air and left a line.The line connected, becoming an unseen single blade.
Iwol-gun barely spoke.Instead, he moved slowly beside him.
When Iwol-gun's shadow and Park Seong-jin's shadow overlapped,that moment became the deepest teaching.
At dusk, the mountain ridge reddened.Park Seong-jin sat at the edge of the porch and lit incense.He lowered his head toward the shaded trees.
He opened his mouth and reported to Heaven and Earth.
"Let me not waste this day.While this body lives, let me not scatter the breath.Do not make me strong—make me deep."
When the prayer ended, the sky darkened.Stars blinked clearly above the mountain.
Beside him, Iwol-gun tended a small ember and said,
"Study is nothing special.Sweep, eat, sit, breathe.Do not skip it for even one day."
He adjusted the ember once more and added,
"That is the beginning of the Way."
Park Seong-jin nodded.
And in the firelight, he looked at his fingertips.Even without gripping a sword, a faint light had already settled there—a light no one else could notice yet,but a light that would not disappear.