9.Korea: Hapki Zen: A Day with Grand Master Han Jung Do

I woke early, drank a terrible cup of tea-bag coffee from the hotel, and grabbed a cold mocha from the convenience store because everything was shut down for Chuseok, Korea’s harvest holiday. The city was unusually quiet. I made my way to Seoul Station to meet Grand Master Han Jung Do, the founder of Hapki Zen and President of the Korean Traditional Martial Arts Federation, a friend of Dojunim He-Young Kimm, and an accomplished martial artist. He greeted me with calm confidence, gentle but sharp, small in frame but undeniably strong. We took the subway together to his office, weaving through the underground tunnels, switching train lines seamlessly as I followed along.

When we arrived, we first made our way to the top of a small office building so he could show me the view of the city. We made our way back down the elevator to his office. In a room surrounded by computer monitors and building systems he set us up a small table and made some instant coffee, which is very popular in Korea and a big treat for me after my terrible cup of hotel coffee that morning.

Our conversation unfolded slowly and with intention as we sipped our coffee. He was genuinely interested in my website and social media work. He knew the effort given to preserve and share tradition through modern tools. Master Han gave me space to talk about why I thought this preservation was important and why I had made effort to come to Korea and spend time. From there we moved easily into exchanging our histories and training lineages. We spoke back and forth for a couple of hours.

He grew up outside of Mokpo, his father trained in the art of the sword and some empty hand techniques. He passed that knowledge down to Grand Master Han. When his cousin came back home to visit from his time in the army, he introduced him to Taekkyeon which he had learned in his military training. . He asked thoughtful questions about Harvest and what our focus was as we teach our students. We talked about Han Mu Do and the importance of these Korean arts being passed on to the future generations.

Hour One: Seated Hapki Zen Training

Before he began teaching, we took a few quiet minutes to reset the space, putting away our coffee cups, cleaning the office, and moving the table out of the center of the room. We then sat facing one another in chairs for the hour as he guided me through the fundamentals of Hapki Zen: cooperative training, breath awareness, and precise, mirrored movement. Even without physical contact, the techniques carried weight. He demonstrated each motion slowly, allowing the principles to reveal themselves through movement rather than explanation. Like Dr. Kimm, his strength was subtle yet unmistakable, the kind of internal power that does not announce itself, only becomes apparent once you are already being grabbed and manipulated. Hapki Zen is not built on force or speed, but on intention, awareness, and the clear direction of energy.

After the first hour, we walked together to find lunch. Because it was Chuseok, most businesses were closed, we searched several allys in the rain before finding a small restaurant without a menu. You sit, you’re served, and that’s it. Fish, bulgogi, rice, macaroni salad with corn and ham, and a variety of simple banchan arrived at the table straightforward, nourishing food. It was delicious, though somewhere during the meal the strain of travel began to catch up with me, my stomach reminding me I was far from home.

Chuseok in the Village

After lunch, we walked through a traditional village where families were celebrating Chuseok. There were booths set up for knot tying, small performances happening in open spaces, tables covered with crafts, and games laid out for kids to play. It felt relaxed and communal, the kind of gathering where people linger instead of rushing. As we walked, it became clear that Grand Master Han was known here. People stopped him to talk. One woman pressed a small handmade gift into my hands. Another paused us just to say hello. Watching these interactions, I realized very quickly that he wasn’t just a martial artist passing through, he was part of this place. This wasn’t a tour or a demonstration. It felt like being quietly welcomed into someone’s life.

Hour Two: Standing Training and Ki Breath

Back at the office, we started the second hour. This time, everything happened standing , technique variations, core movements, breathing sequences, and longer forms infused with meditation. The system is built around six foundational techniques, practiced in different cooperative patterns. Hapki Zen blends martial efficiency with meditative presence, a duality that reminded me of the balance we seek in Han Mu Do.

His movements were sharp and deliberate. My legs were shaking from days of climbing mountains and temple training, but the energy of the session kept me focused. He showed me how he breathes into each motion. It was about harmony, mind, body, breath, and intention moving as one.

Saying Goodbye

After training, he walked me to the subway and made sure I boarded the right line. Korean masters don’t say goodbye casually. They escort you, watch you leave, and ensure the path ahead is clear. I have a very fond memory of Dojunim Kimm watching me leave Baton Rouge in a monsoon, standing with his umbrella in the storm as I drove away. Of course, I second-guessed myself and ended up going the wrong way, eventually ending up back in Gangnam by accident. I took some time to wander, buy an umbrellas, pick up some souvenirs, and have dinner in an Irish Pub.

Gangum even in the rain was a hopping place. This side of Seoul feels very different and way more modern. Lots of bright lights and fashion. As much as I appreciate seeing the history and more traditional look I am always drawn to the new, modern, and younger generation too. Stores were edgey but always welcoming and helpful, taxi cabs relied on the app instead of waving one down, and it was wet! After ending up here on accident by going the wrong way on the subway it seemed like it was still the right decision to make.

What Hapki Zen Taught Me

By the time I trained with Grand Master Han, I had been through some really meaningful training sessions in Korea. Baekyangsa had taught me stillness. How to sit, breathe, and stay present when the body wants to move. Golgulsa had taught me movement. How breath, flexibility, and a new view point on training and martial arts practice. Hapki Zen sat quietly between those two experiences. The training blended internal and external work in a way that felt complete. Breath guided movement. Movement informed technique. Partner work wasn’t about domination or speed, but about cooperation, awareness, and shared rhythm. It Seamlessly blended meditative, technical, and from work sometimes soft and yielding, sometimes sharp and direct. Nothing was forced. Everything movement was with intention.

Martial arts is never just one thing. It’s not a single road you walk alone, but many paths that converge over time into one life of practice. Learning directly from masters with different focuses like stillness, movement, breath, and connection allows us to return home with a wider lens. We don’t replace what we practice; we deepen it. Each experience adds texture, perspective, and clarity to our own training, shaping how we move forward both as practitioners and teachers.

A Glimpse Into the Future

As I left that day, still carrying the sweat of training, conversation, and more coffee than I probably needed, it became clear how meaningful these experiences could be beyond my own path. Walking those streets, training with living masters, and moving through Korea’s temples and neighborhoods wasn’t just about technique. It was about context. Culture. History. Understanding.

I found myself imagining my family and students in these same places. Walking through Seoul Station together. Sitting quietly across from teachers like Grand Master Han. Training in temples where breath and movement have been practiced for centuries. Breathing mountain air and learning, firsthand, what rhythm, presence, and intention feel like in the land where so much of our art was shaped.

Training in Seoul felt less like the ending of the trip and more like a bridge, connecting what I’ve spent years teaching at home with where those teachings were born. It’s a bridge I know I’ll cross again with others.