Let Go and Love Yourself: Baekyangsa Temple Stay

The train rolled south out of Seoul before sunrise. As the lights of the city disappeared behind me, fog hung low over farmland and drifted beneath clusters of high-rise apartments. The sun climbed the horizon, slowly creeping across the mountains and the rooftops of smaller cities scattered along the route. Rows of vegetables, rice paddies, and a blend of old Korea and modern life passed by in silhouette, the morning light turning everything soft and golden. This was my first morning in Korea, the Land of the Morning Calm. The landscape was beautiful and welcoming, layered, timeless, and alive.

The Quiet Streets of Iksan

My first stop was Iksan, a city that seems to exist in the modern past, easygoing and slightly worn. I spent a few hours walking the blocks around the train station, exploring markets, small shops, and alleys filled with murals and hand-painted signs. The market stretched for several blocks, full of color and sound, tables being loaded with vegetables, seafood, kimchi, and all sorts of pickled treasures. Tanks held live baby octopus, fish, abalone, and other seafood waiting to be taken home or cooked on the spot. Other stalls sold clothing, tools, and daily necessities.

The city felt relaxed. Locals greeted me with bows, smiles, and short conversation as I wandered. Though some storefronts were closed or faded, nothing felt unsafe or neglected, it just felt lived in. Back at the train station, I ordered a bowl of noodle soup and watched the steady rhythm of travelers, some waiting quietly, others rushing to make their trains.

Into the Mountains

My second train of the day carried me deeper into the countryside. When the doors opened at Baegyangsa Station, the world went still. The train pulled away, leaving me standing alone on an empty platform. There were no taxis waiting, no station attendant just a lonely vending machine beside an old TV playing the news. A narrow road lined with a few small buildings and a roadside restaurant headed away from the station. For the first time since arriving in Korea, I was completely alone.

I noticed two white sheep statues near the road. I remembered the legend: centuries ago, white sheep were said to come down from the mountains to listen to the monks chant before returning to their pastures. The temple became known as Baekyangsa, the “White Sheep Temple.”

Founded by Zen Master Yeohwan in 632 AD during the Baekje Dynasty, Baekyangsa has long been a place of meditation and teaching. Generations of Seon (Zen) monks have trained here, studying sutras and the discipline of mindfulness in the Unmun Seon Room. A revered practice hall high in the mountains. Surrounded by ancient nutmeg trees, mountains, and forests, Baekyangsa has become known as one of the great Ancient Buddha Temples of Korea. The temple’s reputation for cultivating great teachers wasn’t what brought me here, but it quickly became part of the experience. I was here for the Temple Stay. To learn, to rest, and to understand more about how these temples had inspired our Han Mu Do teachings and philosophy.

A few minutes later, a taxi appeared, the first car I’d seen since getting off the train. The driver smiled when I said, “Baekyangsa,” and loaded my bag into the trunk with their bags of fresh veggies they had just picked up. His wife sat in the back seat and they discussed what they were making for dinner during the thirty-minute drive through quiet town and green hills. Schoolyards were painted with bright murals, and vegetable gardens grew between homes. The deeper we went, the more the noise of the world fell away.

When we reached the temple gates, the sound of running water filled the mountain air. A stream traced the edge of the temple grounds, flowing beneath stone bridges and ancient pines. The air was damp, cool, and still. The mountains surrounding the temple help to create this feeling of permanence and calmness. Getting dropped off at the temple was a bit like being dropped off at a week of summer camp. I watched my cab drive away while wondering how I would get back to the train station. I shrugged off my worries and made my way to the temple office.

Arrival at Baekyangsa

I was greeted by Khema, a Buddhist nun who had lived in temples for thirty-five years. She moved silently and patiently as she got me checked in. Never rushing and completing each task before moving on to the next. We shared tea and laughter, talking about language, martial arts, and meditation. Then she handed me folded temple clothes (a vest and baggy pants) and guided me to my room, a simple space with a thin mat, blanket, and a few other visitors from Europe.

After a much-needed nap, I joined the evening tour. The temple grounds were beautiful, halls painted in vivid reds and greens and forested mountains rising all around. As an artist, the craftsmanship and detail amazed me; each element covered in color, had hidden details that tied back to Buddhist stories. I have always been drawn to the Asian style architecture and artwork and this was my first chance to exist among it.

Temple Food and Jeong Kwan

I first learned about Baekyangsa through Jeong Kwan, the Seon Buddhist nun and chef who lives and cooks at the Chunjinam Hermitage on the temple grounds. Her approach to food, simple, mindful, and rooted in being present, captured my attention long before I planned this trip.

I love watching chefs work because their path mirrors that of a martial-arts masters. Every movement carries purpose, every action reflects awareness, they are constantly improving their processes and knowledge base. Jeong Kwan teaches that food is life and medicine. That philosophy drew me here. I wanted to experience temple food as a form of training. Another rhythm of body, mind, and spirit.

When I booked my trip, I learned she was going to be in Paris teaching. I wouldn’t have the chance to cook beside her, but I still hiked through the rain to her hermitage to see her gardens. Vegetables piled on top of each other growing in a very natural state was a juxtposition to the finely rowed vegetable fields and rice patties that I had seen on the train ride. Green vegetables thriving in the mountain soil grown with no pesticides or chemicals. These gardens providing fresh food for the monks and visitors of the temple.

The meals at Baekyangsa carried the same quiet intention. Rice, soup, and black beans seem to be staples with various mushrooms, greens, kimchi and other fermented items. The meals energized, balanced, and fulfilled. It was food that didn’t just taste good; it felt good. The buffet line prepared by monks was topped by a sign that read: “Take only what you will eat. Do not be greedy and want nothing like the empty bowl. Leave nothing.” I will admit I was excited to try temple food but also slightly intimidated by the whole experience. My meals at the temples were some of my favorites. The food was full of flavor and just the right amount of spice. The veggies were the stars of the show and the dishes celebrated them.

At Baekyangsa you eat in silence. The room is quiet except for the sounds of metal chopsticks and spoons. As you enter the dining hall you bow towards the kitchen to thank the cooks who prepared the food, you bow towards your plate before you start eating, and when you are done you wash your dishes placing them back on the rack for the next meal.

The Dharma Bell

That night, I joined the monk at the Dharma bell for the evening ceremony. A massive wooden beam swung into the bronze bell, releasing a deep vibration that seemed to roll through the mountains. I couldn’t help but think of Grand Master Donald Kimm and Han Mu Do’s three-step rhythm. Dojunim He-Young Kimm gave Donald the Korean name Chul Kimm which means Iron Bell. “The iron bell will ring for 1000 miles,” was the quote used surrounding Donald’s funeral. I was the first guest to help ring the bell for the evening. I feel like it was a moment that I felt close to my best friend. The monk wasn’t forcing the strike, he was letting momentum create power. The effortless build, the harmony of timing and energy, it was Han Mu Do’s three step rhythm alive in another form.

Evening Meditation

The monk’s evening meditation session was scheduled for four hours that night starting at 9pm. As students we recommended to leave after the first hour but invited to stay for the full 4 hours. I felt I was prepared for the 1 hour session having done meditations and classes with Dr. Kimm and Abbot Kang and I was worried that if I stayed the full 4 I might fall asleep. When we sat down I made sure to have an extra pad under my hind end to help my hips and my butt that was still not recovered from the 15 hour flight to Korea. Sitting perfectly still, cross-legged, upright with good posture, focused, and silent. This becomes its own kind of endurance battle. I turned to my breath: four-count inhale, six-count exhale. I started to count my reps of breath just as Dr. Kimm has taught us. Once I had calmed my mind down and my body started to feel the pain of sitting motionless I started to go through my forms in my head starting at white belt. After I had gotten a couple of forms in I heard some movement and I cracked my eyes. The head monk was up and moving around and he was carrying a stick that was about 4 foot long and flat. He found the people that were not sitting up crossed legged and displaying good posture. He would move them into a bowed position and strike them 3 times on each side of their back, each strike getting harder. As he moved his way around the room, the girl next to me was the 3rd or 4th victim of getting hit. It was loud and hard. After my hour we walked the circle around the room, I gave myself some, “I’m feeling goods,” as we walked and I headed back to our room ready to crash for the night.

The Morning Calm

We were expected in the Buddha Hall at 4:00 a.m. for the morning service. The sound of the Dharma bell echoed through the valley, calling everyone from sleep. Inside the hall, rows of monks and temple stay participants gathered on mats. The space was packed with and stimulating to all of the senses. Drums, bells, chants and deep ohms

 The air was thick with incense and the sweetness of fruit offerings; grapes, apples, and oranges stacked high at the altar. They were the strongest grapes that I’ve ever smelled, being almost floral in the scent. The service was a series of chants and and rhythmic prostrations, bowing from standing all the way to the ground and back up again. This stimulation to all the senses helped to wake up the mind, body, and spirit and be ready for the day.

The Mountain Path

After breakfast, I set out on the trail to Yaksaam Hermitage, a small temple built into the mountain above Baekyangsa. The sign said it was only 2.5 kilometers, but the path quickly turned steep and slick as the rain began to fall. The trail started by following the mountain stream, then crossing over a bridge in front of a waterfall, then cutting away and sharply up the mountain. The switchbacks became more intense the higher I climbed. When I finally reached the hermitage, it was quiet. There were a few other temple stay participants that had made the journey up the mountain and were moving silently through the courtyard taking it all in. The view overlooked the entire valley below. Looking down upon the buildings of Baekyangsa, the rooftops scattered amongst the trees and heavy fog, I took a moment to just be. It is amazing that there are people not just living in this place but learning and growing.

On the way back down, I stopped by Jeong Kwan’s hermitage. She hadn’t yet returned from Paris, but I stood for a while in her garden, watching the rain, wandering, and trying to take it all in.

The 108 Prostrations

When I made it back to the temple, it was time for the 108 prostrations ceremony began. Still wet from my hike and my legs feeling a bit tired and shaken I cut across the temple grounds to the meditation hall. Each participant was given a tray with a bag of small wooden beads and a string. With every bow, 108 in total, was a thought of gratitude. Each bead representing a step towards being aware and grateful for all parts of our lives. After each bow, we added one bead to the string, slowly building a necklace of intention and humility.

The physical act of bowing, standing, and bowing again was exhausting, especially after the morning hike, but it was also powerful. By the end, my legs were very tired, I was sweaty and still wet from the rain, and my mind had a lot to process. I couldn’t help but think, why don’t we all live this way? The practice was simple, honest, and clear.

When the ceremony ended, it was time to return our temple clothes and bedding and start making my way back to the train station. It was another hour and a half by train to Mokpo. Time to reflect, breathe, and let everything I had learned settle in.

Next Stop: Mokpo

The trip continued south to a small port city, a guesthouse, and a festival by the sea.