Just another average Sunday . . .

We were heading out to Gyanyong. A little drive out of town, up the mountains to go swimming in the river which flows down to the valley below offering fresh cool pools of refreshment amongst the green my companions described to be just like Ireland "if they had ever been there". So there we were: Myself, the driver, her Korean boyfriend in front, myself and her daughter and the two dogs in the back. We finally had piled all in and were just on the outskirts of town where the inevitable happened: a car accident. It happened as all car accidents do: in slow motion. Being a passenger in Korea is like being a pin ball in a pinball machine: you must relinquish your fate to the person operating the buttons and hope fate falls in your favor between the many blinking lights and bumpers. So, outta nowhere the car in front of us was in a full and complete stop. Even with the emergency brake pulled, we abruptly bucked into his shiny black bumper. 

     Without hazard lights or even pulling over out of lane of traffic, we sat and waited for further instruction. Trucks were whizzing by us with such speed that our little four door rocked and the dogs whimpered with each pass. We waited there for the insurance man to arrive on a Sunday afternoon. Thankfully, we were with the driver's Korean boyfriend who could communicate with the disgruntled "used car salesman" we bumped into. The damage to his car was one tiny little scratch to his bumper but as any good used car salesman would do, he was insisting on a brand new bumper. An hour, adequate information exchange, and the begrudgingly loss of some significant income later, we were back on our way to a relaxing day in the sparkling clean moutain waters of Gyanyong.  We were, however. almost out of gas. 

    Half way up the mountain and a Murphy's law realization, we turned back down to revisit the fuel station we streaked by in hopes for another. We got gas and soon enough we were unloading dogs, people and flip flops out of the vehicle at the top of a steep hill which was also the entrance to a very inviting Buddhist temple. 

   Our destination surrounded us with cool clear, white water cascading down black and earthy rocks sheathed under layers of tropical green. Between sprouting bamboo shoots we lumbered, carefully passing over unturned rock after unturned rock to stick our toes in the frigidly refreshing bubbling water between baby falls. 

     I found a boulder to sit upon. I crossed my legs and closed my eyes. I inhaled deeply smelling the pure green-ness around me. I listened only to the falling water, perpetual and endless. It was not a sound to me, it was a feeling.  It was the feeling someone feels knowing  they are in the presence of something that is greater than themselves while simultaneously feeling great within themselves. It was at that moment I was reminded of why I have traveled so far, so far on an outward and inward journey: to know that that greatness is not with in me, it is what passes through me. It was time for a swim.