I was 6 or 7 years old.
My mother was Buddhist and often
she brought me to the temples located
in the beautiful mountains of South
Korea. We traveled in a bus with about
At the beginning of the travel, the
passengers in the bus started to call
repeatedly the name of the Buddha
all together. This constant repetition
has continued until the arrival at the
I remember that this strange per-
formance took at least 5 or 6 hours.
Maybe they repeated 10000 times the
name of Buddha, or less, or more.
In any case, it’s impossible to count this
precisely because it’s about counting
the same sound, the same element.
If I count from 1 to 10000 in a sequen-
tial manner, I can be conscious of time
and space. But if I count 10000 times
the number 1, then it becomes ex-
tremely difficult to locate myself in such
The bus has certainly traveled
from point A to point B, but it felt like
the point A and B existed in the same
place. In that way, I lived the millions
of lives from birth to death.
There will be the repetitive sound.
There will be those abstract images just
like the ones I’ve observed through the
window of the bus, transformed by the
There will be people dancing, celebrat-
ing their trip to the millions and the
millions of lives of all the existences in
I just can’t imagine something more beautiful than this.