There is no way to know how many people have lived In the long ages that have passed silently by. Across the river where peach blossoms bloom,
A few tile-roofed houses Dot through a village of thatched cottages. Idle children and housewives run out of each house, To watch a stranger passing by. There are other villages, here and there along the way, And at the entrance to one village, There is a rundown store. I stop by and in a big clay jar A gourd floats on an alcoholic brew. In the barley field, men-folk in traditional garments Are digging furrows; the lush green barley has grown So it hangs over the furrows, hiding them. In the sky, a lark is chirping, And the people working in the fields alone Are without worries, accepting their work as their calling. The walls of the alleyways distinguish each adobe house And the feel familiar, even though it’s my first time here. Further along I come across a stream With a bridge of stepping stones, and as I carefully cross. The spring air has started to melt the ice, clouding it as it thaws; The water is cloudy yet so clear. A frog floats on the water, And a school of carp swims by. Lush grass grows alongside the banks, And the warm sun makes the shimmering heat rise. I flop down on the ground Not wanting to walk further. In each house people pay homage to their ancestors Up to the previous five generations, And only they, the descendants, generation by generation, Are proof ancient people existed. This is a place conquered, taken, then lost During the time of the Three Kingdoms. Where has the thunder of horses’ hooves gone?
Where are the famous generals now? Events of those ancient times flicker through my mind. There is a mountain in the distance; I have always wanted to climb it But it is a difficult hike. The strong scent of pine trees perfumes the mountain trail And as I follow the path, The hairs on the back of my head stand up Even though it is still the middle of the day. They say a tiger lived on this mountain in the old days And as I climb up bend after bend, My breathing becomes labored, And after a long while, I reach the peak. I climb on a rock to a wide open view and look down, And see a village in the distance. Many would have climbed this mountain, Each with their different stories. What would they have thought about as they climbed up? I hurry down the mountain And the stream becomes a waterfall; Its cascade is truly magnificent. The current is strong, And the sound of the water echoes as it flows down the valley. Deep in the mountains, I come across a lone abandoned cottage. It is hard to know when someone last lived here – perhaps he left or passed away, For the lonely thatched cottage is silent. Walking down the long trail, I see a few more homes Then a small village appears. The inhabitants are the descendants Of those who fled a war during the Shilla Dynasty. Their adobe homes are falling apart And they look so impoverished. I travel on down the winding path and the valley grows larger. As I pass by another village, I see a few men leisurely hanging around a storefront Garbed in traditional attire and smoking bamboo pipes. The village dog follows and barks at me, an unknown stranger – I just walk on with no particular place in mind. In the heavily populated urban cities I have visited, Everyone lives busy lives. Those with jobs are buried by their work, And those without work are idle, but worry about food and survival. When I became Truth, I realized the world and all the people I met Were of the world of a false dream. The people were ghosts and it was the world of ghosts; Although beautiful memories remain in my mind, They are just pictures. Now that I am out in the real world, I know that life in the world was inside an illusion. I had lived in my mind overlapping the world; I had lived so foolishly. It was all a false dream.
