(The following article is about the lifestyle of bhikkunis today. As they live a life almost identical to the bhikkus, the article covers general temple life.)

"Anyone who sees me here, probably feels sorry for me. But I couldn't be happier." This was the conclusion of a young Samini (a woman who has completed at least a year in the temple and taken the first ordination) in a traditional Zen temple near Taegu in southeastern Korea. It is a temple belonging to the traditional Chogye-jong, the main Buddhist Order of Korea. (The following account pertains only to the Chogye Order.) Representing the principle line of traditional Korean Buddhism, at present (1997) the Chogye Order has about 1800 temples, 800 of which are run by ordained women. There are about 3,500 ordained men and 2,900 ordained women -- those who have received the two ordinations. In addition, there are about 2,700 men and 2,900 women who have received the first ordination. Registered lay members of the order number about 8.1 million. Buddhism was introduced to Korea in 372 CE from China. As far as we know, the ordination of women started from about the same time.
"What on earth do you mean by that?" I asked.
"Well, I prepare food and cook and clean from 5 a.m. to 6 p.m. every day. In addition, I do my bowing, learn my chanting and take care of my teacher. At night I am so tired. Doesn't sound very exciting, does it? But I am really and truly happy! Eventually I will go to the meditation hall but first I must prepare myself."

I thought over this conversation and realized that most people would think her life dull. There is a Japanese proverb that those who live in the temple see outsiders as a little strange. And once you leave the temple, you see the people living in the temple as a little strange. From a worldly point of view, she looked "strange." And I began to wonder. Why would anyone chose to spend years on end working without monetary gain or any other the tangible benefits which are valued by most people.
"I thought about life," she answered when I asked her. "Is money important? No, I decided. Is fame important? Absolutely not. Then what is important? To understand life and death. The Buddha taught us a way to find an answer to this. We go to live in a community, practice hard and constantly in order to understand things properly. Our ancient teachers said that this is the best way. So I decided to leave my family and go to the temple. I knew that I was free to leave the temple life at any time and I was free to stay as long as I wished."
"Wasn't your family terribly upset?"
"Yes, at first. Now they have become used to it and are happy for me."
These days most of the women who walk up the long road to the temple gates and ask to be accepted are well over 20 years old, they are often college graduates and mostly motivated by a love for temple life and the Buddha's teaching. Many see the futility of life -- sleep, get tired, eat, eliminate, grow old, die and take nothing with you, the hollowness of money and fame -- and aspire for true understanding of the meaning of life. A very few just want to escape from society, marriage and responsibility. In order to be accepted, they must have completed High School, be healthy and normal (because of the rigors of the way of life, it is no place for anyone who is handicapped), if possible they should have obtained permission from the family and must be single. Their introduction has usually come from a school or college Buddhist group or their family has a close relationship with a temple. The families do not usually want their children going off to the temples, for obvious reasons as well as the fact that Korea still has strong Confucian influences. Temples never encourage anyone, it is strictly a personal choice.

Having informed the family of their intention, the aspirant leaves for a temple which is usually quite far from home so that they won't be disturbed by well-meaning relatives. Often, in order to train hard, she does not see her family for a while. This, too, is a strictly personal choice. The aspirant starts life with working, bowing, learning chanting and trying to adjust. For many it is the first time away from the home, the first experience of vegetarian food and everything is strange. She cuts her hair very short (not shaving it in case she wants to leave) and wears brown clothes.

After a year, she chooses a teacher and the teacher chooses her -- it is a mutual agreement. The teacher is a woman, usually over 40 years of age. She can accept as many disciples as she wishes, depending on how many ask. To the best of her ability, she provides them with necessities like clothes, teaches them the philosophy and how to live in the temple. The main job of the teacher, however, is to encourage her disciples to practice hard. "We are all just trying hard and practicing together," Sunim -- the title used for any ordained member of the Korean Buddhist community -- explained when I asked her whether her teacher was enlightened. "We are all here to help, encourage and inspire each other. That's all!"

The group of disciples form a family and they identify themselves according to the number of generations they are in their lineage. Then the aspirant has her head shaved and takes her first set of precepts, 10 training rules (see p. ). These days there is a formal ceremony preceded by three weeks of intensive training. The aspirant is now a samini and wears gray clothes. At the ordination ceremony, she also receives her ceremonial robes: a long gray robe with flowing sleeves and a patch-work brown one which is fastened at the left shoulder.

After the ceremony, she returns to her temple. The young samini all live in a big room, where they sleep, study and eat. "What kind of work did you do when you returned to the temple?" I asked. "I did almost everything" said Sunim. "I helped prepare the vegetables and rice, worked in the fields, looked after the older members, rang the huge bell and so on. Unfortunately I was much younger than others and so I never did the gentler work like cleaning the Main Hall. Temple life is very regulated, but there's an air of freedom as well. Every three months we changed our job. It was interesting and challenging."

Korea has four distinct seasons and temple life adjusts to the changes. Older -- not necessarily in physical years but in the number of years lived in the temple -- bhikkunis go to the meditation halls in the summer and winter, called the "meditation seasons" and visit teachers during the spring and autumn, the "free seasons." The younger members change jobs. To mark the change there is a huge clean out, the temple is dusted and washed from top to bottom.

"How do you keep the community functioning together? What is a typical day like?" I asked. "Well, there are various means. First of all there is the big bell which is sounded every morning at 3 a.m. to wake everyone up and again in the evening before chanting. Some temples also sound it at lunchtime. Then there are the periods of activity. The mokt'ak (a hollowed wooden "bell" used for chanting, also) is sounded before activity periods and meals. Those who are studying assemble in the big room, get out their little desks (they sit on the floor) and wait for the teacher. Those who have other duties go to perform them. The first period is from about 4 to 6 a.m. Then everyone has breakfast together. The next period is from about 7 to 10 a.m. After that there is chanting and lunch. The next period is from 1 p.m. until about 4 p.m. Then there is dinner and chanting. Afterwards there is another period from about 7 to about 10 p.m. The times change with the seasons and vary from temple to temple. Every two weeks there is a special day when we all take an extended bath, wash and mend our clothes and relax. The next day there is a lecture, often given by a visiting teacher. It is strange that within such uniformity, an air of individualism pervades. This is probably due to the fact that each person looks after herself and by doing so frees the others from worrying about her, allowing them to get on with their own lives."

After two more years, the Samini go to the special training temples where they spend four years learning texts, Chinese characters, chanting, and living together. As they advance they are given more and more responsibilities. The training is very strict.

"If we were so much as a second late for any of the chanting ceremonies, classes or meals we had to pay. Also, an absolute taboo was leaving even a single sock on the laundry lines after the start of the evening chanting." I was quite surprised. I wondered how adults who had chosen freely to live in the temple could possibly "pay." "Oh, that's simple," replied Sunim. "We had to do extra vegetable peeling or rice cleaning duty." (I thought of the soldiers peeling potatoes and realized that it was truly international!!!) "The worst was cleaning the toilet..."

The fourth year they are seniors and so have to help the teachers and take charge of the younger students. This is the year that they receive final ordination, 348 training rules or precepts, and become a bhikkuni, a full member of the ordained community. ("bhikkuni" is the Korean pronunciation of the Sanskrit bhiksuni. Originally it meant "a person who receives a share." Traditionally all ordained members of a Buddhist community went on alms round every day and received their share of the community food. In return they taught the people philosophy and helped them with their problems and also instructed the children.) These training rules make up the total description of the way the bhikkuni is to live for the rest of her life.

The bhikkuni ordination ceremony is very elaborate. The precepts are received from ten senior ordained bhikkus and ten senior bhikkunis who preside over the ancient and formal ceremony preceded by five days of intensive training and lectures. Each Samini is given a copy of the 348 precepts and a beautiful certificate.

Afterwards, many bhikkunis return to their temples to do kido -- the Korean word for religious practice which usually consists of bowing, chanting or a mixture of the two for a definite period of time like one week, 100 days or three years. "Why do you do such a strenuous activity as going up and down as many as 3,000, even 10,000 times a day when you do the bowing?" I inquired. "First of all it is important to understand that we are not bowing to the statue or the picture. We could bow anywhere but we find the statue inspiring. We bow to everything, we bow to teach ourselves humility, we bow because we hope that once we begin to practice meditation there will be no disturbances to our practice. We just hope." Another friend told me, "I wanted to prove my determination to myself. It is symbolic of my determination to attain enlightenment. I wanted to show myself that I could complete something so difficult as bowing 3,000 time a day for 100 days. Then I would know that I had the ability to study to the end."

A note about the word "study." In Korean Chogye Buddhism, the traditional Zen way of koan practice is observed. Called "hwadu" in Korea, this cryptic, non-logical question is usually received from a meditation master. It is supposed to occupy the mind 24 hours-a-day until a "solution" is achieved. When sitting in the meditation halls, this question is "studied" in the hope of obtaining the answer which can only come from a total change of consciousness allowing the person to see and understand things as they truly are, free from conditioning, prejudice and preconception. The questions are now famous, for example, "Who am I?" or "What is the sound of one hand?"

Then the bhikkunis set out for the meditation hall. This is a great step for them for it is the culmination of years of training. Life in the meditation hall is hard. All live together, practicing as much as they are able to do. The smaller halls have place for about 10 people, the bigger ones up to 50, whatever the number, they stay in the hall for three months and sometimes three years. They sit 8, 10, 14 or 20 hours a day depending on the period of the meditation season. About 25% of the entire, fully-ordained community are in the meditation halls in any particular season. They are cared for by the community. A few will wander from hall to hall throughout their lives, the rest will return to the temples to help in the organization or go to university.
"What will you do when you are old?" I asked as I gazed at her fresh, bright face. (Traditionally, the temple was a total community. Anyone in trouble, orphans, the old would all take refuge in the temple. Even nowadays there are still many orphans accepted and many old people chose to end their days in a temple. The orphans go to school and the old people help out, living the end of their lives useful and loved.) Sunim thought for a moment and then answered, "I'll probably return to my temple and live with the others. As much as possible, I want to continue life in the meditation hall. By that time," she smiled, "I'll probably have my own disciples and maybe I can teach them a thing or two. But that is a long way away..."?