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"In the hills, in the shadows, where the memories lay, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcwIHvhSa70
Soldiers walk, through the echoes of a faraway day. 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO59sg7FYvM
Korea, Korea, they call this place Korea,279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3knzZLqUeJ
In the silence, in the darkness, echoes of a tale.
Korea, Korea, the land of the unknown, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGXyIh2clRb
Through the valleys and the rivers, where the winds have blown. 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIgDx4lpYCs
They call this place Korea, a distant, haunting song, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡINrUVdIJae
In the hearts of weary soldiers, who have been here so long.
Mountains high, whispers low, stories in the breeze, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2AeZYSznc8
Soldiers march through the echoes, memories they seize. 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOCQx7vQOtz
Korea, Korea, a name etched in time, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQg9rqZJW0v
In the footsteps of the brave, a distant, mournful chime.279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFNpphET7zn
Korea, Korea, the land of the unknown, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgqkVKSC6L4
Through the valleys and the rivers, where the winds have blown. 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaqSFr7hG37
They call this place Korea, a distant, haunting song, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFnNoGth4ak
In the hearts of weary soldiers, who have been here so long.
Through the fields of sorrow, where the poppies weep, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkRrFN1vsLV
In the land of morning calm, secrets buried deep. 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLtTGwusxnE
Korea, Korea, etched in history's scar, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMhVdOjTYpq
A song of sacrifice, heard from afar.
Sunset's glow, shadows grow, in this foreign land, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡli5e3PIt9p
Soldiers dream of home, in the shifting sand. 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZXT6OVi3mk
Korea, Korea, a name in every prayer, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHBl4Ld7FwN
In the hearts of those who served, a burden they bear.
Korea, Korea, the land of the unknown, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXzWGQIy8kN
Through the valleys and the rivers, where the winds have blown. 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtrCDqkTUcM
They call this place Korea, a distant, haunting song, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4hKW5HniB2
In the hearts of weary soldiers, who have been here so long.
In the echoes of the mountains, where the memories soar, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7wTfOUN0Z9
Korea, Korea, a name forevermore. 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMtIAUbYmaQ
They call this place Korea, in the whispers of the night, 279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsls8Deg2Jg
A solemn song, in the soldier's quiet fight."279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpkeEX5M91M
279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAEzynOSLOP
----Ethan Lawson, a war veteran turned songwriter, 1975279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfG8J58nebG
279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPp09okAwXb
279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWFRrlPcjTy
THE THIRD MONTH OF THE YEAR 2407279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVLdnh31sbn
279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8mFR89S4J3
279Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqPLLMpj2SC
Ji-Hoon Robinson, now a full-fledged Hwarangdo priest, embarks on a solemn journey along the dusty road leading to Haeundae-ma-eul. The air is thick with the earthy fragrance of the surrounding flora, and the rustling leaves overhead echo the whispers of ancient spirits. Draped in his ceremonial Hanbok, Robinson's determined stride carries the weight of his training and the responsibility he feels toward the village awaiting his arrival. As he traverses the winding path, the landscape transforms from dense woodlands to open fields, revealing the picturesque Haeundae-ma-eul in the distance. The village, nestled against the backdrop of rolling hills and the sparkling Han River, exudes a timeless charm that seems impervious to the changing tides of history. Robinson's heart swells with anticipation and reverence as he approaches the sacred site, the Sunrise Pavilion, where he will witness the Sunlight Blessing. It is now the third month of the year 2407.
However, as the contours of Haeundae-ma-eul unfold before him, Robinson's senses heighten. In the distance, a faint murmur reaches his ears—a rhythmic cadence that stirs the very air. Instinctively, he seeks refuge behind a copse of trees, watching with a blend of curiosity and caution. This distant murmur grows into a rhythmic drumming of boots on the road. As Robinson peers through the foliage, a sight unfolds that arrests his breath. A platoon of blue-uniformed men march in disciplined unison. Their leader, perched atop a majestic white stallion, bears an air of authority that echoes through the ranks. Their presence disrupts the serene landscape, a stark contrast to the harmonious ambiance Robinson had anticipated. Robinson, being half-American, possesses a keen awareness of the distinct features and attire that mark the soldiers approaching Haeundae-ma-eul as fellow countrymen from his father's land. As they draw nearer, his discerning tyes catch subtle cues that resonate with his mixed heritage.
Firstly, the physical features of the soldiers stand out to Robinson. Their fair skin and facial features, distinct from the locals he had encountered during his travels, reveal their European ancestry. Though Robinson is a product of both Korean and American heritage, he can recognize the unmistakable traits that mark these soldiers as white Americans. Secondly, as the sunlight glints off the polished brass buttons adorning their dark blue uniforms, Robinson's mind flashes to images of his mother's stories about where his father came from----tales of a distant land, foreign uniforms, and the disciplined military presence that epitomize the United States of America. The peaked caps perched atop their heads, a distinctive part of their military regalia, solidify Robinson's recognition. The very sight of these elements invokes a familial connection to his American roots. Lastly, as they approach, their language and commands are spoken in a familiar tongue, English---the language of Robinson's father and a link to the country that was a part of his own identity. The combination of these visual and auditory cues leaves him with no doubt these are soldiers from his father's country. This forces Robinson to grapple with the collision of his dual identities---the ancient traditions of his Korean lineage and the foreign military force from the land of his father.
Caught in the mesmerizing spectacle of the marching Americans, Robinson's attention becomes singularly focused on the unfolding scene. The rhythmic drumming of boots and the glint of polished rifles hold him in a trance, momentarily eclipsing his surroundings. Lost in contemplation, he fails to register the approach of a familiar figure until a hand rests gently on his shoulder. Startled, he turns to find Grand Master Kim, his former mentor and guide, standing beside him with a knowing smile. He looks with blind eyes directly at him. Kim has not aged at all in these years. He must have been an old man at some early point in his life and frozen into age, into serenity. Robinson finds that he is strangely moved to see the old man again. The rules of the temple are strict....priests may not seek out one another nor have any other than casual contact after their time of training and, it is a wise rule. He knows how wise that rule is. His love for Grand Master Kim could have blunted his mission.
Robinson smiles appreciatively.
The old man stops and lifts a hand. "Dragonfly," he says, "the winds of change blow strong today. Life is like a dragonfly's flight. It is ever-changing, unpredictable, and full of surprises. Just as the dragonfly adapts to the shifting winds, we too must learn to navigate the currents of our own lives." Kim's gaze turns towards the vast expanse beyond them. "But remember," he cautions gently, "a Hwarangdo's path weaves through the currents of history."
The old man turns and resumes walking. Robinson falls easily into stride beside him. Now there is some notice attracted by the sight of two priests in ceremonial Hanboks, walking together in this way. Robinson notices that some of the villagers are pointing to them. The presence of not one priest but two gives true consequence to the Sunlight Blessing Festival. Robinson smiles to himself and shakes his head, thinking of the sadness of people who must have the unknown, the invisible made real to them and can only respond to it in that way. Still, that is what priests are for, to function as a connection between the holy and the real. "Do you comprehend the sheer magnitude of time it would have required for me to expunge from my memory the resonating echoes of my most cherished protégé's footsteps?" Kim says. "It surpasses mere years, my dear boy."
"How have you been, old man?" asks Robinson. The platoon in the distance is much closer now, he notes. They will probably meet with it at a point just a little way down, near a small footbridge. The dust the men kick up is excessive; the village, steeped in centuries-old customs and spiritual practices, stands on the precipice of confrontation with an unfamiliar force. The leader on the white stallion represents a symbol of authority that Ji-Hoon can't ignore. His Hwarangdo instincts pulse within him, a reminder of his duty to protect the sacred traditions of The Land of the Morning Calm. He is suddenly glad that Kim cannot see this; it could only sadden the old man. Robinson understands that this platoon comprises men who are not even aware of the significance of this date. Sadness, sadness.
"I must confess that I have been in excellent health," Kim is saying. "Absolutely nothing alters in this peculiar realm of ours. Fresh followers arrive, while the seasoned ones depart, yet the esteemed grand masters persist without any alteration. The sacred sanctuary remains untouched by the hands of time."
"I know that now," Robinson says, thinking of the rice paper.
"Pray tell, how has the world been treating you in your absence?"
"The years have been good," Robinson says. "All of them quiet and measured, flowing like water in and out of each other. There are no years, old man, there are merely moments juxtaposed."
Kim smiles again. "It appears you have acquired quite a wealth of knowledge," he says. "However, do enlighten me as to what has guided you towards this path that leads us to the illustrious Sunrise Pavillion?"
Robinson has waited for this moment for years. "I came to celebrate the fulfillment of your ambition," he says. "The third month in the year 2407."
Kim comes to a stop, his mouth open, his blind eyes moving, and then he shakes his head. "You remembered!" he cries.
"Of course, I remembered."
"I must confess that your words have stirred something deep within me," Kim says. "Oh, indeed they have! Truly, my dear boy, they have moved me to the very core of my being!"
Robinson puts a hand on the old man's shoulder so that they may begin walking again but the American platoon which he had seen is indeed just completing crossing the footbridge and is about to come up against them in the middle of the road. To the right and left of the platoon, people have scattered with expressions of fear and awe; the Americans, five or six of them, have pushed them back brutally. He has a good look at their mounted leader, a dark-haired, pompous-looking man of about thirty, wearing the elaborate blue uniform of an officer, a colonel, Robinson thinks. He is now caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. A sudden wave of apprehension washes over him, leaving him inexplicably afraid of the approaching Marines, though the reasons elude him. Robinson shivers. What does his country and the distant land of America have to do with each other? "Get out of our way!" the nearest one says, a threatening man with a warped face, "we're coming through now!"
Seeking inside, Robinson turns to Grand Master Kim, hoping that his venerable mentor may hold answers to the mysteries surrounding the enigmatic presence of these American troopers. "Ah, dear Dragonfly," he begins, "behold the arrival of these U.S. Marines, emissaries hailing from a distant realm, dispatched on a quest that intricately weaves into our own. They have engaged in epic clashes that have transpired upon the eastern coast, leaving an indelible mark on our history." The old man continues, "They come from a whole different world beyond our borders. Their arrival here isn't just some ordinary walk down the road. It's like a meeting of fates, where the teachings of Hwarangdo will be put to the ultimate test as time goes on."
Shoving himself between Grand Master Kim and Robinson, a Marine elbows the blind priest roughly. Reacting instinctively, Kim moves swiftly---and suddenly the Marine is lying in the road.
The Marine platoon stops. One of the U.S. Marines, his tone laced with racism and arrogance, addresses Grand Master Kim upon witnessing his comrade fall, disdainfully remarking, "Looks like your kind's got a taste for our lead, old man. Better stay out of our way if you know what's good for you."
Robinson behind him can merely listen; Kim's body itself blocks him from any attempt to reach the Marine through hand or reason.
Kim bows. "Regretfully, I extend my humblest apologies to you, esteemed U.S. Marine. It was never my intention to cause any harm or offense. Please understand that my visual impairment prevents me from perceiving the situation accurately."
The colonel looks down from his mount, his eyes moving from Robinson to Kim. Robinson has the impression that the officer, for some reason, is frightened. Marines of the United States of America, apparently, are never to be touched. With an air of arrogance befitting a military officer, the lead Marine brashly introduces himself as "Colonel Orville Wright, United States Marine Corps!" His voice, thick with disdain, cuts through the air as he demands, through gritted teeth and with an impatient glare, that Robinson and Grand Master Kim identify themselves, the anger simmering beneath the surface evident in every sharply enunciated word. "Who in tarnation are you two, and from what part of this swillhole country did you come?" he barks, his impatience palpable as he awaits their response.
"I am Kim, a priest from the humble Sinju-guk Province." Kim's eyes are toward the ground. Robinson feels a chill. It would be distressing enough if he thought that Kim was merely showing fear....but the old man has no fear at all. Rather he is gripped by something else, something more dreadful....and at that moment with a sense of irretrievable awareness Robinson sees what's going to happen and the rest of his life before him.
The vision will not pass but he is able to put it to a farther side of consciousness. "I am Ji-Hoon," he says quietly, hoping to mollify the man although he knows that a warrior of any rank can only flicker from rage to rage, threat to threat, burning on the thin ember of himself. "I am also a priest of Sinju-guk Province and this old blind man is my teacher and friend."
One of the Marines looks to the Colonel for guidance; the Colonel nods. Without expression, the Marine raises his hand and slaps Kim across the face with brute force.
Colonel Wright is looking down at Kim blandly. "Maybe a good slap will knock some sense into you; you folks never do understand the hierarchy," he sneers, as if belittling Kim's intelligence based on prejudiced assumptions about his cultural background. Displaying his rude and contemptuous demeanor, he sharply orders his subordinate to slap Kim once more. With a disdainful tone, he declares, "Private, give this old fool another taste of discipline. Maybe that'll drill some manners into his thick skull and teach him not to be a bother."
The Marine raises his hand to strike at Kim in the same place. Kim seems to huddle within himself for a moment's contemplation and then, as the hand comes down he reaches out, takes the Marine's wrist easily, and holds it, thumb to a pressure point. Painfully the Marine sinks to his knees, held immobile by the strength of the old grand master.
"Even a valiant warrior must refrain from subjecting an elderly visually impaired gentleman to double retribution for the identical transgression," Kim says quietly.
He seems then about to release the Marine and Robinson, his arms extended, is ready to drag Kim away from there by force if necessary, apologize, explain to the old man later but it is too late. He sees already that it is too late; maybe it always was. The colonel, completely overcome, sees, by rage now, gestures to the Marine standing behind the imprisoned one; this Marine lowers his smoothbore rifle and advances toward Kim, pointing the bayonetted tip of the rifle murderously at the old man's chest. With a deft motion Kim disarms the Marine with his cane; then with his foot sends the Marine somersaulting into the dirt.
Nothing like this has ever happened before. Colonel Wright....goes for the leather holster on his right hip and pulls out a blue-gray 1905 revolver.
Robinson knows what is going to happen now. He has always known this. It never could have been any other way. But he is still fighting, still desperately trying to stop the already willed when Colonel Wright fires the pistol point blank into Kim's chest.
Kim's body shakes and falls back against Robinson. He lets out one whimper of pain, then, his hands fluttering upwards, releasing the Marine, he falls back upon Robinson, rests his arms for just a moment, and then with a sigh falls to the ground.
Robinson has only an instant to think before he does what he does next but the instant is long enough. Did he not learn that in the temple? That time is a function of the state of mind; that it can be folded and unfolded at will like origami paper. So he thinks and as he does so he sees his whole life before him if he does what he is about to do. He can see not just the outlines and events but all the dark places and the endless nights during which he will rework this over and over again, wondering if there was anything else he could have done. He will come up against this moment of choice again and again over the years, that moment clawing him like a tiger and he realizes then, locked in this moment, that it could never have been any different. It would always have to have been this way. He was guided into this from the moment, so many years ago, that he stood before the great temple. A man's life, he thinks, is not choice, but recollection. Nothing more.
Rising swiftly to his feet, Robinson knocks the first Marine aside. Another swift blow disposes of the second, and Robinson has the smoothbore rifle the Marine has carried. Disconnecting the bayonet, he studies Colonel Wright.
He sees the arrogant officer from the back, still mounted. He is hastily trying to recharge his revolver---the movement of his arms, as seen by Robinson from behind him, gives him away. Robinson hurls the bayonet as if it were a dart and impales the man, killing him instantly.
"Damn that yellow-skinned heathen!" shouts an enraged Marine, his voice a raw embodiment of the collective anger that surges through the unit. "Get him! Get him now!"
Robinson is oblivious to the villagers who have gathered around to witness the brutal scene. They have fallen away, standing at the roadside, maybe hundreds of them; they have all seen this and surely there must be several who already about to convey this news to His Majesty, the King---and the king would, with the intention of maintaining diplomatic relations and appeasing a powerful foreign nation like the United States, order his arrest and prosecution for the murder of this Colonel Wright. But there is time, there is time enough, it does not matter. The colonel is dead----but Kim, he sees, as he leans over the old man, is still alive. He stirs on the ground. Robinson kneels and takes the old man in his arms. In life, he was light, in dying his body has no more substance than a cinder. He breathes in a shallow way, blood covering his chest. His blind eyes flutter. "My dear boy, have you committed the unfortunate act of ending his life?" he says.
"Yes," says Robinson. Already he feels the self-revulsion that will be his garment for the rest of his life. "I killed him."
"Ahhh."
"After all that you have taught me," Robinson says, "I have disgraced myself and all Hwarangdo."
"It is not for you to harbor such sentiments," Kim says faintly. "The responsibility of passing judgment lies in the hands of another. However, my dear boy, there are moments when one must make a difficult decision and sacrifice a finger to safeguard the entire hand."
Robinson kneels more closely to the old man. He is now aware of noise on the roadway, heat, and scurrying accompanied by vague shouts. Word has been transmitted. It would only be moments until others were here and these people, he knew, he could not conquer. He is not even sure that he wants to. For the moment there is time enough.
Kim seems to read his thoughts. "It is imperative that you salvage your own existence," he says. "It is paramount that you persist and forge ahead. The essence lies within the teachings, and it is you who personifies them."
"Yes, old man," says Robinson.
"I regret to inform you that a bounty shall be placed upon your head. Alas, there exists not a single crevice in this realm where you may seek refuge. Henceforth, it is imperative that you depart from this kingdom with haste."
Robinson shakes his head. He thanks the old man. He cannot at this moment think of leaving the kingdom or think of not leaving it. He can think of nothing at all. He realizes that Kim is about to die and he cannot conceive of a world without the old man. Even in the years of their separation-----he knew that Kim was alive and this knowledge as much as anything else cemented his own life. Now that he realizes that this leaving will be unbearable. Still, perhaps, Kim is right. One must live for the teachings if not for oneself. Kim takes in another ragged gasp of air, the blood spot expanding on his chest, assuming the shape of a bird. A winged thing coming down his robes now, about to claim him.
"If fate had granted me a son," Kim says, "alas, all that I possess for him lies within this humble pouch. I beseech you, kindly accept it as my offering."
if fate had granted me a son, alas, all that I possess for him lies within this humble pouch." He reaches forward and takes Robinson's hand. "I beseech you, kindly accept it as my offering." The hand inside Robinson's is strong. Kim still has his ki. His ki will not desert him though life will. The old man takes in one more palpitating gasp, releases it, and lies still. The bird on his chest spreads. In death now his eyes seem to see and take the light.
Grief-stricken, Robinson gently removes the leather pouch from his dead master's shoulders. It is Kim's final gift to him given just like a father to a son. He lifts Kim's hand to his lips.
Slowly he arises. Fearful of the wrath of the King and, probably, that of the U.S.M.C. as well, the crowd has already dispersed. There is no one by the side of the road. Robinson looks at the dead priest for just a moment. Then he turns. He begins slowly to walk in the roadway.
Kim is right. In death, as in life, the old man's presence is there. It will always be there. You must go on, Kim is saying, if not for yourself, then for the teachings. Yes. He will go on then. He will go on to bring the old man pleasure if nothing else.
Leave the kingdom. Yes. He will have to leave the kingdom at once. He will have to walk that strange, wild space called America.
