Witch Mountain
by Andy Salmon
Journal of the American Chamber of Commerce in Korea
January - February 2001Forget Harry Potter--this is the real thing. Hidden on a Seoul mountain side, lies a living remnant of Korea's pagan past: a village where observers can catch glimpses of ancient rituals, and where believers can participate in ceremonies which move beyond the curious and into the realm of the frightening.
Seoul. Endless crowds, endless traffic, endless lines of faceless apartment buildings marching towards dull horizons. Seoul. The occasional remaining oases of antiquity - Insadong, the Palaces, the City Gates -are the only signs that this relentlessly modem metropolis is the capital of a people with a heritage dating back to well before the birth of Christ. Seoul.
However, there is at least one area remaining where some of the most fascinating aspects of Korea's hidden folk heritage still exist; an area of which few locals -and even fewer expats -are aware. Astonishingly, it is a mere 5-minute subway ride from the city center, on the slopes of Inwhangsan (Mt Inwhang).
Take the subway to Tongnimun (Independence Gate) and leave by Exit l or 2. Walk upwards, through the alleys past the Golf Practice Range. You will find yourself in steep streets lined with shabby walk-up villas: cracked windows, stained walls and littered sidewalks. Keep on; after 300 meters, you will leave the modem section behind, and walk under a chipped and faded traditional arch. Beyond lies a dirt parking lot--and beyond is our destination.
It is a small village, a dozen or so traditional houses. Let's wander in: between the houses are crooked alleys, set on several levels: this is a village built on a mountain slope. Some houses are scruffy and faded; others are well-to-do, with large windows and electronic items visible inside. An open gate offers a view into a courtyard, with a brace of fine chindos chained up behind a huddle of kimchi pots. Temples seem to abound: the swastika symbol is ubiquitous, and iconography is Buddhist. Incongruously, a poster for the US shock-movie "Scream" glares from a window -or perhaps not so incongruously. The inhabitants of this village make their living in an ancient profession which only the chosen few can work in: this is a settlement of mudangs -the shamans who mediate between the world of the living and the world of the spirits.
The mudang is one--as in Europe, usually a woman--blessed with supernatural insight. The style of shamanism extant in Seoul is the Northern tradition, believed to be related to Chinese Taoism and Japanese Shintoism. Mudangs in this tradition do not inherit their gifts, but are believed to be possessed by spirits. This can be an unnerving spectacle: Stephen Roney, a Canadian scholar and Tour Guide, once observed a mudang in a state of possession: She was moving like a marionette without strings" he recalls. The possessing spirit originally manifests itself by causing an incurable illness: only by seeking the advice of a mudang and thus recognizing the cause of the problem, can a spiritual, rather than physical, cure be effected. The older mudang will then take the younger under his/her wing and indoctrinate him/her in spiritual lore. The mnemonic poems mudangs chant are believed to date back to pre-history.Nowadays, mudangs (there are estimated to be 10,000 nationwide) make their livings telling fortunes, performing 'kut' (shamanist ceremonies) for good luck and exorcising ghosts. A common task is placating wandering souls. Many spirits crave what they enjoyed on earth -such as food or drink. This explains why Koreans offer food and drink at their ancestors' graves. In China, "hungry ghosts" are fed in a similar ritual: those mortals who subsequently eat the food offered to ghosts complain that it is tasteless -the spirits have consumed all the flavor! An unmarried person who dies may crave love, becoming a "Virgin Ghost"; thus mudangs may be hired to perform a spiritual wedding (these ceremonies were common after recent Korean air crashes).
The most dangerous task a mudang can perform is to rescue a spirit lost in hell. Very few mudangs claim to be able to do this. "What happens is surviving family members will have nightmares in which the ghost implores help" says Roney. " A mudang will be hired. The mudang goes into a trance and journeys to hell to guide the spirit out. If the process is successful, family members will be able to sleep in peace. However, this practice can be extremely hazardous to the mudang's sanity."
At the center of the village is a wizened, twisted tree, adorned with ribbons and with a number of offerings--frozen bottles of Makkoli --at it's feet. This is the Spirit Tree, and behind is a small temple. The temple appears to hold Buddhist artifacts--but this temple is affiliated with no Buddhist order in the nation, and the images within are not typical Bohdistavas, but the Navigators who carry lost souls across the Sea of Death. On Inwhangsan, the older shamanist traditions have merged seamlessly with the imported beliefs of Buddhism. It is here very year, at Kuksadang, the national mudang shrine, that mudangs from South, East and West gather to pray to the gods for national prosperity.Walking further up the path leading out of the village will bring you to a narrow gully with a creek along the bottom; at the end is a dark, cave-like entrance, faced with concrete. It looks like a door, and in a sense it is: this is the "Vagina of the Earth Mother" a place of great pagan significance. Within, is a pool of clear water, reflecting the bumming candles placed at the entrance. In a small metal altar next to it are more white candles and incense sticks, placed there by the women who every evening come to pray at this auspicious place. This scene--the praying women, the candles and incense sticks, the dark water--forms a mysterious and atmospheric tableau.
Continuing up the steps to the left, you come to a path leading up to Son Bawui--the Zen Stones. They come into sight as you ascend the flight: two standing stones, the rock formation of which looks totally out of character with the rest of the landscape; dark, grooved and pitted, appearing almost volcanic. The reason for their name is obvious. In shape and appearance, they resemble cowled monks kneeling at prayer. Or maybe lost souls caught in torment? The grooves in their surfaces resemble a tortured face as much as the folds of a robe. In front of the stones is a small prayer platform, with offerings--flowers, candles, bottles, colored ribbons--set out. Kneeling in front of the stones is an ajummah, dressed in the de-rigeur mountain boots and track suit--and with a traditional Buddhist rosary around her neck.Walk up past the stones, turn around and -what a view! Seoul lies at your feet, lights stretching away into the distance. Directly below are the grim watchtowers of Sodaemun Prison where "Korea's Joan of Arc", the teenage patriot Ryu Kwan-soon, spent her final hours before being killed by the Japanese. In later years, the prison would accommodate another well-known guest, one whose story did not end so tragically -he currently resides on the other side of this mountain, in the Blue House.
Turning back to the mountain though, the centuries slip away: candles and bright ribbons--similar to Tibetan prayer flags--are set in the hollows, flickering eerily in the night winds. The only sounds are the ghostly wind chimes drifting up from the temples below. You soon arrive at a small hermitage: on the wall is painted a tiger -and indeed, in 1968, the last sign of a tiger in South Korea--it's spoor -was discovered on this mountain. Now the slopes are occupied by the tigers' smaller cousins: a colony of black cats are fitting companions for a village of witches and wizards. It is on the bare slopes beyond and to the left of this hermitage that you are most likely to come across a kut in progress.
The peak is sinister for different reasons--like most Seoul summits, it houses a detachment of troops awaiting an enemy more tangible than the spirits lurking below. The post appears to incorporate the defenses of the ancient city walls; some remain, and an attempt (frankly unconvincing) has been made to restore them. A curious tale is told of these walls. When Taejo, founder of the Choson Dynasty (1392-1910) was planning Seoul's defenses, his Buddhist advisor recommended including the Zen Stones within the walls--or the city would fall to an invader. This proved tactically impractical, so the stones remained without. In 1592, true to the prediction--exactly 200 years after the establishment of the dynasty--Seoul fell to Hideyoshi's samurai. And this vicinity has seen violent combat in more recent times: it was near here, in 1968, that North Korean commandos made their final rendezvous before launching a suicide attack on the Blue House.
Walking back down through the village as darkness falls is evocative: the warm lights under the mushroom roofs give an impression of what Seoul must have looked like a century ago--until, after passing under the arch, you return to the modern world. But even modern Seoulites surprise with their superstitious beliefs. When this writer returned from his first trip to Inwhangsan, his wife--a very modern woman, educated in the UK--berated him for returning directly home, where the spirits could have infected his baby daughter!
Believable? Who knows? A salient perspective comes from J Scott Burgesson of BUG magazine who writes on the subject of shamanism: "...placing your faith in the stock market or a politician is equally superstitious." Either way, there can be few cities in the world where such ancient beliefs thrive in such close proximity to the high-rise apartment blocks of the modern age.But then that's Inwhangsan--Seoul's Witch Mountain.
Andy Salmon is AMCHAM Publications Manager. The assistance of Stephen Roney is gratefully acknowledged.