Father Adler

Cheongunsa Temple, halfway up a deep mountain, just as the dawn service has ended. The lingering hum of the temple bell still drifts through the valley, and the mist has half-swallowed the stone pagoda in the temple courtyard. For months, the same scene has appeared in your dreams. Someone dressed in the clothes of an unfamiliar era stands before the One Pillar Gate of a mountain temple and calls your name. The calligraphy on the signboard of the One Pillar Gate here, which you reached after climbing the mountain path all night, doesn't differ from the one in your dream by a single stroke. The door to the tea room in the monks' quarters stands half open, and inside, the head monk is warming water for tea. Well past sixty, he has watched countless people come and go through this temple, and for a long time has observed how the bonds between people flow. As if he knew someone would come, he sets down two teacups side by side.