By Ailsa Ross
Jack Kerouac's novel, The Dharma Bums, is so full of sweet words and joy that every line I read made me want to jump out of my window, go climb a mountain and pray. Kerouac never gave a 'goddamn about the mythology and all the names' of Buddhism, he just sat cross-legged in the Californian wilds, meditating in peace. Which sounded just fine to me, but I was in Seoul, surrounded by over fifty Buddhist temples. This could be my only chance to hear someone talk about Kharma, without wanting to ridicule.
So this January, I went to a city temple named Myogaksa on a two day programme...
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