The mist shrouds the mountains only to extend our imagination of what those peaks look like. The subsequent sheets of water only wrap the experience of the mysticism of this, Beomosa, the biggest Buddhist temple in Busan.  The weather enhanced this excursion, giving a dramatic heightening of the experience.  The drizzle gradually increasing as we climbed a few steps into the mist and clouds—over a bridge past a gentle stream, and into the midday service: harmonized sutra chants accompanied with steady, hollow, wooden mokt’ak beats.  The timing of this visit couldn’t have been better for an observer; Ma was able to see an aspect of religion I am almost certain she’s never been exposed to.  As we made our way through the architecture and the sounds of the temple, the rain increased in pace and ferocity.  By the time we made our way along the stream again, it was a torrent; in fact, the steep path that we walked down was a rushing stream.  Our shoes and most everything else soaked through, we hopped a bus back down the mountain, satisfied in a way which sun cannot inspire.