Deep in the middle of the Korean mountains
Spirits like smoke are rising up.
Under a fearsome phosphorescence
A living being is trying to move.

Mourning and repentance is spilling out on the earth
Groanings of appeal are reaching out to heaven, and
Tears flowing ceaselessly make me forget who I am.
This is the place, Chung Pyung.

Cold, cold water cleanses my dirty flesh
Cutting deep like a flaming sword.
My sins and sinful past are sawed off
By the claps of bleeding palms.
This is the spiritual battlefield,
A white battleground, against my old self.

My two eyes stare at the unseeable enemies within myself
And aim at them with an angels spear.
It is an extremely gruesome and tense battlefield, but
I wish not to bequeath defects to my descendants.

Only a repenting spirit who is willing to suffer
Will survive on the frontline of the all out offensive.
I am standing on that field today
This might be the new seat of mercy
Chung Pyung Holy Ground.

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