"Hello, I'm Dokgeo-norin, which means someone who has fun living alone.".
The Reed's Meditation, a Rustling Monologue
Prologue
You say that I am empty inside, but it is with that empty space that I embrace the entire world.
I am a reed. My name is always preceded by modifiers like 'fickle' or 'swaying.' Humans see me and think of a changeable heart; they compare me to people who are easily swayed. It is an interesting observation, but it is half right and half wrong. I sway. Yes. But that is my choice. My hollow core, my flexible waist, is the optimal structure for fully accepting all the voices and forces of the world. What is rigid is bound to break. Look at that arrogant oak tree over there. He always boasted of his steadfastness, but his trunk snapped in the last typhoon. I danced like mad in that storm, and now I stand here, perfectly fine, looking down upon his remains. The world speaks to me without end. With the whispers of the wind, with the heat of the sun, with the chirping of the birds. I let all of it pass through my hollow core and answer the world with my own rustling. This story is a record of my rustling. It is a reflection on those that survive without breaking, and a hymn to the paradox of being full because one is empty.
(Episode 1) The Wind, My First Conversation Partner
Today again, the chatterbox philosopher named 'Wind' came to visit. Without any fixed form, he roams the world and whispers to me the things he has seen and heard. Today, he brought a bundle of stories: the arrogant complaints of an oak tree beyond the western mountain, and the small love stories of the fish at the eastern river mouth. "Hey, Reed. I've brought some very cold news from the north today. They say a hard frost is coming soon. A skinny fellow like you had better be careful." The Wind tickled my waist mischievously and laughed. I do not resist his words. I just surrender my body to his guidance. When I sway to the right, my companions next to me also sway to the right. We, tens of thousands, hundreds of millions of 'I's, gather to become one giant 'we.' To the questions the wind asks us, we answer with a great wave, a majestic dance. Humans call this 'having no backbone,' but I call it 'empathy.' In the wind's sorrow, we weep together; in the wind's joy, we sing together. We are different from the trees in the forest, who stand stiffly, trying only to voice their own opinions. When the wind blows, they create dissonance as their leaves clash, but we create a single sound, a peaceful harmony of 'shwaaa-.' The wind asks me, "Why don't you raise your own voice?" I rustle in reply. "This is my voice. To listen to your voice, and to move with you. To sing the same song with countless others. This is the way of the reed." The Wind nods as if he understands and briskly departs. He will wander the world forever, until he hears a wiser answer.
My Thoughts!
True communication begins not with asserting my own argument, but with willingly being swayed by (empathizing with) the other's story. When you lower yourself and listen attentively (kyung-chung), you can hear the greater voice of the world.
