Why do people love flowers?
Perhaps because flowers do not wear uniforms.
Each appears as itself,
anywhere, anytime—last year or this year—
and quietly—
shows us
what the Creator’s heart might look like
when it is not trying to dominate.
Mix religion and politics,
and neither faith nor order remains.
They rot. Not like lights
Like paint colors mix open too long,
they eventually turn pitch-black.
And yet sometimes,
the two find each other again,
draw close,
link sleeves,
and pretend they were one body
from the beginning.
The lotus knows this.
That it will not grow
unless the mud has rotted enough.
That it must wait
until decay has passed through.
All night it sets the table,
places the food low,
and kneels where no one sees.
It releases heart-piercing scents
three times,
fills the cup,
pours again,
and pours once more.
Then it rises
and bows three and a half times—
because grief
never ends cleanly.
People gather.
They eat.
They stay awake through the night,
telling stories of the one
who crossed the river first.
It is a sorrowful night.
But it is also a gentle night.
Love begins there,
and so
a single flower blooms.
Stories bloom
of more than five thousand Ukrainian soldiers
who crossed a river
from which there is no return—
into fields that answer only with death.
Stories bloom
of bodies pushing back,
with all the strength they have,
against an empire pressing forward.
Korea knows this too.
Jeju still remembers
the uniforms
that knocked on every door.
Minneapolis
knows that sound as well.
And so the old heart of Gwangju
has found new ground
and is blooming again,
this time
far from home.
Look at the lotus root—
buried deep in foul-smelling mud,
standing straight
like a promise that does not explain itself.
It lifts its stalk,
opens a single leaf
like a great umbrella,
and stands beneath the rain
of forced unity and violence—
the rain poured down
by the most brutal power on this planet—
and it blooms.
One single flower.
Ten million colors.
Without any declaration.
It simply opens toward the sky,
and ten million people,
without asking why,
come to love it quietly.
— Yoon Tae-Hun
February 6, 2026










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