The box stood there—
small to others,
but to me
the first mountain.

I ran,
touched the edge,
failed—
and when it rose a little higher,
fear grew beyond measure.

So I turned away
and called it truth.

—

A quiet cloud followed—
standing just outside
every circle.

Others flew—
light as laughter.
I gathered inward,
hiding my joy.

—

So I found another way:

leading the smaller ones
into hills and creeks,
where no height
could refuse me.

My brother rose—
bright and certain.
We carried his light
like a lantern.

—

Then a door opened.

Numbers,
order,
a teacher who saw me—
and I rose again,
this time within.

Yet I turned inward—
silent days,
small songs,
a hidden voice.

Books came.
Sight dimmed,
then deepened.

From Goldmund
to Demian,
from thought
to faith.

I began to see—
within,
and beyond.

—

Loneliness changed.
It became a movement,
a quiet dance
of awareness.

History opened—
not in events,
but beneath them:

an unfinished journey,
justice and peace
as breath.

Many names—
one life.

—

Years passed.
Understanding thinned,
then returned
as freedom—

into language.

Words rose
from the core,
unbound.

—

And slowly—

everything opened.

Each moment
widened
into eternity.

—

I stood—
without fear.

The mountain
was no more.

The child
no longer turned away.

And the first wound
became
a doorway.

—

Free.

– TaeHun Yoon, 3/27/2026