—while in conversation with Rev. Tim Riss

There are those

who spend a lifetime

living inside a well.

The sky above them

is neither false

nor complete.

It is simply

the measure

their eyes have learned.

To know

the boundary of one’s vision

is already

the beginning of wisdom.

The tragedy

is not that we see too little,

but that we mistake

our little

for the whole.

We give

a single name

to a field of wildflowers,

yet each blossom

receives the morning differently,

each petal

remembers another rain,

each fragrance

carries an unrepeatable hymn.

We say,

“These are leaves,”

while every leaf

writes its own scripture

with light,

wind,

and time.

Who, then,

truly lives

inside the well?

The one enclosed by stone?

Or the one

who has traveled the world

yet believes

he has seen enough?

Both may stand

beneath the same heaven,

seeing only

what certainty permits.

I have learned

that peace does not begin

when one culture

judges another,

nor when one tradition

claims the higher ground.

Peace begins

when we hear

the violin

welcoming the bamboo flute,

when ink

bows before watercolor,

when mountains

share their silence

with the sea.

Nature has never argued

about superiority.

The forest

lets oak,

pine,

maple,

and wild grass

drink

from the same rain.

Beauty

does not erase difference.

It gathers differences

into harmony.

Perhaps

the Creator hid truth

like light

passing through stained glass—

one sun,

many colors,

none sufficient

without the others.

So I pray

not to escape the well,

nor to condemn it,

but to keep enlarging

the circle of wonder

until every flower,

every culture,

every human face,

becomes another window

through which

the infinite beauty of God

quietly enters.

— TaeHun Yoon

July 21, 2026

P.S. At one point, we reflected on the striking contrast between Donald Trump and St. Bernard — a vivid pairing of pride set against humility