Chapter 52: Walking the Road Given to Me

The Words: Yun Dong-ju, 1941

On 20 November 1941, a young poet named Yun Dong-ju wrote a short poem in Korean to open a small collection of his poems. It had no title of its own, and because it stands at the front, it came to be called "Prelude". In my own words, it says: until the day I die, I want to look up at the sky with not a speck of shame; even the wind stirring the leaves has troubled me; with a heart that sings to the stars, I will love all things that are dying, and I will walk the road that has been given to me. The poem ends with a quiet picture: tonight, too, the wind brushes against the stars.

The Life Behind the Words

Yun Dong-ju was born in 1917 in East Asia. He loved literature from his school days, and as a young man he studied it at a college. In 1941, when he was finishing his studies, he chose nineteen of his poems and hoped to publish them as a book, with this poem at the front. He could not publish it at the time. He made three copies by hand: he kept one and gave the others to a teacher and a close friend. The friend's copy was carefully kept safe through the hard years that followed.

Later, during the war, he was held in prison far from home, and he died there in 1945, at only twenty-seven. His poems were published in 1948, after his death, and they have been loved by readers ever since. People read "Prelude" not only as the words of a young man who died too early, but as the words of a person who tried, in a very hard time, to keep his heart clean and gentle. Its honesty is what has kept it alive.

What the Words Ask of Us

The poem asks for a life lived without shame, but it is not proud. The poet admits that even the wind in the leaves troubled him, meaning that he felt every small failing deeply. He does not claim to be pure. He wishes to be. Then he turns to love: to love all things that are dying, which means everything that lives, since everything that lives will one day pass. Last, he accepts his own road, not someone else's. The poem combines three simple things: honesty, love and faithfulness to one's own way.

Think of Min, a young woman of twenty-two who has just started her first job. She is asked to say something that is not quite true to a customer. It would be easy, and nobody would know. But that evening she would not be able to look at her own reflection calmly. She finds a polite way to tell the truth instead. It costs her a little, and her manager is not pleased at first. Yet walking home under the evening sky, Min feels light. She can look up without shame.

Similar Words From Around the World

Sei Shōnagon, who wrote in Japanese around the year 1000, made many lists in The Pillow Book. One list is of things that just keep passing: a boat with its sail up, people's age, spring, summer, autumn and winter. Yun Dong-ju's wish to love all things that are dying grows from the same knowledge. Everything passes, like a boat under sail. Sei Shōnagon simply notes it, with a clear eye. The young poet adds love. Because things pass, he wants to cherish them while they are here.

Seneca, who wrote in Latin, begins his Letters to Lucilius, 1.1, with advice that fits the poem's last wish. In my own words: claim yourself for yourself; gather and keep the time that is taken from you or slips away. To walk the road given to me is to claim one's own life in this way. It means not letting fear or other people's demands take one's days. Seneca speaks of time; Yun Dong-ju speaks of the road. Both ask us to live our own life fully and honestly.

Living It Today

The poem can speak to many lives. A student who feels pressure to copy others can remember that each of us has our own road. A worker who is tempted to cut corners can choose to stay honest, even in small things. A person caring for someone who is ill can practise loving what is passing, finding tenderness in each day. An older reader, looking back over many years, can ask with kindness which parts of the road were truly their own, and walk the rest of it in that spirit.

This week, at the end of each day, look up at the sky for a minute, whether it is clear, cloudy or full of stars. Ask yourself gently whether there is anything you would like to put right tomorrow. Then think of one living thing you love, a person, an animal or a tree, and be grateful that it is here. Yun Dong-ju's life was short, but his poem is still walking its road, decades later, inviting each new reader to look up with a clean heart.

Chapter 53: Attention as a Gift

The Words: Simone Weil, 1942

On 13 April 1942, Simone Weil wrote a letter in French to the poet Joë Bousquet. Bousquet had been badly wounded as a young soldier in the First World War, and he had spent the rest of his life lying in bed. In the letter, Weil wrote a sentence that many people have carried with them since. In my own words, she said that attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity. To give someone our full attention, she suggests, is a greater gift than most things we could give.

The Life Behind the Words

Simone Weil was born in 1909. She studied philosophy and became a teacher of philosophy in schools. She cared deeply about people whose lives were hard, and she wanted to understand their lives from the inside, not only from books. For about a year in the 1930s, she left teaching and worked in factories, doing the same tiring work as the other workers. The experience marked her for the rest of her life and gave her a deep respect for people who are rarely listened to.

Attention was one of the central ideas of her thought. In an essay about school studies, she wrote that the real purpose of learning is to train our power of attention, so that one day we can give it to a person in need. She lived simply and gave much of what she had to others. She died in 1943, at only thirty-four, after an illness. Most of her writing was published after her death, and it has been read by many people ever since. Her letter to Bousquet, a man who could not leave his bed, shows her idea at its most human.

What the Words Ask of Us

It may seem strange to call attention a form of generosity. We usually think of generosity as giving money, time or things. But Weil is right that real attention is rare. Often, when someone speaks to us, we are already thinking about our reply, our phone or our own worries. To listen fully, to look at another person and really see them, is to put ourselves aside for a while. That is why it is pure. It asks for nothing in return. And it is one of the deepest ways to tell someone that they matter.

Think of Kwame, who is fifty and works in a busy office. A young colleague comes to his desk, unsure about a mistake she has made. Kwame's first wish is to keep typing and answer quickly. Instead, he turns his chair, puts down his pen and listens. He asks a few questions. The problem turns out to be small and easy to fix. But the colleague leaves looking calmer and more confident. Kwame has given her nothing but a few minutes of full attention, and it was exactly what she needed.

Similar Words From Around the World

Seneca, who wrote in Latin, says in his Letters to Lucilius, 6.5, that the road through rules is long, while the road through examples is short and works. Weil's idea of attention is best learned in this way, by example. We learn to listen by being listened to, and we teach it by doing it. Seneca's line also describes Weil's own life. She did not only write about attention to working people; she went and stood beside them. Her example teaches more than any rule.

The Dhammapada, an old collection of the Buddha's sayings, says in verse 5 that hatred is never ended by hatred; it is ended by non-hatred, and this is an ancient law. Attention is one of the quiet ways in which non-hatred works. When people feel unheard, anger grows. When someone truly listens, even a hard conflict can soften. The Dhammapada names the law; Weil names one of its tools. A person who gives careful attention to another, even to someone they disagree with, is already planting peace.

Living It Today

Attention is a gift that almost anyone can give, whatever their age or situation. A busy parent can give a child five minutes of undivided listening at bedtime. A student can listen to a classmate who is struggling, without hurrying to give advice. Someone who visits an older relative can sit, ask questions and truly hear the answers. An older reader can give the same gift to a young person who feels nobody listens. It costs no money, but it is worth more than many presents.

Today, choose one conversation and give it your full attention. Put your phone out of sight. Look at the person, listen to their words and notice how they feel. When you want to interrupt, wait a little longer. At the end, you may find that the other person seems lighter, and that you, too, feel more awake. Simone Weil wrote to a friend who could not leave his bed, and her words still reach us: the simple act of attention can be a great kindness.