겉과 속

정체를 알 수 없는 한 사람이 강도들을 만난다.

피해자는 한명이고 가해자는 여러명이다.

같은 길을 걸어가는 사람중 2명은 피햐여 지나간다.

가까이 가보지도 않았고 그 사람보단 자신의 안전을 더 중요시 여겼다.

그 사람은 우선 자신이 가던 길을 멈추웠고 방향을 바꾸었다.

내 스케줄이 바쁘다고 주위 사람 무시하고 그냥 지나가기 바쁜데 

그 사람은 잠시 멈추워 주위를 둘러 볼 수 있는 여유가 있었던 사람이었다.  

보고 측은한 마음이 들었다.

그 사람을 보는 것.

Half dead.

One says "glass is half full,"

another says "glass is half empty."

Is he alive or dead?

The priest saw him as dead but the samaritan saw him as live person.

See people as they are.

그 사람의 상처를 통해 내 상처가 보이는 것이 compassion이다.

그 사람의 아픔을 나의 아픔처럼 느끼고 고통을 나누는 것이다.

For this samaritan, compassion was not a simple feeling but an concrete action.  

To feel compassion is to take action to heal.

To feel compassion is to make a contact with neighbor's wounds.

To feel compassion is to touch what I consider sordid.

To feel compassion is to share my goods.

To feel compassion is to look after its completion.

To feel compassion is to show mercy.

To feel is to act.

Feeling without any proper action is meaningless and unnecessary.

For some, they do not want to feel because they do not want to act.

They do not want to act because they are indifferent and lazy.

They are indifferent and lazy because there is no room for love in their heart.

To take action, one must, first, fill its heart with lovingkindness.

Love, compassion, mercy starts with seeing.

"Give me the Splendid, Silent Sun"

1

GIVE me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling; 

Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard; 

Give me a field where the unmow’d grass grows; 

Give me an arbor, give me the trellis’d grape; 

Give me fresh corn and wheat—give me serene-moving animals, teaching content; 

Give me nights perfectly quiet, as on high plateaus west of the Mississippi, and I looking up at the stars; 

Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers, where I can walk undisturb’d; 

Give me for marriage a sweet-breath’d woman, of whom I should never tire; 

Give me a perfect child—give me, away, aside from the noise of the world, a rural, domestic life; 

Give me to warble spontaneous songs, reliev’d, recluse by myself, for my own ears only; 

Give me solitude—give me Nature—give me again, O Nature, your primal sanities! 

—These, demanding to have them, (tired with ceaseless excitement, and rack’d by the war-strife;) 

These to procure, incessantly asking, rising in cries from my heart, 

While yet incessantly asking, still I adhere to my city; 

Day upon day, and year upon year, O city, walking your streets, 15

Where you hold me enchain’d a certain time, refusing to give me up; 

Yet giving to make me glutted, enrich’d of soul—you give me forever faces; 

(O I see what I sought to escape, confronting, reversing my cries; 

I see my own soul trampling down what it ask’d for.) 

2

Keep your splendid, silent sun; 

Keep your woods, O Nature, and the quiet places by the woods; 

Keep your fields of clover and timothy, and your corn-fields and orchards; 

Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields, where the Ninth-month bees hum; 

Give me faces and streets! give me these phantoms incessant and endless along the trottoirs! 

Give me interminable eyes! give me women! give me comrades and lovers by the thousand! 

Let me see new ones every day! let me hold new ones by the hand every day! 

Give me such shows! give me the streets of Manhattan! 

Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching—give me the sound of the trumpets and drums! 

(The soldiers in companies or regiments—some, starting away, flush’d and reckless; 

Some, their time up, returning, with thinn’d ranks—young, yet very old, worn, marching, noticing nothing;) 

—Give me the shores and the wharves heavy-fringed with the black ships! 

O such for me! O an intense life! O full to repletion, and varied! 

The life of the theatre, bar-room, huge hotel, for me! 

The saloon of the steamer! the crowded excursion for me! the torch-light procession! 

The dense brigade, bound for the war, with high piled military wagons following; 

People, endless, streaming, with strong voices, passions, pageants; 

Manhattan streets, with their powerful throbs, with the beating drums, as now;

The endless and noisy chorus, the rustle and clank of muskets, (even the sight of the wounded;) 

Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus—with varied chorus, and light of the sparkling eyes; 

Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.