📖 INTRODUCTION
Many artists spend their entire lives searching for inspiration.
Musicians seek deeper expression.
Performers seek genuine connection.
And creative people often devote themselves to mastering their craft.
Yet even after achieving success, many discover that technical excellence alone cannot bring lasting fulfillment.
This meditation testimonial shares the story of Young-tae S., a Korean traditional percussion performer who appeared in major productions including the 2002 FIFA Korea-Japan World Cup Opening Ceremony, the 2001 Beijing Universiade Closing Ceremony, and the hit drama Horse Doctor.
Although he performed on some of Korea’s biggest stages, there came a time when he could no longer find joy in music itself.
Through the meditation method taught by Master Woo Myung, he rediscovered not only the true spirit of Korean traditional music but also the deeper meaning of shinmyeong—the profound joy, vitality, and spiritual energy that naturally arises when the mind becomes empty.
This meditation testimonial beautifully illustrates how true artistry emerges when we stop performing for ourselves and become one with something greater.
💬 MEDITATION TESTIMONIAL: “SHINMYEONG IS WHAT NATURALLY APPEARS WHEN YOU COMPLETELY EMPTY YOURSELF”
By Young-tae S. | Traditional Korean Musician
Whenever I begin a performance, I often tell the audience this story:
“Long ago, when people hunted animals and later felt sorrow, they made drums from animal hide to comfort that sadness.”
“The sound of the drum resembles the human heartbeat.”
“Sometimes the heart beats calmly. Sometimes it races.”
“Throughout life, every person is creating their own rhythm.”
As people listen, I hope they not only enjoy the music but also listen to the rhythm of their own hearts.
And when audience members later tell me:
“I arrived feeling burdened and exhausted, but now I feel lighter and refreshed,”
I feel the deepest fulfillment.
But my journey into traditional music began very differently.
🎤 I ORIGINALLY DREAMED OF BECOMING A SINGER
As a child, I loved singing.
I loved the feeling of expressing something hidden deep inside myself.
But my family struggled financially.
Professional music lessons were impossible.
Instead, I entered a maritime university that offered financial support.
Life there felt rigid and structured.
Every morning began with roll call.
Uniforms.
Discipline.
Routine.
Then one day, I followed a friend to a university music gathering.
And everything changed.
For the first time, I experienced Korean traditional music.
Young people my age were performing:
• Pansori
• Folk songs
• Pungmul percussion
The freedom.
The energy.
The spirit.
It felt like a cultural shock.
From that day forward, I immersed myself in traditional music.
And eventually, I fell completely in love with it.
🌎 PERFORMING ON THE BIGGEST STAGES
I officially began my professional career in 1999.
Soon I was performing throughout Korea and internationally.
Among all my performances, one remains unforgettable.
The opening ceremony of the 2002 FIFA Korea-Japan World Cup.
Suspended high above the stadium while striking a giant drum, I heard tens of thousands of people cheering below.
The sound.
The energy.
The emotion.
It sent chills throughout my body.
After that, performance opportunities multiplied.
My schedule became busier than ever.
From the outside, it looked like success.
But internally, something was changing.
And not for the better.
😔 THE MORE SUCCESS I HAD, THE LESS HAPPY I BECAME
When I first entered traditional music, I carried passion and purpose.
But over time, reality felt increasingly different.
Many performances felt more like commercial entertainment events than meaningful artistic experiences.
The gap between my ideals and reality grew larger.
People around me said:
“You must be so happy.”
“You’re performing everywhere.”
“You’re becoming successful.”
But I felt increasingly empty.
Eventually, I lost sight of why I had started making music at all.
I even became uncomfortable looking into the audience’s eyes.
The stage that once brought joy began creating fear.
That was when my wife encouraged me to try meditation.
🪞 I DISCOVERED WHAT I HAD REALLY BEEN CHASING
As I practiced meditation, I realized something difficult to admit.
The pure love I once had for music had slowly become mixed with ambition.
Because I had not formally majored in traditional music, I carried an inferiority complex.
I constantly felt the need to prove myself.
To study more.
To work harder.
To gain recognition.
I became attached to:
• Fame
• Recognition
• Influence
• Status
Instead of asking:
“How can I genuinely convey this rhythm and spirit?”
I was unconsciously asking:
“How can I become more successful?”
Meditation helped me see that clearly.
And as I let go of those thoughts one by one, something extraordinary happened.
✨ “THE UNIVERSE ITSELF WAS ORIGINALLY ME”
One day, during meditation, I experienced a profound realization.
It felt as though the boundaries separating myself from the universe disappeared.
I realized:
The universe itself was originally me.
And at that moment, an overwhelming joy rose from deep within.
A joy unlike anything I had experienced through applause, success, or recognition.
I understood something I had never understood before.
The original nature of the universe is naturally filled with shinmyeong.
True shinmyeong is not something we create.
It is something that naturally appears when false minds disappear.
🥁 THE TRUE SPIRIT OF MUSIC IS ONENESS
The purpose of my opening drum performance is simple.
To unite people’s hearts.
Whether someone’s heart is calm or troubled.
Whether they feel joy or sorrow.
For one brief moment, I hope the rhythm of the drum allows everyone to become one.
Through meditation, I realized this is the true essence of Korean traditional music.
True shinmyeong becomes possible only when the self disappears.
Only then can the original power of music naturally reveal itself.
Only then can sound move directly from heart to heart.
🌿 WHY THE EMPTINESS ALWAYS RETURNED
Meditation also helped me understand why I often felt empty after performances.
The harder I tried to stand out.
The harder I tried to impress people.
The more disconnected I became from the original spirit of music.
The emptiness was not caused by performing.
It was caused by performing for myself.
Once I understood that, my relationship with music changed completely.
Instead of focusing on my own success, I began focusing on harmony.
On connection.
On serving the audience.
On becoming one with the entire performance.
💙 MUSIC THAT COMFORTS PEOPLE’S HEARTS
These days, whenever I stand on stage, I often think about the audience.
I can feel their struggles.
Their worries.
Their hidden wounds.
And I realize my role is not merely to perform.
My role is to comfort hearts.
The word pungmul literally refers to objects that create wind.
As rhythm and sound move outward, they become like flower petals carried by the wind.
Softly sweeping away worries.
Gently easing burdens.
Bringing people together.
Once I understood that principle, performing became joyful again.
🥁 SOUNDING THE DRUM OF VICTORY
Long ago, drums announced victory after battle.
Today, I hope people can experience a different kind of victory.
The victory that comes after overcoming fear.
Attachment.
Pride.
And the false mind.
Through meditation, I rediscovered the true spirit of Korean traditional music.
I rediscovered genuine shinmyeong.
And I hope to continue creating drum sounds that bring comfort, joy, and healing to others.
So that together, we may all sound the drum of victory after overcoming the battles within ourselves.
Doo-doong~!
