Sin Cha Hong is alone on stage. She awakens beneath the tree, as if to indicate that she has always been there. There is no dialogue, only slow, affective movement, accompanied by a percussive score that would, in Beckett's words, "hold the terrible silence at bay." The shoes are manipulated like puppets, as is a large white coverlet which she tears off her bed and surrounds herself, resembling the placenta of a kitten at birth. There are ingenious, delicately-designed lighting images, as when the tree is projected as a shadow upon Sin Cha Hong's white gown. Overall, there is a feeling of beautiful solitude (implying, perhaps, that the path to enlightenment is a lonely one?) and of the many changes that happen to you while waiting--a journey from agony to laughter.