Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
MATSUO BASHOWinter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
MATSUO BASHOBefore enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
MATSUO BASHOAround existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
MATSUO BASHOWinter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
MATSUO BASHOCalm and serene The sound of a cicada Penetrates the rock.
MATSUO BASHOA flute with no holes is not a flute.
MATSUO BASHOThe temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
MATSUO BASHOLearn the rules, and then forget them.
MATSUO BASHOLearn how to listen as things speak for themselves.
MATSUO BASHOMake the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things-mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.
MATSUO BASHOOn a bare branch a crow is perched – autumn evening.
MATSUO BASHOCome, see the true flowers of this pained world.
MATSUO BASHOGo to the pine if you want to learn about the pine, or to the bamboo if you want to learn about the bamboo. And in doing so, you must leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Otherwise you impose yourself on the object and you do not learn.
MATSUO BASHOTraveler’s heart. Never settled long in one place. Like a portable fire.
MATSUO BASHOHow I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
MATSUO BASHOAn autumn night – don’t think your life didn’t matter.
MATSUO BASHO