black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.

Matsuo Basho

The desire to break the silence with constant human noise is, I believe, precisely an avoidance of the sacred terror of that divine encounter.
MATSUO BASHO

Avoid Believe Break Desire Divine Human Myself Noise Silence Sound
Go to the object. Leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Do not impose yourself on the object. Become one with the object. Plunge deep enough into the object to see something like a hidden glimmering there.
MATSUO BASHO

Deep Enough Gide Leaving Object Subject Yourself
Learn the rules, and then forget them.
MATSUO BASHO

Forget Inspirational Learning Rule
Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
MATSUO BASHO

Enough Hide Order See
With every gust of wind, the butterfly changes its place on the willow.
MATSUO BASHO

Butterfly Change Mindset Place
Old pond, leap-splash – a frog.
MATSUO BASHO

Frog Old
The haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of.
MATSUO BASHO

Goodness Hide Mystery Poem Reveal
He who creates three to five haiku poems during a lifetime is a haiku poet. He who attains to completes ten is a master.
MATSUO BASHO

Creation Life Master Poem Poet Time Writing
When your consciousness has become ripe in true zazen-pure like clear water, like a serene mountain lake, not moved by any wind-then anything may serve as a medium for realization.
MATSUO BASHO

Clear Conscious Purity Realize Service Water Yourself
Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps’ nest.
MATSUO BASHO

Home Insect Rain Spring
When composing a verse let there not be a hair’s breath separating your mind from what you write; composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.
MATSUO BASHO

Breathe Compose Dangerous Enemy Fall Hairs Mindset Tree Writing
I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
MATSUO BASHO

Eat Fast Glory Morning Myself
This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.
MATSUO BASHO

Autumn Disappear Growth Myself Old
The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
MATSUO BASHO

Animal Call Darkness Sea White Wild
When I speak My lips feel cold – The autumn wind.
MATSUO BASHO

Autumn Cold Feeling Lips Myself Talk Voice Wind
April’s air stirs in Willow-leaves, a butterfly Floats and balances.
MATSUO BASHO

Balance Butterfly Leaves

A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.

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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.

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