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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.

Matsuo Basho

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Matsuo Basho
Age: 50 †
Born: 1644
Born: January 1
Died: 1694
Died: November 28
Artist
Poet
Writer
Vaxjo
Matsuo Basho
Bashō
Bashô
Basho
Matsuo Bashou
Wind
Sound
World
Colour
Solitude
Winter

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Make 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.
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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What is important is to keep our mind high in the world of true understanding, and returning to the world of our daily experience to seek therein the truth of beauty. No matter what we may be doing at a given moment, we must not forget that is has a bearing upon our everlasting self which is poetry.
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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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.
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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.
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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
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Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
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My body, now close to fifty years of age, has become an old tree that bears bitter peaches, a snail which has lost its shell, a bagworm separated from its bag it drifts with the winds and clouds that know no destination. Morning and night I have eaten traveler's fare, and have held out for alms a pilgrim's wallet.
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How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
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The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
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Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels
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Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.
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He who creates three to five haiku poems during a lifetime is a haiku poet. He who attains to completes ten is a master.
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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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