Quote

No matter where your interest lies, you will not be able to accomplish anything unless you bring your deepest devotion to it.

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
Interest
Deepest
Anything
Devotion
Able
Accomplish
Matter
Lies
Unless
Bring
Passion
Lying

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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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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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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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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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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.
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
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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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Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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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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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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