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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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
Fall
Cherries
Blossoms
Salad
Soup
Trees
Everywhere
Spring
Salads
Tree
Cherry
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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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Go 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.
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
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The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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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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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
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The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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