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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.

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
Collecting
River
Rivers
Rain
Water
May
Rains
Swift

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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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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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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
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Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
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The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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The desire to break the silence with constant human noise is, I believe, precisely an avoidance of the sacred terror of that divine encounter.
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Sabi is the color of haikai. It is different from tranquility. For example, if an old man dresses up in armor and helmet and goes to the battlefield, or in colorful brocade kimono, attending (his lord) at a banquet, [sabi] is like this old figure.
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Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
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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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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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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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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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The oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
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All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
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