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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings

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
Wings
Incense
Butterfly

More quotes by Matsuo Basho

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the universe and its beings are a complementarity of empty infinity, intimate interrelationships, and total uniqueness of each and every being.
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Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
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April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
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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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Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
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No matter where your interest lies, you will not be able to accomplish anything unless you bring your deepest devotion to it.
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
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Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music
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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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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die
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Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
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The fact that Saigyo composed a poem that begins, I shall be unhappy without loneliness, shows that he made loneliness his master.
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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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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
Matsuo Basho