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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.
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
Water
Realization
True
Serve
Become
Mountain
Serene
Anything
Moved
Lake
May
Pure
Ripe
Like
Wind
Lakes
Consciousness
Medium
Clear
Mediums
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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
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Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
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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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April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
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When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
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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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Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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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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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
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The basis of art is change in the universe.
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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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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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