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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
Like
Wind
Lakes
Consciousness
Medium
Clear
Mediums
Water
Realization
True
Serve
Become
Mountain
Serene
Anything
Moved
Lake
May
Pure
Ripe
More quotes by Matsuo Basho
The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
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Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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The haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of.
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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
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Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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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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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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The oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
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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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Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
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When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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