Quote

The desire to break the silence with constant human noise is, I believe, precisely an avoidance of the sacred terror of that divine encounter.

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
Silence
Encounter
Break
Encounters
Desire
Precisely
Human
Noise
Humans
Terror
Believe
Sacred
Constant
Divine
Avoidance

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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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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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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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Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
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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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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels
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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
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When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
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What is important is to keep our mind high in the world of true understanding, and returning to the world of our daily experience to seek therein the truth of beauty. No matter what we may be doing at a given moment, we must not forget that is has a bearing upon our everlasting self which is poetry.
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The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music
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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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The basis of art is change in the universe.
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