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.

How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers

Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.

Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.

Traveler's heart. Never settled long in one place. Like a portable fire.

All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.

When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.