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.

There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.

Old pond, frog jumps in - plop.

Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music

Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness

How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.

Sadly, I part from you; Like a clam torn from its shell, I go, and autumn too.