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

Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.

Calm and serene The sound of a cicada Penetrates the rock.

Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.

Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.

The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.

Awakened at midnight by the sound of the water jar cracking from the ice