All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
The journey itself is my home.
Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.
Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
Go to the object. Leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Do not impose yourself on the object. Become one with the object. Plunge deep enough into the object to see something like a hidden glimmering there.