Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.

The moon and sun are travelers through eternity. Even the years wander on. Whether drifting through life on a boat or climbing toward old age leading a horse, each day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.

Operating superficially, the mind is random in its activity and stale in its insights and images. However, with practice and experience the mind is freed from the skull, and the fresh and new can appear as though for the first time. It

The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.

Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.

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

Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.