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

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.

This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.

Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die

If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling

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