Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.
First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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.