On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.
A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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
Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.