The Universe And Its Beings Are A

Felling A Tree And Gazing At The Cut End - Tonight's Moon

Collecting All The Rains Of May The Swift Mogami River.

My Body, Now Close To Fifty Years Of Age, Has Become An Old Tree That Bears Bitter Peaches, A Snail Which Has Lost Its Shell, A Bagworm Separated From Its Bag; It Drifts With The Winds And Clouds That Know No Destination. Morning And Night I Have Eaten Traveler's Fare, And Have Held Out For Alms A Pilgrim's Wallet.

Every Day Is A Journey, And The Journey Itself Is Home.

Not To Think Of Yourself / As Someone Who Did Not Count -- / Festival Of The Souls.