An old grave hidden away at the foot of a deserted hill,
Overrun with rank weeds growing unchecked year after year;
I watch people in the world Throw away their lives lusting after things,
This treasure was discovered in a bamboo thicket --
I washed the bowl in a spring and then mended it.
Blending with the wind, Snow falls;
My legacy -- What will it be?
“When, when?” I sighed. The one I longed for
In a dilapidated three-room hut I’ve grown old and tired;
Wild roses, Plucked from fields
When I was a lad, I sauntered about town as a gay blade,
This is an introduction to the Japanese Zen poet Taigu Ryoken known for his beautiful almost seer-like poetry. He revelled in the love o
When all thoughts Are exhausted
How can I possibly sleep This moonlit evening?
Yes, I’m truly a dunce Living among trees and plants.
In my youth I put aside my studies And I aspired to be a saint.
In the morning, bowing to all; In the evening, bowing to all.
Midsummer -- I walk about with my staff.
The Three Thousand Worlds that step forward
When spring arrives From every tree tip
Like the little stream Making its way
Returning to my native village after many years’ absence:
I'll I put up at a country inn and listen to the rain.
No luck today on my mendicant rounds;
From village to village I dragged myself.
The wind has settled, the blossoms have fallen; Birds sing, the mountains grow dark --
With no mind, flowers lure the
butterfly;
When you turn the corner
And you run into yourself
In stubborn stupidity, I live on alone
befriended by trees and herbs.
Two miles from town, I meet an old woodcutter
and we travel the road lined with huge pines.
Studying texts and stiff meditation can make you lose your Original Mind. A solitary tune by a fisherman, though, can be an invaluab
The tree was barren of leaves but you brought a new spring. Long green sprouts, verdant flowers, fresh promise.
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