Not To Think Of Yourself / As

With Every Gust Of Wind, The Butterfly Changes Its Place On The Willow.

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.

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

I Hope To Have Gathered To Repay Your Kindness The Willow Leaves Scattered In The Garden.

Nothing In The Cry Of Cicadas Suggests They Are About To Die