A good poet is someone who can make a verse interesting.
A master is someone whose verse does not sound interesting
but has a flavor deep inside.
A still higher stage is when a poet has reached the utmost of the art
and his poem presents
neither color nor fragrance.
Only at that stage one can be accredited
as having obtained
the quintessence of haikai.
In the front of the garden
it has whitely blossomed —
On the eaves of the corner house
Forms into beads.
There is a sound in the wind:
A dog making water.
The cold is bitter –
Awaking in the night, I hear
Cries of waterfowl:
Are they unable to shake off the frost
That has settled thickly on their wings ?
The authentic question is, “Who am I?”
And the only way to know is to be silent, be alert, be aware,
watch your thoughts, and let them disappear.
One day, you will find all has become silent… not even a murmur of thought.
Everything has stopped, as if time has stopped.
And suddenly you are awake from a long, long dream,
from a nightmare.
There is only one door which can help you, and that is within you.
Taking a jump into yourself, you have plunged into existence.
In that moment you feel a tremendous oneness with all.
Then you are no longer lonely, no longer alone, because there is nobody who is other than you.
There is only you expanded in all directions, in all possible manifestations. It is you flowering in the tree; it is you moving in a white cloud.
It is you in the ocean, in the river.
It is you in the animals, in the people. […]
The most beautiful of apes is ugly in comparison with the race of man;
the wisest of men seems an ape in comparison to a god.
visions of grandeur are vain,
the truth we search for is to be found
in the simple things before our eyes…