With the evening breeze,
The water laps against
The heron's legs,
In the dark forest
A berry drops:
The sound of the water.

On rainy days
The monk Ryokan
Feels sorry for himself.

Sparrows

A brushwood gate,
And for a lock -
This snail.
The woodpecker
Keeps on in the same place:
Day is closing.
Winter desolation;
In the rain-water tub,
Sparrows are walking.

Baroque Angels Serenading With Lute

"The wine cups of daybreak
are shattered.
The Lament
of the guitar begins.
It is useless to silence it."

Mountains As Mountains

Before I had studied for thirty-one years, I saw mountains as mountains, and waters as waters. When I arrived at a more intimate knowledge, I came to the point where I saw that mountains are not mountains, and waters are not waters. But now that I have got its very substance I am at rest. For it's just that I see mountains once again as mountains, and waters once again as waters.

Three Barriers

Q: Everybody has a place of birth. Where is your place of birth?
A: Early this morning I ate white rice gruel. Now I'm hungry again.

Q: How is my hand like the Buddha's hand?
A: Playing the lute under the moon.

Q: How is my foot like a donkey's foot?
A: When the white heron stands in the snow it has a different color.