the journey itself is my home
Chimaki 粽, three syllables, chee (like cheese) -ma -key. making Chimakione hand to pinch and to tuck hair on her forehead preparing rice cakesone hand making chimakithe other her hair 粽ゆう 片手にはさむ 額髪Chimaki yū / katate ni hasamu / hitaigami When Ordinary is Extraordinary The beauty of the haiku lies in the ambiguity of the Continue reading Chimaki, chee-ma-key
何事もほどほどに――「ほどほど」にすることさえも。 Nanigoto mo hodohodo ni — “hodohodo” ni suru koto sae mo. hodohodo — not one, just enough, not too much “Everything in moderation—even moderation itself.” Asking Matsuo Basho, he replies: 閑さや岩にしみ入る蝉の声 Shizukesa yaIwa ni shimiiruSemi no koe Absolute calm, when —one cry of the cicadasinks into the rocks. 時には 一 十分です Tokiniha ichi jūbundesu. Continue reading Moderation
Basho’s disciple who is planning a trip to Japan in November is giving himself some advice and hoping he takes it. One Bashō-like addition: 11. Leave room for what you did not expect. Surprise is the act of creation. For the best moments on the Way are often the ones no guidebook could have planned Continue reading Japan tips
Friday, July 31, 2026 Walking to the corner bookstore in 100 degree weather… composing haiku. Five-Seven-Five Five-Seven-Five I wish I knew why Haiku Makes no sense at all Sipping hot coffee In the middle of summer Makes no sense at all Ladies in bookstores Well read, and so attractive Often wear glasses Forgive me Continue reading Five-Seven-Five
Summer Cicadas When the sun rises, Summer cicadas are mechanical, persistent, inescapable, until the sun sets. Like an alarm clock, Try as I might, I can’t stop. — Cicadas crying To Matsuo Bashō the voice of a cicada is quite profound. 静けさや岩にしみ入る蝉の声 Shizukesa yaIwa ni shimiiruSemi no koe Ah, such stillness—The sound of a cicadasinks Continue reading Cicadas
To be a bee, yes One must wish upon a star To be a bee, no less . Why choose to be a bee Why not something else — A butterfly perhaps?
I am in a funkI thought I could haikuNo I can t, can you? When Zen was new,Who knew Haiku? When Zen was newA frog jumpedAnd made a Splash An empty cup, no bread, no wine,you split
I have been struggling Struggling to write a haiku Confounded I am . Confounded I am Like a cricket in the rain Cold and alone!
Only yesterday. Matsuo Basho did not do much thinking back. I wonder why. a ’57 Chevypurple and tan, I wish it were red.a summer s day School’s out, the sun is hot,counting cows, license plates from other states,a book served as the internet. A loaf of bread, bologna, cheese, mustard and a pickle Mom made lunch Continue reading Only Yesterday
In the summer of 1690, Matsuo Basho was 56 years old, staying at the Unreal Hut (幻獣庵 Genju-an) beside Lake Biwa near Otsu. He had just completed his long journey that one day would day become, Oku no Hosomichi (Journey to the Far North). all that I see will soon die, but one finds no Continue reading Impermanence is swift