Basho

At 90 degrees the streets of Taitung were too hot to explore, even by bike, so we headed out of town to ride the Forest Park Trail.

For a while it skirted the sea,

but then crossed a bridge

and became something new.

Ocean gave way to lake

and marsh.

Bike path

to pathway

and unfamiliar landscape, not quite jungle,

but exotic nevertheless.

The last thing I packed before leaving home, was a slim volume of Basho’s poetry.

Basho, the genius of brevity.

I’d intended to save if for Japan, but couldn’t wait, savoring bits of the master’s haiku the last few days.

Ebb tide –

willows

dip to mud.

Basho had many disciples, but Dojo was a favored one. Of Basho, Dojo wrote:

The master said:

“Learn about a pine tree

from a pine tree,

and about a bamboo stalk from a bamboo stalk.”

What he meant was the poet should detach his mind from self and enter into the object, sharing its delicate life and its feelings, whereupon a poem forms itself. Description of the object is not enough. Unless a poem contains feelings which come from the object, the object and the poet’s self will be separate things.

What would life look like to be a Basho, to take the time,

and give attention

to the little things,

the commonplace,

that aren’t so common after all.

Riding back, the sea whispered its secrets.

Waves scaling

Sado Island –

heaven’s stream.