A cold evening in my empty room
Time flows by like the incense smoke arising.
Outside my door, a thousand stalks of bamboo,
Above my bed, how many books
The moon has come to whiten half my window,
The only sound in any direction
Is the singing of insects.
In this there is boundless feeling;
But as I encounter it, there are no words.
Ryokan
he can take a person there, can’t he Navita.
. . . . Ryokan, gives you a peek at the “boundless” sphere.
Peter
Absolutly Peter, he does…and its abundently boundless.
Love.