In early morning rain,
it has become invisible,
the little path.
Yosa Buson 1716 – 1784
Would we prefer it if the little path were more visible? Would we like it if we too were different? And then there is our very life and death that we might like to alter the nature of.
How will we change this little path? With Gods. with Buddhas, with heroes and villains?
Or can we join Master Buson and appreciate this little path just as it is?
The path that transcends all descriptions.
The path that is always in front of us.