Having the intention of going to the source, or returning to the origin, is already a mistake.
Essentially there is nowhere to settle down, no place to call one’s home.
The ancient path through the pines is covered with deep snow.
The long range of mountain peaks is furthermore blocked by clouds.
When host and guest are tranquil and serene, everything is incongruous.
When lord and vassal are united, there is wrong in the midst of right.
How will you sing the song of returning home?
In bright moonlight, the dead tree is blooming in front of the hall.
(Ten Verses of Unfathomable Depth – The Song of Not Returning Home)
Shundo David Haye 