un voyage japonais : fermentation, culture, tradition, histoire, beauté
The road itself, a dwelling.
The months and days are the travellers of eternity; the years that come and go are travellers too. Those who float their lives upon a boat, or grow old leading a horse by the bridle, make of each day a journey, and the journey itself their dwelling. Many of the ancients, too, died upon the road.
— Matsuo Bashō, The Narrow Road to the Deep North
We too are travellers, moving through time that never returns. Bearing the chain of all that has come before, casting ourselves toward what is yet to come, we do not know how to stop. And so the human world is a journey, and the journey itself our dwelling.
Seeming to halt, we move; seeming to move, we halt. One step ahead — is it light, or is it dark? No one knows. It only opens, there, before us.
Nothing abides unchanging: this we call 無常. And yet, that which abides forever also is: 常住. Between being and nothingness we pass to and fro, like a shadow.
There is no answer. There is only the choosing.
The human world is a narrow road into the interior.
