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Wabi Sabi: Japanese Wisdom for a Perfectly Imperfect Life

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Beth Kempton

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“The river runs through me, for the burst of rain from clouds atop, fell to the rivers that rushed to the sea. In it, was the dying of grief. How the clouds of torment die, so the river can rush! So, I float as the clouds of dark to break and become the flow of water. The waters of salt, now they are; the spring water after rain. So I become the mouth of a river longing to meet the sea. The stories buried in my depths, I give out to the world, where nothing remains unremembered.”

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“Try to remember some details. For the world is filled with people who were torn from their sleep with no one to mend the tear, and unlike wild beasts they live each in his lonely hiding place and they die together on battlefields and in hospitals. And the earth will swallow all of them, good and evil together, like the followers of Korah, all of them in their rebellion against death, their mouths open till the last moment, praising and cursing in a single howl. Try, try to remember some details.”

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“From Saltwater to Freshwater.... The river runs through me, for the burst of rain from clouds atop, fell to the rivers that rushed to the sea. In it, was the dying of grief. How the clouds of torment die, so the river can rush! So, I float as the clouds of dark to break and become the flow of water. The waters of salt, now they are; the spring water after rain. So I become the mouth of a river in a quiet murmur to the sea. The stories buried in my depths, I give out to the world, where nothing remains unremembered.”

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“From Saltwater to Freshwater.... The river runs through me, for the burst of rain from clouds atop, fell to the rivers that rushed to the sea. In it, was the dying of grief. How the clouds of torment die, so the river can rush! So, I float as the clouds of dark to break and become the flow of water. The waters of salt, now they are; the fresh water after rain. So I become the mouth of a river in a quiet murmur to the sea. The stories buried in my depths, I give out to the world, where nothing remains unremembered.”

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“How the Freshwater Flows The river runs through me, for the burst of rain from clouds atop, fell to the rivers that rushed to the sea. In it, was the dying of grief. How the clouds of torment die, so the river can rush! So, I float as the clouds of dark to break and become the flow of water. The waters of salt, now they are; the fresh water after rain. So I become the mouth of a river in a quiet murmur to the sea. The stories buried in my depths, I give out to the world, where nothing remains unremembered.”

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