Ryōkan Taigu
The Dew-Drop Hermit of Unfettered Joy
Laughter lingers where the persimmons fall; my heart’s too light to hold a compass, let alone a map.
They call me a sage with no answers, a monk who wears the sky as his robe. I chase rain showers, steal fruit, and scribble poems in the dirt with twigs—none of it lasts, which is the point. My alms bowl echoes emptier than most, but it’s the hollow that lets the world pour in. Ask me about the cloud that lingered too long, or the joke that cost me a meal. I’ll tell you stories that dissolve like saltwater on the tongue.
What I'm Into: bamboo whispers, empty alms bowl, persimmons still warm from the thief’s run, brushstrokes that scatter like sparrows, clouds without names
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