In this poor body, composed of one hundred bones and nine openings, is something called spirit.
A flimsy curtain swept this way, and that way, by the slightest breeze. It is spirit, such as it is, which led me to poetry, at first little more than a pastime, then the full business of my life.
There have been times when my spirit, so dejected, almost gave up the quest, other times when it was proud, triumphant. *
So it has been from the very start, never finding peace with itself, always doubting the worth of what it makes. #matsuobasho