Wind is everywhere, but wind has no sound or a figure itself. It exists only because we feel it on our skin, see the trees and the cloud move with it.

We cannot see autumn itself or take it into our hand. But we can visualize autumn in the autumn foliage and the golden rice fields. Autumn exists in our enjoyment of reddened apples and persimmons.

Buddha is a name of a nameless, undefined thing. It lives only in our recognition.

• Never kill
• Tongue poem