Why Wayfarers Walk on Moonlit Nights

a multi-part poem at the end of the Wood Snake Cycle

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“The Oldest Instruction”

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Make a companion of the four seasons. — Matsuo Basho (1644-1694), Japanese Wayfarer-sage

Some years ago, I allowed the red dust of the world

to scramble my link to Serene Heart-Mind Illumination.

This is when,

like Grandfather Five Willows at the Headwaters,

I had to flee the net of dust —

return to the way of gardens and high woodland paths,

hojicha tea, junmai sake on rain-slick rocks.

Then, purified of the dust, the Path opened itself to me again.

Sandal-strapped feet moving through Spring ferns

Cold Summer river-water on sweat-dappled brow

Autumn Silence

Slow Rhythm of Winter —

the oldest instruction there is.

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“The Longest Conversation”

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At an altar

dedicated to The Way

there can come a realization

that some part of us

has been in perpetual conversation

with an Unseen-Something

since we were tadpole-catching age.

That conversation

is the only home

there ever is.

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“Antidote”

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Eternal relatives,

when you fear,

when you doubt,

when you grieve and mourn,

remember to drink deep

from the Great Origin.

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“Messenger of Inari”

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Laughing fangs glide overhead.

Crescent-tips turned slightly downward

speak of rain, ice, high winds —

pure evidence that Moon is part-Fox Goddess.

With such companioning comes rice-wine clarity.

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“Silent Song of the Mountain Faithful”

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dragonflies hover above river eddy swirls

sun-roasted pine-wind perfumes the air

cicada-song at midnight

long-ago memory

lantern-light

moon-kissed rice-wine

every morning

every night

silent song of the mountain faithful

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“The Wayfarer’s Moon”

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Wide awake.

3:00 a.m.

On the tip of my tongue:

The Wayfarer’s Moon.

Blinding light.

Unblinding clarity.

The Wayfarer’s Moon

is every moon

and every night

without a moon.

The Wayfarer’s Moon

is a fire on the mountain,

an autumn journey West,

one sip of pine forest tea,

a pause between

the unfurling winds

of the seasons.

The Wayfarer’s Moon

is the last cicada of the year,

a dead hawk falling at your feet,

the unstitching of a long-prized tapestry,

a return to your naked, nameless state.

The Wayfarer’s Moon

is a moon both inside

and outside this solar system.

It is a moon beyond grasping.

Self-Cosmos Alignment —

the Wayfarer’s Moon

is hillwalking-poet banditry.

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© 2026 / Frank Inzan Owen / from The Luminous Procession: Poems From Within and Beyond the World of Red Dust

soundscape: “Floating in Memories” / In the Silence of the Subconscious by Moss Garden