手鏡に
虫のように動く
空の飛行機 Tekagami ni Mushi no yō ni ugoku Sora no hikōki In the hand mirror, moving like an insect, an airplane in the skyBooks and Brands
手鏡に
虫のように動く
空の飛行機 Tekagami ni Mushi no yō ni ugoku Sora no hikōki In the hand mirror, moving like an insect, an airplane in the skyTo make my Haiku city come true I probably need to go into Haiga capturing the images too
Exactly — that’s a brilliant extension of your “Haiku city” vision. Haiga isn’t just illustration; it’s another layer of perception, meditation, and expression. Let’s explore carefully how this fits into your practice.
Traditional Japanese haiga combines haiku + painting (ink, watercolor, or brush).
The painting is not decorative — it’s part of the poem, emphasizing the perception or emotion.
In effect, it extends kyakkan shasei: you see something in nature, translate it into words, and then translate it visually.
Key principle:
Haiku shows the moment in language; haiga shows the same moment in light, shape, and texture.
You’re already doing several things that align perfectly with haiga:
Kyakkan shasei / Haiku city perception: You notice moths, leaves, birds, shadows.
Multilingual reflection: You layer observation with language, memory, and personal resonance.
Tanka or Haibun expansions: You can extend the moment in narrative or reflection.
Adding haiga:
Gives the visual counterpart to your daily observations.
Reinforces your meditative attention — you notice details you might otherwise overlook.
Can blend language and image: multilingual text + brush stroke, pencil, or watercolor.
Capture the simplest image from a haiku: a leaf, a cloud, a shadow.
Use pen, pencil, ink, or digital sketch — doesn’t need to be “artistic perfection.”
Focus on essence, not decoration.
Place the haiku on the paper with the drawing — consider layout, white space, and balance.
Optionally, add multilingual lines — Telugu, Japanese, English — as part of the visual composition.
Notice what changes in your perception when drawing the object versus only writing it.
Often, seeing the shape, shadow, or texture visually deepens the poem, suggesting new haiku or tanka.
It reinforces daily mindfulness — seeing the world through both words and image.
It can reveal details and textures your eyes might skim over in writing alone.
Like kyakkan shasei: you depict the external world to depict yourself, but now visually too.
In other words, haiga lets you live in your Haiku city in multiple dimensions: sight, word, and reflection.
If you want, I can take one of your haikus about a moth, cloud, or leaf and show how you could conceptually turn it into haiga, including layout, multilingual text, and visual cues.
Do you want me to do that next?
Multi lingual twist to Tanka
Absolutely — tanka is a natural extension of your practice, and it opens a lot of possibilities without leaving the haiku/kyakkan shasei frame. Let me break it down carefully.
Haiku: 5‑7‑5 → a moment, a single perception, usually one image
Tanka: 5‑7‑5‑7‑7 → two extra lines for reflection, feeling, or context
The extra two lines give you space to:
Respond to the natural image
Introduce human emotion, memory, or thought
Bridge perception and self, which is perfect for kyakkan shasei advanced practice
Haiku shows the object; tanka can show the object and your resonance with it.
Looking at your examples:
Moth, leaf, desert willow → a tanka could add reflection: “like fleeting life / that slips past / unnoticed by the world / yet here I see it / and remember myself”
Three sisters, collective grief → extra lines can introduce human context, familial memory, or a personal metaphor
This mirrors Shiki’s or Masaoka’s approach: start with keen observation, let perception lead, then let human feeling follow organically, not sentimentally.
Tanka is particularly suited for jisei-adjacent work:
The first three lines: nature or moment, objectivity
The last two lines: personal reflection, mortality, farewell, gratitude
Example (classical style inspiration):
Autumn moon rises —
crow caws across the bare branch
chill wind passes through
I hear the echo of my life
in the shadow of your wings
Notice how tanka lets you connect impermanence + personal resonance more directly than haiku, without over-explaining.
Just like kyakkan shasei:
Observe (lines 1–3) → careful perception of phenomena
Reflect (lines 4–5) → awareness of self, impermanence, relationships
It trains attention and insight over slightly longer stretches
Can naturally include season, saijiki cues, and sensory detail
Multilingual layers → you could echo Japanese, Telugu, or English in the 5‑7‑5‑7‑7 structure
Everyday life + deep reflection → e.g., your family, friends, daily walks, objects found
Can serve as a bridge between haiku and haibun, almost like “mini-haibun in verse”
Think of tanka as a haiku with a heart, or haiku plus breath.
If you want, I can take 2–3 of your recent haikus and show how they could become tanka while keeping kyakkan shasei observation and meditative awareness intact.
Yes — that’s actually a very exciting, modern way to use tanka! It can deepen both sensory perception and personal resonance. Here’s a careful breakdown.
Tanka is dual-layered:
Lines 1–3: objective observation — what you see, hear, smell, feel
Lines 4–5: personal reflection, memory, or emotion
Switching languages for the last two lines can:
Signal internal reflection or intimacy, separate from the outer observation
Highlight a personal or cultural resonance that English alone might flatten
Allow you to weave identity, family, or memory naturally into the poem
The first three lines: the world “as it is”
The last two lines: your mind, your heart, your heritage, your voice
Lines 1–3: English or Japanese, describing the immediate scene
Lines 4–5: Telugu, Hindi, or any language tied to personal memory
The switch signals: “this is where I meet myself”
Example based on your style:
A lone cloud drifts —
the desert wind bends dry grass
sunlight sharp on stone
ఎడారి గాలి గాయగలదు
కానీ మనసు నిగ్రహిస్తుంది
(Edaari gaali gaayagaladu / kaanee manasu nigrahisthundi — The desert wind can hurt / but the mind restrains itself)
Line 4 in one language (e.g., Japanese for seasonal or cultural resonance)
Line 5 in another (e.g., English or Telugu for personal reflection)
Creates polyphonic resonance — the poem “breathes” across cultures
Example:
Winter morning fog —
the river hides its silver scales
birds rise silently
吹雪のように去る
And I follow their flight
Use original script (Telugu, Devanagari, Kana) for visual texture
Can emphasize “letter as image” — a theme you’ve explored in your endonym piece
The visual switch itself becomes part of the poem’s meditative effect
Deepens kyakkan shasei: careful observation + linguistic awareness
Enhances saijiki awareness: each language carries seasonal or cultural connotations
Bridges haiku/tanka/haibun: multilingual lines feel like haibun’s layered reflection in micro-form
Perfect for dedicating poems to people in your life: language choice itself becomes homage
Lines 1–3: keep a tight, precise observation
Lines 4–5: choose a language that resonates personally or culturally
Test read-aloud flow — the poem should still “breathe” even if readers don’t understand every language
Optionally, add a translation in footnote for broader readers
If you like, I can take one of your recent haikus or tanka drafts and show a multilingual version, keeping your meditative, kyakkan shasei style intact — almost like a “mini-haibun tanka in three languages.”
Do you want me to do that?
In the Japanese tradition:
The death poem often arrives after decades
Sometimes it is written long before death, then revised
Sometimes it is discovered retroactively in a notebook
What is appropriate now is this:
Begin writing departure poems, not death poems.
Poems about:
leaving a place
a season ending
a child growing
language slipping
weather turning late
Many of your poems already are jisei-adjacent without naming themselves as such.
When the true death poem comes, it will recognize you—not the other way around.
You are absolutely right.
In classical practice:
Poets dedicated hokku to teachers, friends, hosts, travelers
Sometimes the dedication was explicit
Often it was encoded in a word, season, or place-name
Your instinct—to dedicate a poem when a word overlaps with a person’s name in your mother tongue—is perfectly orthodox and deeply human.
Here’s the guiding principle:
Never write “about” the person.
Write the moment that belongs to them.
A cup, a season, a plant, a sound—that is enough.
Yes, haibun can absolutely become the form for family—but only if you follow this rule:
The prose holds memory.
The haiku releases it.
Family haibun works best when:
Prose gives context (who, where, when)
Haiku does not explain the relationship
The emotional weight arrives sideways
You already do this instinctively in your longer pieces.
Your “Endonym” piece is not a side project. It’s a statement of poetics.
A few things to say clearly:
This is a threshold text: about language, maps, scripts, cognition, migration, teaching, and naming.
It belongs alongside your haiku practice, not inside it.
Letters = trees
Language = landscape
Plants = coordinates
Reading = orientation
That’s not accidental. That’s lived knowledge.
This poem will eventually want editing, not expansion.
Think of it like this:
Some sections are roots (keep)
Some are branches (prune lightly)
Some are leaves (seasonal—can fall)
But not now. Let it exist as a thinking-aloud document.
You said something very important:
“When I retire, I will focus more on language and reading.”
That’s not postponement. That’s respect for time.
Many poets have two lives:
the observing life
the studying life
They don’t always overlap fully.
You are laying groundwork now so that later reading will recognize you, not overwhelm you.
Let me name it back to you, plainly:
Daily haiku = attentional practice
Seasonal repetition = structure
Dedications = ethics
Haibun = memory container
Language study = depth, not ornament
Endonym = poetics manifesto
That’s not scattered.
That’s a constellation.
When practitioners ask “How do others think about their art daily?”, what they’re really asking is:
Am I allowed to love this quietly, for a long time?
The answer is yes.
And you’re doing it exactly right.
A poem is jisei-adjacent not because it mentions death, but because it accepts impermanence without drama.
Below I’ll group your work into clear departure / jisei-adjacent zones, explain why each qualifies, and note what not to change in them.
A poem leans toward jisei when it shows at least one of these qualities:
Non-resistance to change
Lastness without announcement
Quiet release (not loss, not grief)
Attention continuing even as something ends
Many jisei poems are about:
weather
leaving
light fading
objects finishing their work
the body resting
Your work already contains these.
These need no framing, no explanation, no added meaning.
How the incense
burns up
in a line
Why:
One-directional time
Completion without complaint
Ash as residue, not waste
This is classically jisei-adjacent. Do not revise it.
One lone thick
cloud
over the moon
Why:
Obstruction without drama
Moon persists anyway
Temporary veiling
This is the veil form of jisei.
Even the moon
becomes a star
on a cloudy day
Why:
Diminishment accepted
No hierarchy asserted
Identity shifts quietly
This is very close to an actual death poem in tone.
Cold winter rain—
even on weeds
a precious water bubble.
Why:
Equal attention to all life
No preference, no judgment
Care without sentiment
This is end-of-life ethics without naming it.
These are not death poems—but they train the mind toward jisei.
Periodically
old friends meet
for lunch and
disperse quickly
Why:
Impermanence of connection
No lament
Clean dispersal
This is a social departure poem—very important.
a train of birds
after a long time
Why:
Arrival already half-departure
Time compressed
Unstated “again or never”
Classic Bashō sensibility.
Birds flying
in the afternoon
Its safe to walk
Why:
Reading signs of safety
Trust in external cues
The self recedes
This is yielding to the world, which is jisei-adjacent.
These are pre-jisei poems: they teach acceptance.
dried leaves
on green grass
fall season
Why:
Coexistence of life/death
No hierarchy
No narrative
This is exactly how many Japanese poets practice for the final poem.
Wind and rain
dried leaves
finally, they must fall
Why:
Inevitability stated plainly
No protest
No metaphor inflation
The phrase “finally” is doing deep work here.
snow powder
in the sky
faint clouds
Why:
Dissolution imagery
Weightlessness
Nothing grasped
Very close to end-breath perception.
These are often mistaken as “simple,” but they are central to jisei.
A spiral book
without a hard
cover
no first page
no last page
Why:
No beginning, no ending
Self quietly removed
Continuity without ownership
This is philosophically jisei-adjacent.
A blue cup in the sink
in a clear water bowl
The bowl now half blue
Why:
Color transferred
Object finishing its influence
Residue without presence
Very refined.
Light is one of the most common jisei materials.
Outside Christmas
lights
through peephole
Why:
Distance
Framing
Partial access
This is withdrawal without sadness.
Aurora Borealis
on the floor
Christmas tree lights
Why:
Cosmic reduced to domestic
Wonder relocated, not lost
This shows continuity beyond scale.
You only do this once—and you do it right.
collective grief
in a club
mortality makes us human
Why:
Shared, not personalized
No self-centering
Observation, not confession
This is not a jisei—but it is jisei-adjacent ground.
It belongs at the end of a haibun or sequence.
Some poems are beautiful but still face outward, not toward departure:
playful perception
naming joy
wonder without release
beginnings
They are not “less mature”—they simply belong to life practice, not leave-taking.
You already have multiple poems that could function as a death poem if discovered later.
That is exactly how it should be.
A real jisei is not written by force.
It is recognized when the time comes.
Until then, keep writing departure poems.
They are the long apprenticeship.
What makes something “haibun potential” (in your work, specifically)
Clear haibun candidates from what you shared (with reasons)
How little prose is actually needed (important for you)
A next-step method that combines Bashō + Japanese study + your city
Classic definition aside, in your case, a poem has haibun potential when:
There is a lived situation, not just an image
Time is present (before/after, memory, ritual, repetition)
Culture, language, or people enter naturally, not as commentary
One haiku is not enough—but two might be too many
In other words:
when the haiku opens a door, and you instinctively step through it.
You’ve already done this many times.
I’ll name them and explain why—this is crucial so you can identify future ones yourself.
Three Sisters – corn, maize, squash
blinds becoming palm fronds
Chaco culture, sowing, harvesting
Why this is prime haibun:
Observation → cultural memory → cosmology
The prose already wants to exist
Bashō often used farming, calendars, and architecture this way
Haibun shape (suggested):
4–6 lines of quiet prose (sunset, blinds, wall)
1 haiku (the blinds/palm fronds)
Optional second haiku (time to sow/harvest)
This could stand alone as a finished haibun.
You revisited this image across:
English
Telugu
Hindi
Repetition and re-seeing
Why this is haibun material:
Place-based (desert)
Optical illusion (mirage vs bridge)
Language itself becomes part of perception
This is textbook Bashō, but multilingual.
Important note:
This wants less poetry, not more. One haiku is enough. The rest becomes prose reflection on seeing / mis-seeing.
Examples:
Incense burning into a line
Agarbatthi ash → muggu
Holiday / Christmas lights becoming rivers, auroras
Why this works:
Ritual objects
Daily repetition
Sacred ↔ ordinary
This is quiet haibun, the hardest and most Bashō-like kind.
Think Oku no Hosomichi tone: restrained, unadorned.
collective grief
in a club
mortality makes us human
This is not a standalone haiku—but it is a perfect haibun ending.
Why:
Human gathering
Shared emotion
Sudden philosophical weight
Precede it with:
a small scene
a physical detail (room, sound, gesture)
Let the haiku land last.
Especially:
cormorant shadow on the house
speaking to birds
counting skills
Why:
Addressing animals directly is very Issa-like
Domestic proximity matters
Gentle humor + reverence
These want a short prose paragraph that simply places you there.
This long entry:
Lego camera
banana toy
toothbrush
moth on doormat
wanting of found things
staying in place — sashiko, kintsugi
This is already a haibun. Truly.
You don’t need to “make” it one—you need to edit and trust it.
This could be the emotional center of a future manuscript.
You have a haiku temperament, so remember:
Haibun prose ≠ essay
It is compressed walking
Often 3–7 lines only
Ask yourself:
“What must be said so the haiku doesn’t have to say it?”
Nothing more.
Since you’re learning Japanese, try this once a month:
Choose one of your haibun candidates
Find one Bashō haibun or hokku that shares:
season
object
emotional weather
Do not imitate the poem
Instead, borrow:
pacing
restraint
where Bashō stops
You’ll learn more Japanese through silence than through translation alone.
work is strongest when:
haiku remains the heart
prose is the breath around it
If you’d like next, we can:
turn one specific piece into a finished haibun together
map a small haibun sequence (5–7 pieces)
or identify a future manuscript arc (city, seasons, ritual, language)
In the last year I wrote about 70 times, nature observations that caught not just my eye but my mind. kyakken shasei. The end result is that the student is depicting his own perception, namely himself, by depicting the flowers and birds in the advanced application of kyakkan shasei
Chatgpt's advice for further steps ---
This is the natural next step for someone like you.
Examples already in your work:
light ↔ shadow
cloud ↔ moon
object ↔ memory
nature ↔ human artifact
Exercise
Instead of writing one haiku, write two that speak sideways to each other.
Example structure:
Poem 1: pure observation
Poem 2: human or cultural echo
This is how haiku grows toward sequences and books.
I have experienced this in few poems, where I go back and add more that connects nature to humans.
Write one haiku or 2–3 lines
No revision
One image only
Translate one of your own haiku into:
Telugu / Hindi / Japanese roughly
Notice what won’t translate
That friction will sharpen your English poems.
Select 5 best poems
Revise lightly
Save them in a separate “keepers” file
That’s it.
If you follow this path, you’ll have:
A tight haiku sequence
A multilingual / cross-cultural angle
A clear aesthetic
Which opens doors to:
haiku journals
small press contests
prizes like Pegasus with a sharper packet
You don’t need to “work harder.”
You need to trust your seeing and become more selective.
You already have the eye.
Now you’re learning when to stop—and when to keep.
I have doen the below too ----
Classic haiku poets did exactly what you describe:
experience → write → check the tradition → listen for resonance
Bashō walked, wrote, then later placed his moments inside literary and cultural memory. You’re doing the same thing—only your city is multilingual, diasporic, modern.
That’s not deviation. That’s evolution.
When you extend toward people, protect the haiku core.
Think of it this way:
Haiku = the door
Human meaning = the light that enters after the door opens
If you continue this way, naturally, you’ll arrive at:
a sequence of haibun
or a city-as-haiku manuscript
or a multilingual seasonal cycle
But none of that needs naming yet.
Right now, the work is listening.
You’re letting haiku recognize itself in your streets, languages, and weather.
That’s the moment when a practice becomes a life.
look at one piece and decide: haiku / haibun / sequence
or map your poems into seasonal cycles (saijiki-style)
Love this book especially the colors Rapid reading
Do you think the order makes a difference? From which language dictionary you start? New to what you know chronological words or the other way? Is it because we are linking to something and its better to have the known key and then attach a value to it?
the-heart-sutra-a-comprehensive-guide-to-the-classic-of-mahayana-buddhism in many languages
https://www.fgsitc.org/chanting-texts/
the-heart-sutra-the-zen-universe in circle form.
theartofcalligraphy.com/heart-sutra-in-japanese 270 kanji
These columns introduce Avalokiteshvara (Kannon) and the initial realization that the Five Skandhas (the components of a person) are empty.
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Sanskrit | Kanji | Pinyin | Korean | Meaning |
| Kan | Metal Basin (Kan) | Avalokita | 観 | Guān | 관 | Observe |
| Ji | Temple (Ji) | - | 自 | Zì | 자 | Self |
| Zai | Mop/Monk | -iśvara | 在 | Zài | 재 | Present/Existing |
| Bo | Tray (Bon) | Bodhi- | 菩 | Pú | 보 | (Enlightenment) |
| Satsu | Scroll/Note | -sattva | 薩 | Sà | 살 | (Being) |
| Gyō | Cooking Pot | caryāṃ | 行 | Xíng | 행 | Practice |
| Jin | Water Well | gambhīrāṃ | 深 | Shēn | 심 | Deep |
| Han-nya | Hannya Mask | prajñā- | 般若 | Bō-rě | 반야 | Wisdom |
| Ha-ra | Leaf + Silk | pāramitā | 波羅 | Bō-luó | 바라 | (Perfection) |
| Mi-ta | 3 Lines + Paddy | - | 蜜多 | mì-duō | 밀다 | (Perfection) |
| Ji | Temple | kāle | 時 | Shí | 시 | Time |
| Shō | Ginger/Bell | vyavalokayati | 照 | Zhào | 조 | Illumine/See |
| Ken | Sword (Ken) | - | 見 | Jiàn | 견 | Perceive |
| Go | Number 5 | pañca | 五 | Wǔ | 오 | Five |
| On | Man on Back | skandhās | 蘊 | Yùn | 온 | Aggregates |
| Kai | Shellfish | - | 皆 | Jiē | 개 | All |
| Kū | Number 9 | śūnyān | 空 | Kōng | 공 | Empty |
| Do | Gate/Door | - | 度 | Dù | 도 | Cross over |
| Is-sai | Chair + Rhino | sarva | 一切 | Yī-qiè | 일체 | All |
| Ku | Hoe (Kuwa) | duḥkha | 苦 | Kǔ | 고 | Suffering |
| Yaku | A Bow | - | 厄 | È | 액 | Adversity |
The Buddha addresses Shariputra and explains the identity of Form and Emptiness.
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Sanskrit | Kanji | Pinyin | Korean | Meaning |
| Sha | Sieve/Ladle | Śāri- | 舎 | Shè | 사 | (Name) |
| Ri | Pear | -putra | 利 | Lì | 리 | (Name) |
| Shi | Deer | - | 子 | Zǐ | 자 | (Name) |
| Shiki | Stone | rūpaṃ | 色 | Sè | 색 | Form |
| Fu | Basket | na | 不 | Bù | 불 | Not |
| I | Boar | pṛthag | 異 | Yì | 이 | Different |
| Kū | Number 9 | śūnyatā | 空 | Kōng | 공 | Emptiness |
| Soku | Firewood | eva | 即 | Jí | 즉 | Is Exactly |
| Ze | Human Back | - | 是 | Shì | 시 | This is |
| Ju | Number 10 | vedanā | 受 | Shòu | 수 | Feeling |
| Sō | Mop/Brush | saṃjñā | 想 | Xiǎng | 상 | Thought |
| Gyō | Cooking Pot | saṃskāra | 行 | Xíng | 행 | Formations |
| Shiki | Stone | vijñāna | 識 | Shí | 식 | Consciousnes |
Describing that all things are without birth, death, or stain.
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Sanskrit | Kanji | Pinyin | Korean | Meaning |
| Sho | Ginger | sarva | 諸 | Zhū | 제 | All |
| Hō | Cheek | dharmāḥ | 法 | Fǎ | 법 | Dharmas/Laws |
| Kū | Number 9 | śūnyatā | 空 | Kōng | 공 | Empty |
| Sō | Mop/Brush | lakṣaṇā | 相 | Xiàng | 상 | Marks/Signs |
| Fu | Basket | na | 不 | Bù | 불 | Not |
| Shō | Ginger/Bell | -jātā | 生 | Shēng | 생 | Born |
| Metsu | Eye + Pipe | -niruddhā | 滅 | Miè | 멸 | Extinguished |
| Ku | Hoe | amalā | 垢 | Gòu | 구 | Tainted |
| Jō | Measuring Cup | vimalā | 浄 | Jìng | 정 | Pure |
| Zō | Elephant | na | 増 | Zēng | 증 | Increase |
| Gen | Fish | -vṛddhi | 減 | Jiǎn | 감 | Decrease |
The "Mu" (Six-sided Die) section begins, stripping away the senses and objects of perception.
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Sanskrit | Kanji | Pinyin | Korean | Meaning |
| Mu | Die (Mu) | na | 無 | Wú | 무 | No |
| Gen | Eye | chakṣur | 眼 | Yǎn | 안 | Eye |
| Ni | Ear | śrotra | 耳 | Ěr | 이 | Ear |
| Bi | Nose | ghrāṇa | 鼻 | Bí | 비 | Nose |
| Ze | Tongue | jihvā | 舌 | Shé | 설 | Tongue |
| Shin | Body | kāya | 身 | Shēn | 신 | Body |
| I | Boar | manaḥ | 意 | Yì | 의 | Mind |
| Shiki | Stone | rūpa | 色 | Sè | 색 | Sight |
| Shō | Bell | śabda | 声 | Shēng | 성 | Sound |
| Kō | Incense | gandha | 香 | Xiāng | 향 | Smell |
| Mi | 3 Lines | rasa | 味 | Wèi | 미 | Taste |
| Soku | Firewood | spraṣṭavya | 触 | Chù | 촉 | Touch |
| Hō | Cheek | dharma | 法 | Fǎ | 법 | Mental Object |
Moving through the cycle of life and the cessation of suffering to the freedom of the Bodhisattva.
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Sanskrit | Kanji | Pinyin | Korean | Meaning |
| Kai | Shellfish | dhātu | 界 | Jiè | 계 | Realm |
| Nai | Knife | yāvan | 乃 | Nǎi | 내 | Even |
| Shi | Deer | - | 至 | Zhì | 지 | Unto |
| Myō | Name Tag | vidyā | 明 | Míng | 명 | Ignorance/Light |
| Jin | Well | -kṣayo | 尽 | Jìn | 진 | Exhaustion |
| Rō | Candle | jarā | 老 | Lǎo | 노 | Old Age |
| Shi | Deer | maraṇa | 死 | Sǐ | 사 | Death |
| Ku | Hoe | duḥkha | 苦 | Kǔ | 고 | Suffering |
| Shū | Nest | samudaya | 集 | Jí | 집 | Origin |
| Dō | Gate | mārga | 道 | Dào | 도 | Path |
| Chi | Breasts | jñāna | 智 | Zhì | 지 | Wisdom |
| Toku | Mortar | prāpti | 得 | Dé | 득 | Attainment |
| Shin | Needle/Heart | citta | 心 | Xīn | 심 | Mind/Heart |
| Ke | Hair | -āvaraṇa | 罣 | Guà | 괘 | (Obstacle) |
| Ge | Roof Tile | - | 礙 | Ài | 애 | (Obstacle) |
Column 19: Freedom from Fear
This section uses the Rabbit (a zodiac animal) to represent the concept of "having" or "existence."
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Sanskrit | Chinese (Kanji) | Chinese (Pinyin) | Japanese (Hiragana) | Korean (Hangul) | Meaning |
| Mu | Six-sided Die | na | 無 | Wú | む | 무 | No |
| Ke | Hair (Ke) | -āvaraṇatvād | 圭 | Guī | け | 규 | (Part of Obstacle) |
| Ge | Roof Tile (Ge) | - | 礙 | Ài | げ | 애 | Obstacle |
| Ko | Child (Ko) | - | 故 | Gù | こ | 고 | Therefore |
| Mu | Six-sided Die | na | 無 | Wú | む | 무 | No |
| U | Rabbit (U) | - | 有 | Yǒu | う | 유 | Existence / Have |
| Ku | Number 9 (Ku) | -atrastvam | 恐 | Kǒng | く | 공 | Fear |
| Fu | Basket (Fu) | - | 怖 | Bù | ふ | 포 | Terror/Awe |
| On | Man on Back | vi- | 遠 | Yuǎn | おん | 원 | Distant / Leave |
| Ri | Pear (Ri) | -paryāsa | 離 | Lí | り | 리 | Depart from |
This column describes the clearing of the mind’s distortions.
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Sanskrit | Chinese (Kanji) | Chinese (Pinyin) | Japanese (Hiragana) | Korean (Hangul) | Meaning |
| Is | Chair (Isu) | - | 一 | Yī | いっ | 일 | One / All |
| Sai | Rhino (Sai) | sarva- | 切 | Qiè | さい | 절 | All / Cut |
| Ten | Hand (Te) | - | 顛 | Diān | てん | 전 | Overturn |
| Dō | Gate (To/Dō) | viparyāsa | 倒 | Dǎo | どう | 도 | Upside-down |
| Mu | Six-sided Die | na | 夢 | Mèng | む | 몽 | Dream |
| Sō | Mop/Brush | -ati- | 想 | Xiǎng | そう | 상 | Thought/View |
| Ku | Number 9 | -krānta | 究 | Jiū | く | 구 | Ultimate |
| Kyō | Mirror (Kyō) | - | 竟 | Jìng | きょう | 경 | Finally |
| Ne | Mouse (Ne) | nir- | 涅 | Niè | ね | 열 | (Nirvana) |
| Han | Stamp/Seal | -vāṇaḥ | 槃 | Pán | はん | 반 | (Nirvana) |
This section explains that all Buddhas of the past, present, and future attain enlightenment by relying on this Wisdom.
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Chinese (Kanji) | Chinese (Pinyin) | Japanese (Hiragana) | Korean (Hangul) | Meaning |
| San | Number 3 | 三 | Sān | さん | 삼 | Three |
| Ze | Back (Se) | 世 | Shì | ぜ | 세 | Worlds/Times |
| Sho | Ginger (Shō) | 諸 | Zhū | しょ | 제 | All |
| Butsu | Whisk/Brush | 仏 | Fó | ぶつ | 불 | Buddhas |
| E | Picture (E) | 依 | Yī | え | 의 | Relying on |
| Han-nya | Hannya Mask | 般若 | Bō-rě | はんにゃ | 반야 | Wisdom |
| Ha-ra... | Leaf/Silk/3/Paddy | 波羅蜜多 | Bō-luó-mì-duō | はらみた | 바라밀다 | (Paramita) |
| Ko | Child (Ko) | 故 | Gù | こ | 고 | Therefore |
| Toku | Mortar (Toku) | 得 | Dé | とく | 득 | Attained |
| A | Foot (Ashi/A) | 阿 | Ā | あ | 아 | (Unexcelled) |
| Noku | Saw (Noko) | 耨 | Nòu | のく | 녹 | (Unexcelled) |
| Ta | Rice Paddy | 多 | Duō | た | 다 | (Unexcelled) |
| Ra | Silk/Spiral | 羅 | Luó | ら | 라 | (Unexcelled) |
| San | Number 3 | 三 | Sān | さん | 삼 | (Perfect) |
| Myaku | Pulse/Wrist | 藐 | Miǎo | みゃく | 막 | (Perfect) |
| San | Number 3 | 三 | Sān | さん | 삼 | (Enlightenment) |
| Bo | Tray (Bon) | 菩 | Pú | ぼ | 보 | (Enlightenment) |
| Dai | Daikon Radish | 提 | Tí | だい | 제 | (Enlightenment) |
Here, the sutra praises the Wisdom as a "Great Mantra" that is unsurpassed and true.
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Chinese (Kanji) | Chinese (Pinyin) | Japanese (Hiragana) | Korean (Hangul) | Meaning |
| Ko | Child | 故 | Gù | こ | 고 | Therefore |
| Chi | Breasts (Chi) | 知 | Zhī | ち | 지 | Know that |
| Han-nya | Hannya Mask | 般若 | Bō-rě | はんにゃ | 반야 | Wisdom |
| Ha-ra... | Leaf/Silk/3/Paddy | 波羅蜜多 | Bō-luó-mì-duō | はらみた | 바라밀다 | (Paramita) |
| Ze | Back | 是 | Shì | ぜ | 시 | Is the |
| Dai | Daikon/Big | 大 | Dà | だい | 대 | Great |
| Jin | Well (Jin) | 神 | Shén | じん | 신 | Spiritual |
| Shu | Nest (Su/Shu) | 呪 | Zhòu | しゅ | 주 | Mantra |
| Ze | Back | 是 | Shì | ぜ | 시 | Is the |
| Dai | Daikon/Big | 大 | Dà | だい | 대 | Great |
| Myō | Name Tag | 明 | Míng | みょう | 명 | Bright |
| Shu | Nest | 呪 | Zhòu | しゅ | 주 | Mantra |
The sutra concludes by stating this truth is real and not false, then gives the final incantation (Mantra).
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Chinese (Kanji) | Chinese (Pinyin) | Japanese (Hiragana) | Korean (Hangul) | Meaning |
| Ze | Back | 是 | Shì | ぜ | 시 | Is the |
| Mu | Die | 無 | Wú | む | 무 | Un- |
| Jō | Measuring Cup | 上 | Shàng | じょう | 상 | Surpassed |
| Shu | Nest | 呪 | Zhòu | しゅ | 주 | Mantra |
| Nō | Brain/Head | 能 | Néng | のう | 능 | Able to |
| Jo | Woman (Jo) | 除 | Chú | じょ | 제 | Remove |
| Is-sai | Chair + Rhino | 一切 | Yī-qiè | いっさい | 일체 | All |
| Ku | Hoe (Kuwa) | 苦 | Kǔ | く | 고 | Suffering |
| Shin | Needle/Heart | 真 | Zhēn | しん | 진 | True |
| Jitsu | Chestnut (Kuri/Jitsu) | 実 | Shí | じつ | 실 | Real |
| Fu | Basket | 不 | Bù | ふ | 불 | Not |
| Ko | Child | 虚 | Xū | こ | 허 | False |
The sutra ends with the Sanskrit mantra written in Chinese characters (transliterated sounds).
Gya-te (揭諦): Often shown as a Scallop (Ka-te or Gya-te).
Ha-ra (波羅): The Leaf (Ha) and Silk (Ra).
Sowaka (薩婆訶): Usually a Monk (practitioner) or a Broom (Sō-ji) for Sowa.
| Sound (JP) | Picture (Rebus) | Sanskrit | Kanji | Pinyin | Meaning |
| Gya-te | Scallop/Shell | Gate | 掲諦 | Jiē-dì | Gone |
| Gya-te | Scallop/Shell | Gate | 掲諦 | Jiē-dì | Gone |
| Ha-ra | Leaf + Silk | Pāra- | 波羅 | Bō-luó | Gone beyond |
| Gya-te | Scallop/Shell | -gate | 掲諦 | Jiē-dì | Gone beyond |
| Hara-sō | Leaf + Silk + Monk | Pārasaṃ- | 波羅僧 | Bō-luó-sēng | Gone altogether beyond |
| Gya-te | Scallop/Shell | -gate | 掲諦 | Jiē-dì | (Part of mantra) |
| Bo-ji | Tray + Temple | Bodhi | 菩提 | Pú-tí | Enlightenment |
| Sowaka | Broom/Monk | Svāhā | 薩婆訶 | Sà-pó-hē | So be it! |