Word 083
At Yamatokoriyama Castle Ruins, a wide moat still traces the outline of a fortress built in the age of warring states. In the early morning, before visitors arrive, the water lies perfectly still — on windless days, the stone walls and the sky above reflect on its surface without a ripple.
The moat once guarded the castle it surrounded. Now it is simply a quiet stretch of water where birds rest their wings, and the wind, when it passes, draws small ripples across the surface. No one commands it. It simply exists, returning the light again and again.
Looking across to the far bank, there is no marker showing a fixed course, no lighthouse to guide the way. And yet the water stretches on, seeming to wait quietly for whoever is ready to push off.
My life is a "voyage,"
my body is the "ship,"
and my heart is the ship's "captain."
And also,
I am a "product" I offer to the world,
the "president" of my own company.
That company's only "client" is myself.
There is no chart, no blueprint for the product,
no business plan for my company.
So — what will you do?
How you build it is entirely up to you.
By the time I turned from the moat, the water was still trembling quietly with light. It isn't waiting for someone to lay out a course — it simply keeps spreading, on its own. What sail the next boat raises, and where it means to go, is not something the water or the moat will ever decide.