The Weather-Exposed Skeleton, The Refugee.

In 1685 and 1689, Basho wrote The Narrow Road to the Deep North and Travels of a Weather-Exposed Skeleton, his two legendary travel chronicles through Japan's back country. They are written in a hybrid of prose and haiku, the first of its kind.

I want to dive into the opening line and haiku of Travels of a Weather-Exposed Skeleton together, and uncover its relevance to the bone-chilling cold spell we are under.

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In the Travels of a Weather-Exposed Skeleton, Basho writes:

Following the example of the ancient priest who is said to have travelled thousands of miles caring naught for his provisions and attaining the state of sheer ecstasy under the pure beams of the moon, I left my broken house on the River Sumida in the August of the first year of Jōkyō among the wails of the autumn wind.

Determined to fall

A weather-exposed skeleton

I cannot help the sore wind

Blowing through my heart.

After ten autumns

In Edo, my mind

Points back to it

As my native place

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"Determined to fall

A weather-exposed skeleton

I cannot help the sore wind

Blowing through my heart."

With a fluttering heart, Basho set out on his first pilgrimage through Japan's countryside. He left his broken home behind, and jumped into the elements, or as he put it, the 'wails of the autumn wind.' Famous entrepreneur Jim Rohn, who hails from rural Washington, once said: "If you don't like where you are, move. You are not a tree."

Was Basho's house literally broken? Or does the word 'broken' connote hard luck or trauma in a different manner?

In the time of the Second Temple, the Jewish people had a spiritual nucleus and 'home' - the Beit Hamikdash (Holy Temple). Unfortunately, due to idolatry, corruption, and baseless hatred between men, Jerusalem became spiritually damaged and eventually physically destroyed. Galut, which can be translated to exile or diaspora, is how the Jewish people describe the time we are in. Before Galut, Jerusalem, the spiritual home of the Jewish people, became a broken home. What is an exile? The state of being forced to leave one's home or country. When someone's sacred sanctuary takes on the characteristics of a broken home, a neglected home, a stuck home, an abusive home, or a chaotic home, it is time for them to leave - even if its against their will.

So, following the example of an ancient priest who found comfort in having nothing, Basho leaves his broken home and ventures into the rough elements with nothing but... nothing! He is as bare as he is the day he was born! This is the weather-exposed skeleton. The person who must leave their home, due to circumstances out of their control, is the weather-exposed skeleton. Just last month, a coworker of mine had to flee their country due to war. I have lost contact with him, but at this time he should be in refugee housing in a foreign country, with a foreign culture, religion, and language. This person is exposed and in danger.

"I cannot help the sore wind

Blowing through my heart."

This is how Basho experiences the world in exile. His home is elsewhere, and while a physical structure may provide his body temporary relief, his heart and soul remain exposed, so every interaction with humanity feels like a sore wind blowing through his heart. The refugee feels anything but peace in their heart, just the cold wind of hostility, unfamiliarity, and resent blowing through them and they have no way to protect themselves. The weather-exposed skeleton.

Nonetheless, the journey is a journey back to a home repaired:

"After ten autumns

In Edo, my mind

Points back to it

As my native place"

Ten or ten thousand autumns, the message is the same: people never forget where they come from, and those in exile yearn for a return to what they know, love, and believe. As of 2026, it has been 1,956 years since the destruction of the Second Temple. 1,956 autumns.

This is the journey of someone who is forced to leave their broken home. In wabi sabi tradition, it is important to honor what is imperfect, weathered, and and incomplete. The broken home is not wabi sabi - it implies neglect, chaos, and stuckness. Wabi sabi shows time passing honestly, whereas the broken home lives in denial of its reality, inflicting pain and suffering on its inhabitants.

It is us that are wabi-sabi, weathered honestly and beautifully by generations of culture, stories, and dignity. It is our fellow human beings that deserve respect. This is why it is taught in Perkei Avot: "Who is he that is honored? He who honors his fellow human beings as it is said: “For I honor those that honor Me, but those who spurn Me shall be dishonored” (I Samuel 2:30).

After ten autumns, Basho will gladly endure ten more if that is his path. We must all endure ten more autumns if that is our paths. Will there be reconciliation, redemption, or closure in our lifetimes? Will we overcome the characteristics of exile that we carry around within us? Only God knows. Basho teaches us to dive into exile with a smile and to find ecstasy in life's simple pleasures, like the moonlight. Until we reach our homes, hopefully standing stronger and more beautiful than before, it would be Wabi Sabi Jew-ish to honor and respect our neighbors, who, like us, are weather-exposed skeletons in this terribly cold winter.