an old writer and his words

  • UNGAN’S SWEEPS THE GROUND

    As you stoop to pick up fallen leaves are you cleaning spring, summer or autumn? What seasons are deep within the winter branch? How does your work and that of the tree truly differ, and what leaves do you shed? A reflection on Case 83 of the Shobogenzo (True Dharma Eye)

    Lou Faber

  • RE-ENTRY ALLOWED

    He sits on the cushion staring through hooded eyes at the wall in front of him. He expects exactly nothing to happen, expects there to be no sound within his mind, only what happens without, expects that time will cease for him, or will at least cease to matter. He is not disappointed. The bell…

    Lou Faber

  • THIS POEM

    This poem begins with infinite possibility

    Lou Faber

  • MUSING (4 HAIKU)

    Out the plane window a lake or a sea of clouds Why does it matter?   during an eye blink the butterfly spreads its wings galaxies collapse   Cats curl in furred sleep the moon crawls across the sky a monk awakens   leaves cling to the trees the rivers flow more slowly the stone…

    Lou Faber

  • SEPPO’S TURNING THE WHEEL 正法眼蔵 三十八

    The wisest of men when asked “at what time it is best to pursue the Way,” will answer when a thousand stars have made their presence known. The wisest student will say “when cleaning myself by bathing in the mud.” This will become clear when the frog consumes the dragon. A reflection on Case 38…

    Lou Faber

  • RIVERS

    I have never been particularly one for rivers. Like everyone, I’ve walked along their shores, listened to them gurgle under remote bridges but otherwise never paid them much attention. There’s an old Buddhist saying you can’t step into the same river twice, but that presupposes you step into the river the first time. I remember…

    Lou Faber

  • SEPPO’S WOODEN BALL 鐵笛倒吹 八十九

    The teacher rolls a wooden ball past the students seated around his feet. Will you pick it up and return it to him? The teacher rolls a wooden ball past the students seated around his feet. I sit still and let it pass. Which of us deserves the stick, which a silent smile. Buddha is…

    Lou Faber

  • SILENCE

    She only wants to know what lies deep within silence. He says he imagines it is a place he can never visit locked away from humans, whose minds deny the quiet. She says she is willing to continue the search, for even if she cannot find it, she may find something like it, and that…

    Lou Faber

  • GROWING

    Buddha cares little for the endless prostrations preferring Summer. The sun ignores the Buddha and bows to the greening rice. The grass is growing When we are present to watch Without us — growing.

    Lou Faber

  • NOTHING, AND LESS

    The hardest thing, he said to his teacher, both sitting on their mats, is not not thinking, but what to do when the thoughts come anyway. I can’t seem to get rid of them no matter how hard I try.” “Do not try to do anything,” the Sensei said, “for anything you do introduces another…

    Lou Faber