an old writer and his words

  • TIME

    There is never sufficient time no matter how I adjust the clocks, he said with a profound sadness. What, she said, would happen if you did not consult the clocks, would there be time enough then? But how would I know if there were time enough without clocks, he replied. The cat watched this scene,…

    Lou Faber

  • TRYPTICH (HAIKU

    shout Yuki Onna I have wandered from my course snow piles at my feet   gold Chrysanthemum blooms bright in the summer sun pure water of life   a pebble is plucked from the lake, ripples move in, singularity.

    Lou Faber

  • PRACTICE (TANKA)

    In the Buddha Hall autumn daylight filters through the half closed windows. In the garden, Kannon stoops to pick up a fallen leaf.

    Lou Faber

  • LETTING GO

    Roshi left last week sitting in the garden of the Zen Center, there then not there, as though he let go his 91 year grasp knowing somehow, it was the right moment. He left so quietly those around him did not hear him depart. Half a lifetime ago I sat at his feet, unable to…

    Lou Faber

  • TE SHAN CARRYING HIS BUNDLE

    Enter the room slowly and look carefully, since you are here to find something. There is much within this room, but you can see nothing save the old man, sitting calmly, staring at nothing, staring through you at nothing in particular. You know he is the teacher, the one for whom you have been searching,…

    Lou Faber

  • BIG ISLAND

    It is his hands you notice first – dark fingers bent and gnarled, several banded in silver, knuckles scratched by the cat curled at his feet, the tip of his index finger sacrificed to a distraction and the saw, untrimmed nails, rough, ragged a torn cuticle, liver spot rubbed raw. The fingers curl gently around the…

    Lou Faber

  • THREE VIEWS OF WINTER (HAIKU)

    cat curls by the fire dreaming of summer flowers snow falls in laughter now barren branches of the locust tree shiver in the midnight breeze a raging sun sets as cranes raise wings in farewell winter awakens

    Lou Faber

  • THE FLY

    The fly hovers before me I stare at it trying to freeze its diaphanous wings to hold it, still, in my mind’s eye locking it in a moment that might last my eternity. I sit calmly in the chair staring out at the storm building outside the window as the fly stares at me seeing…

    Lou Faber

  • TRANSITIONS

    Dusk is that hour when the mind and eyes mark the slow transition from light to dark. As day slides off, things that were obvious, things that once were simple, grow in complexity until the intricacy threatens to overwhelm you. When night fully settles, sanity returns grudgingly and the memory of dusk is but a…

    Lou Faber

  • PEACE MANDALA

    The saffron robed  monks stoop carefully, dropping single grains of colored sand onto the mandala of peace. They rock gently as the intricate wheel takes shape and form. They are drawn to its center, closer day by day, countless hours focussed to a singularity. They interlace fingers bow a collective head and pray silently for…

    Lou Faber