an old writer and his words

  • A SEPTEMBER SKY

    Lie back, I said to her,just stare up that waystare into the skywithout any clear focus.Do you see him now,the hunter with his bowoutstretched, the beltcinched about his waistlocked in his eternal searchfor the prey that would free himfrom his nightly quest.And there, I pointedcan you see the great beargamboling with her childor there a…

    Lou Faber

  • POLISH

    Mother made a point of remindingme to polish my shoes, she saiduntidy shoes are the markof a poor man, one to be avoided. I noticed she never wore shoesthat needed polish, never had waxand brush in hand, and when her shoesshowed wear they were replaced. I learned early not to talk backto her, the penalty…

    Lou Faber

  • WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

    My history is like an ill-sewn quilt, odd piecesof parents stitched looselytogether, always ready to comeapart, fade or be thrown away. Perhaps my history ismore like a belovedold pair of jeans, holesappear and are patched,patches wear out and arereplaced, or the hole isjust left, as if it weresomehow a fashion statement. There is little normalwhen…

    Lou Faber

  • SUNDAY MORNING

    Every Sunday morning my parents,usually my father at mother’s directionwould drive me the four blocksto attend Sunday school. I could easily have walked, a longblock and a half by cutting through yards,but they were afraid of I haveabsolutely no idea what. My friends that weren’t there with mewere probably in church soit wasn’t like I…

    Lou Faber

  • ON ARRIVING

    They arrive after a long flightfrom tyranny, from oppressionfrom the nightmare of endlessfear, from hunger, from faithdenied, from the bottomlessdepths of poverty, scarredmemories etched in their souls,hoping for an ending as muchas wishing for a new beginning.They have been here, a newgeneration, raised on the stories,versed in the painful history,still residual anger bornof love for…

    Lou Faber

  • WORKSHOP

    Grace settles into the chair,less an act of sitting thanof floating down onto the seat.She has borrowed my grandmother’ssmile, kind, gentle, inviting.She pulls a book from her bag,its pages or most of themdog eared, and I glimpsesome annotations in the margins.We sit around her like childrenawaiting presents on a holiday,as acolytes seeking knowledgefrom a font…

    Lou Faber

  • WHERE?

    It is hard,painfully hardto realizeyour guidedoesn’t knowwhere youneed to go. And the onewho could guideyou isn’tthere, doesn’tknow youat all, hadyou whenshe couldonly place youfor adoption. So you wanderguideless,self-guided,deeper intothe unknown.

    Lou Faber

  • EDGE OF THE ABYSS

    He sits on the edgepeering down, shakingin the breeze, knowingthe abyss below waitsfor a misstep, a slip. He stares up, waitingfor her return, hopingshe will soon arrivebringing the meal, neverenough always wanting more. He knows he willsomeday soon haveto leave, but for nowall he can do is spreadhis wings, flap them, until it will seem…

    Lou Faber

  • SENSO-JI

    By hour six, the plane was just a lumbering beast dividing the sky, halfway from God knows where to nowhere special. His body cried for sleep but he knew he had to deny it. That much he had learned from prior trips. For when he landed, made his way painfully slowly into the city, it…

    Lou Faber

  • ENO DOESN’T UNDERSTAND 正法眼蔵 語十九

    You ask meif I understandthe preceptsand follow them.You frown whenI say I do not.Remember wellthat the young childhas no understandingof the preceptsand walks easilyalong the Way. A reflection on case 59 of the Shobogenzo Koans (Dogen’s True Dharma Eye)

    Lou Faber