an old writer and his words

  • SLEEPING

    In the Virginia countryside men have dug an enormous hole. Some say it is for the stone to pave their streets, build their homes. Some say it was dug out of spite. The young child looking out the window of the plane knows and simply says it is a burrow where all the stars and moon…

    Lou Faber

  • DARLING’S MANTRAS

    You are two and you laugh for everything is funny or can be, if you just tilt your head a certain way or wag a finger at it. The cat watches from behind the sofa with a knowing gaze. For you food is as much a toy as words are food and you cannot imagine…

    Lou Faber

  • FROM BEYOND

    “Call your mother,” she says. She speaks in the voice of my mother. It grates on my nerves in just the same way it always did. I listen carefully. She repeats herself.  I reminded her that she died two years ago. I tell her I tried to call for months after her passing, but there…

    Lou Faber

  • TOOTHLESS BODHISATTVA

    He will tell you that the distance between a tear and a laugh is the span of a mother’s arm. He knows the duration of sadness is identical to a shnork*. He cannot understand how you could have forgotten all this. He doesn’t know why you cannot recall that enlightenment is no more than a…

    Lou Faber

  • UNKNOWING

    I don’t know what                         I am, the Buddha said. I don’t know why                         my mother gave me up at birth                         or how many cousins walk                                     the streets of Glasgow                         or where I lost my first tooth I don’t know what                         became of the nickel                         or why the tooth fairy…

    Lou Faber

  • FINDING TEACHER

    He had been searching for . . . well it was impossible to say for how long, even he could not remember when he began the search, but he was sure it was some time ago. People would seem him searching, most would ignore him, either afraid to interrupt the search or afraid of him, probably…

    Lou Faber

  • KANNON

    Under the compassionate eye of the Bodhisattva the cats at Senso-ji Temple curl around the incense burners on a cold December morning, ignoring countless pigeons hopping impatiently, awaiting flocks of school children in neat uniforms and rainbow backpacks, each with a slice or two of stale bread. The Buddha watches with a gentle smile.

    Lou Faber

  • A DRY GARDEN LAUGHING

    In the heart of Nara Park there is a five story pagoda. Deer appear, standing sentinel along the lantern lined walk. Up the unseen hill the Temple bell announces the full arrival of morning as the Golden Buddha awakens. Young children can see all of this through eyes unlensed, and fetter free. They watch clouds…

    Lou Faber

  • FROM THE BEGINNING

    Buddha said Christ walked on water, but we all did that in the womb, it was only knowledge that caused our skills to erode. Be content, he smiled, you could have been an egg.

    Lou Faber

  • REFLECTIONS ON A FATHER NEVER KNOWN

    The sun is obscured by half-lidded eyes.  We are standing together on a small beach.  Twenty toes are curled in the wave packed sand.  We are in Cascais, or perhaps Estoril. The waves spread their foam capped fingers through the rocks and cradle us.  He wants to drive down the coast, to see the boats…

    Lou Faber