an old writer and his words

  • THE RIVER

    The river, flowing through the heart of the city never pauses to note the cafés and shops lining its banks. The couple in the wine bar look out over the river’s waters but can not imagine the sea. Among them, river, man and woman a thousand stories will go untold.

    Lou Faber

  • MANDALA

    Day one, and they are hunched over the mat meticulously drawing faintly on its deep blue surface. Day two and sitting, leaning forward they precisely place the first grains of sand. Day three, the same and the picture begins to emerge though they dare not breathe. Day upon day, minute upon minute hours on end…

    Lou Faber

  • THREE VIEWS: WINTER

    the ghosts of morning cast their spell over the sun joyous winter smiles   first snow of winter white coated Buddha dreaming of chrysanthemums   each flake different a billion unique moments a Buddhist season    

    Lou Faber

  • YAKUSAN’S LAKE 鐵笛倒吹 八十八

    When you travel from home and are asked if the lake on the shore of which you live is now full, what can you say. Will you speak of the rains that soaked your fields and what of the herd of water buffalo come to graze since you have left. The eye sees only now,…

    Lou Faber

  • CASTLE HARLECH

    High on the battlements of Castle Harlech the winter wind cuts through me like scythes slashing the grasses in the meadows that roll out toward the distant, mute hills. The plaintive cry of bowmen whose bones are dust taken deep into the Welsh soil are whispers lost in the wing sweep of the circling starlings.…

    Lou Faber

  • LINJI WAS(N’T) HERE

    I very strongly doubt that Linji ever walked along this path, given that it wasn’t even here fifty years ago. He never saw the egret staring back across the pond, or the flock of ibis doing what seem like prostrations. He did not see any of this, which saddens me a great deal, but taking careful steps,…

    Lou Faber

  • LLANYSTUMDWY

    The small church is tucked alongside the narrow road, its moss encrusted stones bathed in the November sun. The headstones in the churchyard lean askew, sagging under the weight of time. The weeds sprout up answering to a silent call. We are here, they seem to say, to reclaim our own, and we shall do…

    Lou Faber

  • VAIROCANA (NARA DAIBUTSU)

    Daibutsu, you sit placidly staring down at the throng that slowly bows before you. You can small the faint essence of the joss sticks wafting from the great cast iron pot outside the massive doors. “Do not act as if the world were real” you whisper, or so it seems to my chilled ears, “it…

    Lou Faber

  • PHILOSOPHER’S STONE

    The philosopher sits on a rock overlooking a pond with a single water lily. To defeat your enemy, you must have his mind. To have his mind, you must be him. To be him, you must cast off self-loathing When there is no loathing, he is not your enemy. If you have no enemies, you…

    Lou Faber

  • TAIGEN FANS HIMSELF 正法眼蔵 三十二

    When a leaf leaves the tree it falls precisely where it should. When a flower petal is carried off on a strong wind it comes to rest in the proper place. When you smell the sweet aroma of next summer’s roses you must use the nose you had before your parents were born. A reflection…

    Lou Faber