an old writer and his words

  • UNTO TARSHISH

    In this place there is a fatted, sacrificial silence. It is the large Jewish Cemetery nestling the road where Maryland and the District are loosely stitched together. It is a small plot goldenrod dirt outskirting Lisbon. This ground is sacred not for the blessing of one who has taken the tallit of holiness. The sanctity…

    Lou Faber

  • WARRANTED

    We have police for almost everything these days, ports and airports, cities, towns transit authorities and those whose beat is good taste or lack of it. Most enforce laws, some merely regulations, a few making them up as they go. My phone rang this morning, an 800 number, And knowing better, I answered it. It…

    Lou Faber

  • SEPPO’S TURNING THE WHEEL

    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

  • FOCUS

    He always paid passing attention to the coconut palms. It wasn’t that they were so attractive as to merit attention. Quite the contrary, they were remarkable ordinary as palms go. But he knew that if the drivers here didn’t get him, a ill-timed coconut leaping from a palm would be pleased to do the job.…

    Lou Faber

  • PATER INCOGNITA

    He often comes to me in dreams. In most he is faceless, but intently present, speaking in a voice I instantly know, nothing like mine and totally mine. On occasion his face appears, blurred, as if seen through a scrim, back-lit, vague, an actor in some film I have seen, but yet not that person,…

    Lou Faber

  • NIL, ZERO, NADA, NYET

    This morning absolutely nothing happened. The newswires were silent, or repeated old stories. The sports wires had nothing of note to say, save repeating yesterday’s scores. Even the gossip news was absent, as though a Saturday night passed without embarrassment. I did not mind the quiet, the almost silence, able to listen to the Mockingbird’s…

    Lou Faber

  • VIOLIN

    We sat at the table, sucking the last of the djej from the bones piled along the edge of the platter. “I played for seven years” he said, “under Tilson-Thomas and later Rudel, bad years those, I sat two rows back second from the stage edge.” He was unremarkable, forgettable until he nestled the violin…

    Lou Faber

  • ASKED AND ANSWERED

    Only the ducks remain, and they aren’t saying. Ask a Muscovy where all the ibis have gone and he will say, “good riddance, they’re ugly and get in the way.” Ask of the pelicans  and they will remind you that now there are more fish, and they’ll be back eventually, but things are much calmer…

    Lou Faber

  • RESEARCH

    She is a small woman dressed in white, save for black platform slingback pumps and cherry red eyeglass frames. She hunches forward in her seat seeming as though she might collapse, pouring over tables and graphs – biochemical research papers. You measure the depth of her attention by the frequency with which she  pulls single…

    Lou Faber

  • WHEN THE BELL SOUNDS

    Does coyote come down the mountain, or does the mountain rise up under coyote? Do either hear the sound of the Temple bell? Pull on the robe against the heat, tie tight the obi to be freed of the leash. A reflection on case 16 of the Mumonkan (Gateless Gate)

    Lou Faber