an old writer and his words

  • SEASONINGS (HAIKU)

      above only sky beneath only dark gray clouds the sun is content a mountain of clouds rises from white tufted bed the earth is watered in winter’s icy chill ripples from autumn’s pebble await the spring sun the leafless ginkgo taunts the first snow of winter with the dream of spring

    Lou Faber

  • PAPAL EDICT

    She said “now what they’ve taken away limbo” sounding a bit depressed, “not that you proceed express to the ferry dock, but that was a snap, all you were carefully taught is suddenly wrong or irrelevant. “It would be like Isaac,” I say, “climbing Mount Moriah with Abraham finding a ram tethered to a waiting…

    Lou Faber

  • ELEGY

    I am a Yao gem inferior to jade but awaiting the sorceress. Will she wear me in her ear, or prefer the pendant? I am a branch broken from the tree to dry on the ground my fruit shriveled into stones. Carry me in your dance inhale the fragrance and raise me from the ashes…

    Lou Faber

  • TERMINAL

    Birth, he said, is the first and only real terminal disease. You only realize that, of course, when it is far too late and there is nothing at all you can do about it. Cancer and all manner of diseases merely shift the timeline, but once you’re on the path, there is only one way…

    Lou Faber

  • FINDING

    It’s all a question of knowing where to look for one, but ask what would you do if you stumbled across it. It’s not a simple decision, nor should it be. The better question still is how you will know when you finally find it, for it is marked only deep within your heart.

    Lou Faber

  • A MONK IN MEDITATION 鐵笛倒吹 七十語

    A man may own may volumes of great knowledge and never have time to read. An illiterate may take such books and fashion a stool on which to sit in meditation. Which of these is truly wise which the greatest fool. Wipe your mouth with this page at the conclusion of the meal. A reflection…

    Lou Faber

  • RAKUSU

    The last stitch is sewn, the loose threads trimmed, the pincushioned fingers are swaddled in bandages, bits of brown thread plucked from sofa, rug and shirt. It is done, save for every other stitch you now want to pull and resew, the mocking voice of the needle convincing you otherwise. All that is left is…

    Lou Faber

  • PRACTICE

    It always seems odd that the teacher asks me to think about my practice when the heart of my practice is learning how not to always think about things. But the heart of practice is exactly these oddities, for nothing is exact. In the fourth vow I strive to attain the great way of Buddha,…

    Lou Faber

  • HARMONY

    Lao Tse, venerable one you would be pleased as I sit here drawing closer to the center quested for my Buddhahood be not seeking it amid the rain of fire from the hills above the blood congealing in the streets. I know not to ask and am unseen by the child and mother running through…

    Lou Faber

  • A MISTAKE IN SPEAKING 無門關 三十九

    When you speak the words of the Buddha you are lost. Light is everywhere in silence but the tongue must hide in the dark of the mouth. Buddha’s words are flowers unfolding in the dawn by the side of the still pond, the eyes hear the song and respond in silent chorus. A reflection on…

    Lou Faber