an old writer and his words

  • INTO THE DESERT

    His is six and deeply confused, and asks questions to end that state. He wants to know if Adam and Eve had two sons, and one killed the other, where did all of the people come from? Ask your father seems and easy answer, but one he cannot accept, too easy for a mind that…

    Lou Faber

  • AT THE MARGINS

    Horizons are the thing we have they greatest trouble with. They are omnipresent, immutable and yet move at our approach. They are at once inviting and fear inducing, though now we are largely convinced they do not mark the edge of a precipice over which we would catapult into some endless abyss crossing their margin.…

    Lou Faber

  • WITH EYES WIDE CLOSED

    Between this moment and the next lies an unbridgeable gulf that the mind leaps with great ease, never looking back, or down into the abyss. It is only when the body stops, tries to grasp the space between, that everything collapses and falls into itself until all that is left is improbability.

    Lou Faber

  • MEMENTO VIVERE

    The moment arrives suddenly and appears at your feet, threatening to trip you into the hole of time that marks the edge of this moment as it once did the one before this. If you stand perfectly still You may move forward with the easy grace of enlightenment.

    Lou Faber

  • EVENT UALLY

    A week from this Thursday something will happen that no one could have ever foreseen. This is the beauty and the horror, at once, of our limited vision, afraid to see the present although it is all that is clearly within our visual field. Instead we look back into the shadows where memory substitutes for…

    Lou Faber

  • CHAO CHOU’S FOUR GATES

      Standing on the edge of the precipice with your eyes closed,  what will you do? If I turn you around, where is the edge and where is the land from which you approached? If I say you must take a step, do you gently place your toe out and seek to feel the earth,…

    Lou Faber

  • SLIPPING AWAY

    Each day I am certain something more slips away, forgotten, no longer able to be recalled, lost in the vast abyss of yesterdays. I would like to think this happens because something new, something better has taken its place, and I had no choice but to displace it. That is the convenient story I tell…

    Lou Faber