an old writer and his words

  • ROBE

    Robe of liberationembodiment of emptinessin prescribed formonce Brahmin garbtattered strips of clothcarefully stitched togetherstitches made, pulledand resewn, bitsof dharma wornover the heartwanting silencebeneath the Bodhi treeawaiting the bell,the dawn,the triple recitation,the three prostrationsBuddhas and BuddhasIn waiting, abidingfailure and compassion.

    Lou Faber

  • IMAGINE THAT

    There is a certain joy in writing fiction,for many readers will assume the protagonistis the author or at least partially basedon the author, never pausing to considerthat the villains and lesser charactersare just as likely to be based to some extenton the author or bits of his or her life.And often the readers are not…

    Lou Faber

  • TIME WHEN

    There waa a time whennews wasn’t news, carriedby mouth, one personto another a game of telephonebefore that concept existed. Newspapers promised usthe news, but in the timeit took to write and print it,it was nearly news,or at worst slightly olds. Now the world is alwaysavailable instantly, but weknow or should, that halfof the time we…

    Lou Faber

  • LIVES

    I have lived many lives, too many to count, and I remember bits and pieces of each, but not necessarily to which life this bit or that bit should attach. It is why I run them together, view them as a singularity, easier to cope even when I know it is a nice delusion. I…

    Lou Faber