an old writer and his words

  • MORE MUSIC OF THE FLUTE

    UMMON’S FEAST         鐵笛倒吹 七 Sitting in the deep well of silence feel the old patriarchs dancing on top of your head, look down under the weight of their wisdom., to the earth and stare deeply into their eyes. But how will you go make a feast for the never sated gods? Lie on the earth,…

    Lou Faber

  • FROM THE BEGINNING

    Buddha said Christ walked on water, but we all did that in the womb, it was only knowledge that caused our skills to erode. Be content, he smiled, you could have been an egg.

    Lou Faber

  • OSAKA MORNING

    The rain trickles slowly down the deep green and gray roof tiles, drips slowly from the tangle of wires and antennae, onto the narrow streets and alleys where bicycles lean against doorways, barely avoided by cars passing quickly. The sky is the gray of countless ships in the nearby harbor, a monochromatic world broken only…

    Lou Faber

  • CRIMES AGAINST WORDS

    I spent considerable time this morning murdering my darlings, though I am convinced the time would have been better spent hunting down old Quiller-Couch, but his advice given, he had left town. It wouldn’t have been an issue, really but in my damned manuscript, I had a gun early on. It was just to be…

    Lou Faber

  • NARA PARK

    He sits, head so far above, a muted gold, on the giant altar the incense rising up his chest and clouding the eyes of the slow parade of supplicants who bow, recite remembered bits of sutra, or just pause in the semi-silence of the park. They are all seekers, but it is only the few lingering…

    Lou Faber

  • SEARCH

    The old, rotund monk is his gray robes stood outside Osaka Station gently swinging his small bell, chanting . A child of five tugged on his mother’s sleeve as she pulled him toward the subway. “Is he the Buddha” the boy asks, pulling back “No,” she said, “he is not though he searches each day…

    Lou Faber

  • LETTING GO

    Dawn is announced by the sound of the bell, its echo chasing off the ghost of night leaving but whispers of what he cannot tell. Looking inward the mind seeks to rebel, to vanquish the simple call of the light. Dawn is announced by the sound of the bell and the peace of dreams shattered…

    Lou Faber

  • ONE ROW OVER, TWO LIVES BACK

    I am somewhere southwest of Alaska, four hours outside Narita, and I notice him, three seats over and a row behind, a middle seat, yet the Buddha doesn’t seem to mind. He sits calmly sipping his Chivas and rubbing his round belly, his legs tucked neatly, lotus. He smiles at me, lifting his glass, “One…

    Lou Faber

  • THREE CONVERSATIONS WITH BUDDHA

    I   How do you make an axe handle if you have no axe? Sharpen your mind.   II   How do you hear a tree fall in the forest if you are in the city? Turn a deaf ear.   III   How do you find the path to enlightenment if you have no…

    Lou Faber

  • BUDDHA IN WALES

    Sitting cross legged I dance between mindfulness and Samadhi, slipping the unmarked boundary until engulfed by the void. Buddha crawls into my lap an utter stillness until she touches my cheek with sand paper tongue and kneads my chest with rhythmic paws. I run my fingers down her spine. We purr, wedded in perfect enlightenment.

    Lou Faber