an old writer and his words

  • WE COULD

    We could, if you want,sit in the park on our foldingchairs or better a folded blanketand stare out over the pond,its silver surface shirredby a midday breeze. We could picnic, sandwichesof brie and apples, or for ushummous with tahini anda bottle of chardonnay, carefullypoured into plastic glassesimagining themseles crystal. The dragonflies would ignore us,busy doing…

    Lou Faber

  • TOO WAY BACK MACHINE

    Platform shoes, velourNehru jackets, what the hellwere we thinking, and pinkvelour, seriously, for men. At least it was Hendrix, Byrds,and not Pat Boone and AndyWilliams, almost the deathof music as we know it. Reefers were evil, told us so,and when we figured out it waspot, we begged to differ, frequentlybetween hits on the bong, after…

    Lou Faber

  • WAITING FOR TEACHER

    It should come as no surprise, for both Buddhism and Hinduism grew out of the same fertile soil. An older Hindu man said, “do not look for your Guru. When you are ready, your Guru will find you.” I knew the Buddhist equivalent, and its corollary, when the student is ready, the teacher disappears. My…

    Lou Faber