an old writer and his words

  • WHOSE FAULT?

    You lay on the lanai paversin the shadow of the tableunder the watchful eyeand ever prodding pawof the cat into whose territoryyou have so boldly encroached.You say that it is not the faultof your kind that ours were evictedfrom the Garden, and of courseyou are correct, but it no longerreally matters, does it, allof us,…

    Lou Faber

  • TOZAN’S NO GRASS

    When you wanderin search of the waydo you stop at a meadowreplete with wildflowersor the barren fieldbereft of grass and plants.The wise man knowsthe barren fieldis the garden he needs. A reflection on Case 89 of the Book of Equanimity (従容錄, Shōyōroku)

    Lou Faber

  • A DRY GARDEN LAUGHING

    In the heart of Nara Parkthere is a five story pagoda.Deer appear, standing sentinelalong the lantern lined walk.Up the unseen hillthe Temple bell announcesthe full arrival of morningas the Golden Buddha awakens.Young children can seeall of this through eyesunlensed, and fetter free.They watch cloudsrelease a cascadeof tiny maple leaveswhich flow over sitting monks,a stream washing…

    Lou Faber

  • VICARIOUSLY

    I wonder how my life would bedifferent if just once duringmy childhood I had imaginedthere was a ghost under my bedor a skeleton buried in the garden.I read books with thosescenes and I felt deprived.My friends said that I lackedimagination, and I was ableto imagine them fallingvictim to ghosts that inhabitedtheir homes, were carried offby…

    Lou Faber

  • WHAT IF

    Stop and imagine for one momentwhat it would be like if: during hunting seasonthe deer were armed with AR15’sand hunters with a bow and arrow. the mud wasp, docile insectthat you go after with a shovelcomes armed with a can of poison spray the raccoon eating your gardenthat you wanted to trap and takeinto the…

    Lou Faber

  • COLOURS

    We hunted him as a stagacross his fields, trophywe called him red man,color of Ares, godssacrificed on our altar,his rivers run with his spirit.I am whitebereft of color,barren, a glarea desert stripped of life.It is I who wearCain’s mark, pluckedfrom the gardenthe sweet taste fadesmy lips are dry.You are blackan amalgam, greenof the grasses in…

    Lou Faber

  • JOSHU’S WASH THE BOWL

    In the early morningwelcome the sun,as the day retreatswelcome the sun.When you are walkingalong the garden pathwhich foot is forwardand which footis behind? A reflection on case 67 of Dogen’s Shobogenzo (True Dharma Eye)

    Lou Faber

  • WEBBING

    The giant spider in its black shroudsits irritated in the center of its webwishing it ever larger, demandingthat others enter, become enthralleduntil it defines the parametersof the universe the spider imagines. The giant spider silently seethesat the once gardener who, havingtasted the forbidden fruit,has closed the screened dooras he reluctantly departed the gardendiminishing the web’s…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING

    In that momentwhen the gentle chirpingof a small birdresounds as a poundingspring deluge, washes awaythe creak and thrumof passing cars, when she singsonly to you, her small voicedrawn in to your ears, yourmind, until it fadesslowly like the belland you wait for itto strike again, to feelit seep down your spine,ooze into your fingersand toes,…

    Lou Faber

  • IN THE JUNGLE

    If you close your eyesyou can imagine that this gardenwas once a tropical jungleas imagined by some cleverFloridian striving to separatemore tourists from theirdwindling travellers checks. It has been carefully done over,plants native and ornamentalreplacing the vines and trees,the alligators, real and imaginarygone, now an exhibit of Lego animals,the orchids in bloom, andyou wonder why…

    Lou Faber