an old writer and his words

  • CHRISTMAS

    It isn’t my first Christmasalthough almost so, thatpart of me hidden for halfa century, its twisted discoveryfilling a hole that I neverknew existed, yet always knew. This is the strangest Christmas,a time of gathering, nowin isolation, only pixelsand prayers on a too flat screen,and it is hard, in timesof want and suffering, to recallwhy we…

    Lou Faber

  • THE GATHERING

    They gather this time every week, they would feel lost if they did otherwise. The don’t do it out of any sense of duty or higher calling, and they expect nothing in return for having done so. They aren’t even following directions or obeying some unwritten rule. They object to most rules, demand logic before…

    Lou Faber

  • ISAN’S QUESTION 鐵笛倒吹 二十九

    Gather each single leaf from the stones of the garden and place it neatly in a bushel. It will take weeks or months to gather them all even if you have windless days, but this is important work. When the last leaf is gathered take up the bushel and throw the leaves into the garden,…

    Lou Faber

  • THIS IS HOW WE MOURN

    This is how we mourn: we don’t berate the clouds for gathering, nor begrudge the rain’s ultimate descent. Our tears fall to the earth as well, and there are moments when we need the gray, moments when the sun would be an unwelcomed interloper. This is how we mourn: we wipe the walls clean of…

    Lou Faber