an old writer and his words

  • SAY WHAT?

    In the heart of the night Iam wandering the back streetsand alleys of old Kyoto when Istumble across old Joshu staringplacidly at his acolyte monksgathered closely around him.“I ask you all again,” he says,“does a dog have Buddha Nature?”The monks consider this at length,each afraid to respond incorrectly.In this dream I am a cat out…

    Lou Faber

  • BASHO IN GALWAY

    Basho wanted to be in Kyotowhen he was in Kyotobut perhaps it was the cuckoothat led him to think thathe might be elsewhere, perhapsnot even in Japan althoughhe had never left Japan.I had the same feeling aboutIreland, except that thenI had never been in Ireland.I know, now, it was my genesthat wanted to be in…

    Lou Faber

  • SENSO-JI

    By hour six, the plane was just a lumbering beast dividing the sky, halfway from God knows where to nowhere special. His body cried for sleep but he knew he had to deny it. That much he had learned from prior trips. For when he landed, made his way painfully slowly into the city, it…

    Lou Faber

  • KENSHO

    Tonight, if all goes well, I will bea monk in a good-sized Buddhist temple.I am hoping it will be in Nara,at Todai-ji perhaps, or Asakusaat Senso-ji, or better still somewherein Kyoto, although it might well bein the Myanmar jungle or somewheredeep within the Laotian highlands. One problem with that world isthat I have no control…

    Lou Faber

  • NAMASTE

    There was a time, still withinmemory’s ever more tenuous graspthat I imagined myself, at this age,as a monk in a Buddhist templein Kyoto, that I had assumed a silenceimposed by lack of language, not faith. I am certain that the Japaneseare pleased that I let that dreampass unfulfilled, that I confinemy practice to that American…

    Lou Faber

  • THEN AGAIN

    1970. The evening news is a procession of body bags, the halls of the VA Hospital are a storehouse of shattered bodies. He sits with a surreal placidity cross-legged on the small cushion, the corners of his eyes pulling up as if lost in thoughts of Kyoto. I sit, knees creaking even then, across the…

    Lou Faber