an old writer and his words

  • UNSEEN

    “There is an art,” the old monk said, his samu-e belted tightly, “to spreading peanut butter. Consider this carefully for it is a matter of gravest importance. Spreading peanut butter requires care just as meditation does. You wouldn’t think so, but try it in your robes and see how unruly your sleeve can be. It…

    Lou Faber

  • NAME THAT CLOUD

    The weather, he announced to no one in particular, ought to be musical or at least incorporate some jazz. Spring is bebop, Trane and Parker, the sudden clash of Blakey the downpours of Dizzy and the hint of what’s to come on the fingers of Monk, and Kenny and Milt. Summer brings the slow easing…

    Lou Faber

  • REFLECTIONS

    An elk stands at the edge of a placid mountain lake and sees only the clouds of an approaching winter. A black bear leans over the mirrored surface of the lake and sees only the fish that will soon be his repast. The young man draped in saffron robes looks calmly into the water and…

    Lou Faber

  • URBANITY

    Walking down this road I would like to see a rice field golden in the morning sun with a great mountain rising behind it just around the next bend. I would settle for a town its lone Temple quiet, awaiting the morning bell, the call to sit, with maybe a cat at the base of…

    Lou Faber

  • NARA

    It was inside Nara that it finally slipped away. Its tether had grown ever weaker, the first slip was decades before, a book, brief meetings an answerless question. It stretched further in Tokyo, basin incense under the watchful third eye and hung perilously by fewer and fewer threads until, with the monks’ gentle bow, it…

    Lou Faber

  • MUSING (4 HAIKU)

    Out the plane window a lake or a sea of clouds Why does it matter?   during an eye blink the butterfly spreads its wings galaxies collapse   Cats curl in furred sleep the moon crawls across the sky a monk awakens   leaves cling to the trees the rivers flow more slowly the stone…

    Lou Faber

  • A MONK IN MEDITATION 鐵笛倒吹 七十語

    A man may own may volumes of great knowledge and never have time to read. An illiterate may take such books and fashion a stool on which to sit in meditation. Which of these is truly wise which the greatest fool. Wipe your mouth with this page at the conclusion of the meal. A reflection…

    Lou Faber

  • THE COLOR OF BEAUTY

    They sat on the bench in the park looking out on the small lake, two ducks swimming slowly in circles. “Dawn is the most beautiful moment of the day, the sun chasing the moon and setting the sky ablaze, orange, crimson, flame, there is simply nothing,” he said, “in the world quite like it.” “It…

    Lou Faber

  • NANSEN’S REJECTIONS 鐵笛倒吹 四十四

      If you come before Master Nansen, will you come holding the posture of a monk or a lay person, and when Nansen turns you away, how will you exit the room? Nested hands and gassho hands – both are so easily manacled – why leave the room at all? A reflection on case 44…

    Lou Faber

  • OLD MONK

    The old monk stooped carefully, gingerly picking each browning leaf from the dry garden and gently placing it in the sack he carried. With each leaf he would increase his count, always certain that it fully fell into the sack. When the last leaf was picked and even the autumn tree dared not drop another…

    Lou Faber