an old writer and his words

  • BARGING IN

    It would help, she said, if you would stop imagining your life as a barge moving slowly down the Mississippi River, one in an endless procession, following like so many lemmings looking without hope of finding a cliff. Yes, she adds, from time to time one may break free, it happens but you have to…

    Lou Faber

  • FIVE QUESTIONS, NO ANSWERS

    He no longer cared when it would happen, he knew it would or would not according to its own whims and desires and it would happen when it chose to do so. He could not control who would be there, it might be him or might not, so if he was, fine, and if not,…

    Lou Faber

  • ERR GO

    There is a reason for all things and therefore there is a reason for this although we cannot begin to fathom what that reason could possibly be, which should be reason enough, for reason has a twisted soul: now playful, now angry, now vengeful in irregular turns without warning. The problem with seeking the reason…

    Lou Faber

  • UMMON’S TWO SICKNESSES

      If you truly believe that you will soon enough meet your teacher you must gather together all of your questions concerning the Dharma. Carry them with you at all times in a satchel thrown over your shoulder, for you will be allowed only a single meeting with the master. When you meet the master,…

    Lou Faber

  • THE TRICKSTER RESPONDS

    The man liked to cry out into the night, asking questions for which he knew there could be no answers, or if there were, they would be things he would never wish to hear. The coyotes in the hills would listen to his pleas, his entreaties, his moaning, and they would remember the spirits of…

    Lou Faber

  • HYAKUJO’S SECOND VISIT 正法眼蔵 語十四

    You may come asking questions, and perhaps the teacher will answer you with a discourse. If you go deaf and hear nothing, if the words flit like so many mayflies just as soon gone, if no word finds purchase, you will have grasped the heart of the Dharma. A reflection on case 54 of the…

    Lou Faber

  • PARSINGS

    The old monk sits cross legged on a grass mat, a faint smile dances across his lips. He invites me to sit, our meeting, he says, is notable. I sit, legs folded as best I can, and begin to ask but he silences me, “First tea.”  He sets the cups down on the hardpack dirt floor, there is…

    Lou Faber