an old writer and his words

  • AND THEN

    My Buddhism teaches me that Ishould be in this moment,present in an infinitesimally smallbit of time, always here, never staying.This morning my back had an issuewith me, and made its displeasure known.Pain fills moments, elongates themand time ever moving appears to slow,to grind along, almost to a halt.Would that pleasure might do the samebut it…

    Lou Faber

  • ALIGNMENT

    There was that moment oncewhen everything seemed alignedeverything where it should beand time ceasing to matter.You wondered if this hadhappened before, hopingto grasp the moment, elongatedso that time would slow to a crawl.Now you wonder if that moment,or one just like it, will come again,how would it be different,how would you be different?Was it truly…

    Lou Faber

  • ON ARRIVAL

    This morning arrivedwith a painful slowness, the slothof irregular dreams refusing to concedeto the light struggling to creep aroundthe blinds that hide the oversize windows. It had been that sort of night,sleep arriving and departing witha frustrating lack of constancy, my bodyuncertain of its proper placement ,the mattress offering no easy solutions. Conceding the failure…

    Lou Faber

  • DETOUR

    He always wanted to take the scenic route home, it didn’t matter if it took longer, he probably preferred that and he rarely commented on the scenery. It was more that he didn’t want to get where they were going and the scenic route was guaranteed to take longer and with luck they’d get lost…

    Lou Faber

  • A QUESTION

      What is there in a yawn that has time inexorably slow, flattening notes by some unknown but ever constant fraction of a tone so that each lingers painfully before proceeding? A moment is locked in place, frozen like Schroedinger’s cat before observation.

    Lou Faber

  • HALT

      But what if, just once time slowed significantly or even stopped. A bird becomes frozen in the sky, not moving, not falling, staring at the distant tree in total stillness. A drop of rain hovers just over the grass dreaming of chlorophyl. If you had such a moment how would you wish to spend…

    Lou Faber

  • A QUESTION, AN ANSWER

    What is there in a yawn that has time inexorably slow, flattening notes by some unknown but ever constant fraction of a tone, so that it lingers painfully before proceeding? A moment locked in place, frozen like Schrodinger’s cat before observation.

    Lou Faber