an old writer and his words

  • AT THE TEMPLE

    The Buddhist priest in golden robes rocks gently to and fro, chanting from the prayer cards over the din of the flea market swirling around him, The faithful stand with heads bowed, as the stone Buddha draped in red and gold nods his approval

    Lou Faber

  • HEAVEN

    Joseph said he once met an angel on the bullet train between Osaka and Tokyo. I asked him if her wings were feathered, he said “no, it was her smile” and it was gossamer. Joseph said they spoke only briefly, she through long black hair, in Japanese, he in his only language, English. She was…

    Lou Faber

  • THREE TOKYO SCENES

    Scene I Just off Shinjukuchuokoen North, nestled in the courtyard of the Green Tower, hides Jyoufuji Temple, serene in the first light of morning, the sun dancing off the ceremonial bell its striker poised, as if waiting to catch the wind and to it sing its resonant song. Inside, the prayer mats await the first…

    Lou Faber

  • REFLECTION

    Just once on the Shinkansen Tokyo to Osaka I chose to sit on the rearward facing seat just once to see where I had been without care of what lay ahead.

    Lou Faber

  • COMPARISONS

    It was Henry Miller who said that the principal difference between a sage and a preacher is one thing: gaiety, and I suppose the same could be said of the difference between the monk and the wealthy man. It was in a small temple nestled in a courtyard of three office towers in the heart of…

    Lou Faber

  • ONE ROW OVER, TWO LIVES BACK

    I am somewhere southwest of Alaska, four hours outside Narita, and I notice him, three seats over and a row behind, a middle seat, yet the Buddha doesn’t seem to mind. He sits calmly sipping his Chivas and rubbing his round belly, his legs tucked neatly, lotus. He smiles at me, lifting his glass, “One…

    Lou Faber

  • SEEKING THE BUDDHA

    I looked for you on the bullet train from Osaka to Tokyo, but perhaps you were in the unreserved car sharing a seat with a small girl, and a withered old woman, eyes closed, staring placidly at the holy mountain shrouded in clouds.

    Lou Faber