an old writer and his words

  • INTENTION

      Today my intentions fell away through the hourglass the best, heaviest, first, followed in course by the lesser, until I could mark my day by the void left in their wake. But tomorrow I shall turn the glass over yet again.

    Lou Faber

  • WINTER TWO VIEWS

    The small dog frolics in the snow — now appearing from, now disappearing into clouds of flakes, while his master stands in the door cursing winter. As the temperature slides below zero, even the snow imagines itself a wave cresting onto a South Florida beach.

    Lou Faber

  • SEKITO’S GREAT AND SMALL CANON 正法眼蔵 語十三

    This wave touches the shore just as it should, that wave touches the shore just as it should. You may wait an eternity for a wave that touches but not as it should or you can sit and let the waves wash over you. A reflection on Case 53 of the Shobogenzo (Master Dogen”s True…

    Lou Faber

  • WAVES

    If you ask me the true measure the passing moment I will tell you it is at once invaluable and, by equal measure, useless, lost in the detritus of time’s wave, now receded. Do not try to cling to it for your memory is all that is impermeable, and then only in a moment already…

    Lou Faber

  • TRUE MEASURE

    If you ask me the true measure of a passing moment, I will tell you it is at once invaluable, and by equal measure useless, lost in the detritus of time’s wave, now receded. Do not try and cling to it for your memory is all that is impermeable, and then only in a moment…

    Lou Faber

  • SEKITO’S GREAT AND SMALL CANON

    This wave touches the shore just as it should. That wave touches the shore just as it should. You may wait an eternity for a wave that touches just not as it should, just as it should not, or you can sit and let the waves wash over you.   A reflection on Case 53…

    Lou Faber

  • TELLER

    She claims to see the future in a glass orb, in the palm of a hand, in the cards spread out on a small table. He knows all history is written in books is retold in stories is buried in successive layers of soil beneath the city. Neither walks along the shore see this wave…

    Lou Faber