Below is the reading by the author, Dan Windisch, of his science fiction story Alpha Martin and Omega. This is from his book of the same name that is available as a paperback book and a Kindle book on the Amazon website. Many people prefer listening to a book rather than reading it. This is for those people! I hope you enjoy it. The story reflects much of my philosophy of living and dying and beauty and magic.
Category Archives: Alpa Martin and Omega Steed Book
Paradox and Choosing
Paradox and Choosing article reading from Dan Windisch’s Alpha Martin and Omega Steed book that is available on Amazon and hopefully soon to available as an Audible book.
Mastectomy: A Flowering Phoenix Rising
Photograph and poem and reading by Dan Windisch January 2, 2019
Paradox and pain
Who am I without my breasts?
A woman? Not?
Who am I now?
Life or death, keep my Breast?
The easy smiling soft colored blondish woman
in the lightly red green and white faded loose cotton top,
Smiled gently and moved with ease
In our meditation workshop at Hollyhock.
She stood out in her quiet gentle beauty.
Evening in the hot tub.
Naked we sat
as the golden sun set
over shining blue waters.
she enters our waters.
Flat chested with a scar on one side,
and a tattoo of a pink carnation,
on the other side.
She shines with beauty.
She talks of her pain of surgery, confusion.
Who was she? Was she a she?
Without her breasts.
She talked of her new blooming
And of the flowering tattoo
That was her new me.
More than breasts.
We are more than breasts or scars or bodies.
She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.
Northwest Fog, Rain, Reflections, and Reality
Poem and and reading and photographs By Dan Windisch 2018
For 69 years I grew up in, lived in, perceived in,
And will, in the not too distant future,
a land of mist,
shades of rain,
I grew up in lands of tall evergreen trees;
Spruce, Douglas fir, and Cedar.
Trees formed, from fog, and rain, and days of occasional sunshine.
I grew up surrounded by Mountains that exist only in days of
Even huge, magnificent, 14,408 foot, snow-covered, even in August,
She often disappears, stops existing,
between the mists and clouds that covers us all,
Then, surprising us all, bursts out glorious,
and brightly snow covered,
in sunshine; for a few days,
then disappears, again, As if, never having existed,
back into the mist.
Was she always there?
Are we always here?
I live in lands of rolling hills, covered by thick tall green trees,
and dense underbrush,
and wet dripping leaves,
and those marvelous Madrona (Mad Rona’s) trees
with their shining when wet, bright red skins,
and red berries,
and regally red peeling bark (do you see her face in the bark? I do).
I live in Western Washington; Puyallup, Olympia, Lacey,
Don’t ask me for exact descriptions of people, places, and things.
All adjectives and nouns slide into,
and out of
the fog, the mist, the varying shades of gray.
The joys of living in a land of mist, reflections, shades of rain, and fog?
The best aspect?
Sliding, mystical shape shifting Beauty, and a reality,
that slides from sunshine, to mist, to rain.
I hold, cherish, then let go, of everything,
back into the mist.
Yet, part of the my most beautiful, my most connected,
are the people, and moments of beauty and gratitude, that I so love,
They always remain in my soul,
even when I forget.
Even when they are hidden from memory by the fog, and the rain,
and the mist.
Like a dream, forgotten,
but still there,
Until I too slide back into the mist.
Currently, in this short moment in the long history of this land,
Currently in 2018, ours is a haunted land,
full of Walmarts, Costcos, strip malls, streets, freeways full of cars
and frustrated, frightened, angry, confused, lonely people,
glued to iphones, in hurried goings and doings,
and throw away, and hoard, more and more.
Yet also many kind, and good, and caring people.
Yet many of those that have more than their ancestors
could ever have imagined,
Are so full of fear of losing it all.
People unconsciously fearing Homelessness, which, realistically,
For most of them, is just a job loss,
and a few months away.
Scary thoughts, not thought about, but constantly there.
I live in a land of homeless people,
with cats and dogs,
And too many clothes on hot days,
and needles on the ground,
and murmurings, and shoutings,
No deep anything. Everything passes into, and out of, the mist.
Mist often leads me to,
and those with signs on too many street corners, ignored.
Veterans, beggars, Moms, down on their luck, or lazy?
“I need Help. Anything will do.”
“Why aren’t they working? Will they steal from me?”
Anger that they do nothing, while I work hard.
But do they need help? I’m sure some do. What do I do?
I’m both lucky and damned. If I lost my job I would not lose it all.
I’m retired, have Social Security.
Yet I suffer from back pain, am blind in one eye,
and hurt most of the time.
Yet I am so grateful.
I still have a time, Just a little, (we die too soon)
before I die,
To cherish the mist, reflections, occasional sunshine, and
I will dance (if only in my soul) in the rain, and sun,
Stomp in the mud puddles,
Slide into and out of the mist,
and shades of rain,
And cherish our grandbabies,
as they marvel in the growing glory of it all.
Sacred Moment: Mt. St. Michel France
Photo Audio and Poem from Dan Windisch’s “Alpha Martin and Omega Steed” available on Amazon.
I saw her in prayer.
And, sensing, in an instant, that sacred light, and posture, and place,
I respectfully, and slowly, and quietly, raised my camera
to my eye, and gently pressed the shutter release,
allowing the light to reflect onto my camera’s sensors,
this mystical moment, of
Her and God’s beauty, blending, melding, meeting, co-mingling,
in prayer, in a moment, sacred.
The dazzling white light pouring through the three (Father, Son and
Holy Ghost) windows,
That brilliant light reflecting
on the altar, the tiled floor, her white Wimpled Coifed head cover.
That brilliant Light resting,
on Her shoulder
leaning slightly-to-the-left, bent-in-prayer.
That subtle light and shadow
on her puddled, circled robe,
on the floor,
like rings of a pond wave,
that holy light
gently touching the red and white tiled floor, and softly reflecting on
Those thoughtfully shaped, centuries old, columns,
upholding it all.
The tilt of her head
In contemplation and prayer.
The red lit candle on the altar.
That she is solitary, in prayer,
With her God.
The carefree, and gorgeous flow, and shape, of her headdress,
As it wanders from her head, to her neck, and down her back.
The flowing to the right
Of her white
How she kneels on that hard floor
Lost to everything, but God.
How in this moment,
She, I, God, that red candle, that light, that place, all of us,
in contemplation and communion.
Unfelt Love and Hurricane Florence
This poem is from Dan Windisch’s Alpha Martin and Omega Steed which is available on Amazon in a full color 8.5″x11″ paperback, and on Kindle.
Wake Forest North Carolina Saturday, September 8, 2018.
By Dan Windisch
Learning from my wise, beautiful, and soul friend Fran,
in her Reiki class in Wake Forest.
I am deep in meditation,
In my chair, feet on floor, eyes closed … breathing.
I become, and am only,
the slowly rolling rise, then fall, of my breath, my chest, my diaphragm.
My breath morph me, slowly move me,
Drift me, gently rock me,
between in-breath, pause, out-breath.
i am ever deeper flowing, being, calming, an empty vessel, now ready.
Then, in preparation,
(Not to be blown away);
I send down roots; visualize myself grounding, deeply, my roots
curling around solid granite.
Now ready, i, unfold, and allow, gentle, yet powerful, White, Loving
Energy to flow into, me,
Flow through those tingles in my head,
and down my rainbow-colored chakras.
As a filling with Love, then filled, then overflowing me,
I see, am, and consciously flow outward,
to all the world,
Yet that Love,
(Thine, not mine),
tangible, real, flowing through me Love, is
unseen, unfelt by most the world.
Outside, the sun broils and blusters and blasts,
Again, in Wake Forest North Carolina.
Hot, wet and sticky,
like so many days before, never-ending heat,
90 sunny sweltering degrees onto my humid, soaked, sweat glistened skin.
Of course, it will never end.
1000 miles away the future, unseen, unfelt, predicted, is coming,
Swirling at 120 mph with white capped, screaming wild, crashing,
careening, 50 foot, 5 stories high waves, and torrential rain, falling
green-brown sheets of howling water,never-ending chaos.
Death drowning, 15 foot floods, flooded basements, homes like splinters
broken,downed trees, dead people, unseen fury, are coming.
Love and death