Category Archives: Dan Writings

Alpha Martin and Omega Steed Science Fiction Article Reading

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.

Alpha Martin and Omega Steed, Part 1.
Alpha Martin and Omega Steed, Part 2.
Alpha Martin and Omega Steed, Part 3.
Alpha Martin and Omega Steed, Part 4.
Alpha Martin and Omega Steed, Part 5.
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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.

Reading of the article Paradox and Choosing by the author, Dan Windisch.
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Mastectomy: A Flowering Phoenix Rising

Photograph and poem and reading by Dan Windisch January 2, 2019

Click the play button above to hear the poem as read by the author Dan Windisch. You can follow along as you listen with the photos and poem below! This is part of my book “Alpha Martin and Omega Steed” available as an 8 1/2×11″ full color book on Amazon.com. Search for Dan Windisch on Amazon if you are interested in the book.
Paradox and pain
Who am I without my breasts?
A woman? Not?
Me? 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.
 
Naked
she enters our waters.
 
Flat chested with a scar on one side,
and a tattoo of a pink carnation,
blooming,
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.

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Northwest Fog, Rain, Reflections, and Reality


Poem and and reading and photographs By Dan Windisch 2018

Click the play button above to hear the poem as read by the author Dan Windisch. You can follow along as you listen with the photos and poem below! This is part of my book “Alpha Martin and Omega Steed” available as an 8 1/2×11″ full color book on Amazon.com. Search for Dan Windisch on Amazon if you are interested in the book.

For 69 years I grew up in, lived in, perceived in,
And will, in the not too distant future,
die in,
a land of mist,
reflections,
shades of rain,
and fog.

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
glorious sunshine.
Even huge, magnificent, 14,408 foot, snow-covered, even in August,

Mount Rainier.
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,

Dupont, Tacoma.
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?
No sharp
stabbing
reality.

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,
even me,
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,
to buy,
and store,
and throw away, and hoard, more and more.

Fearful people.
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,



The pain?
No deep anything. Everything passes into, and out of, the mist.

Mist often leads me to,
the Mystical.
Homeless Please Help
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

the mystical.

I will dance (if only in my soul) in the rain, and sun,
Reflect,
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.

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Sacred Moment: Mt. St. Michel France

Photo Audio and Poem from Dan Windisch’s “Alpha Martin and Omega Steed” available on Amazon.

Sacred Moments read by the author Dan Windisch
I saw her in prayer.
 
And, sensing, in an instant, that sacred light, and posture, and place,
and time,
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,
communing,
in prayer, in a moment, sacred.
 
I love
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.
 
I love
That brilliant Light resting,
on Her shoulder
leaning slightly-to-the-left, bent-in-prayer.
 
I love
That subtle light and shadow
on her puddled, circled robe,
on the floor,
like rings of a pond wave,
moving inward.
 
I love
that holy light
gently touching the red and white tiled floor, and softly reflecting on
Those thoughtfully shaped, centuries old, columns,
upholding it all.
 
I love
The tilt of her head
In contemplation and prayer.
 
I love
The red lit candle on the altar.
 
I love
That she is solitary, in prayer,
With her God.
 
I love
The carefree, and gorgeous flow, and shape, of her headdress,
As it wanders from her head, to her neck, and down her back.
 
I love
The flowing to the right
Of her white
Robe.
 
I love
How she kneels on that hard floor
Lost to everything, but God.
 
I love,
How in this moment,
She, I, God, that red candle, that light, that place, all of us,
are One,
in contemplation and communion.
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Unfelt Love and Hurricane Florence

Click to hear the Poem as read by the author.

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 


Unfelt Love
 
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,
that Love.
 
Yet that Love,
(Thine, not mine),
tangible, real, flowing through me Love, is
unseen, unfelt by most the world.
 
But there.
 
Hurricane Florence
 
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.

Unseen.
Coming.
 
Love and death
Unseen
Coming.

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Ribs of wooden deck chairs.

Ribs of wooden deck chairs
By Dan Windisch
June 3, 2017
On the Queen Mary 2

 On the wet, empty, reflecting,
Teak walking deck,
of the Queen Mary 2, 
in Mid Atlantic,

Ribs of wooden deck chairs,
face into the early-morning dense fog.

While gentle rolling ocean waves,
roll by. 

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Beauty in the photographs details: Lily B&W

Below is the original photograph, and the final edited photograph of the lily.

I wanted to emphasize the gorgeous nature of the Lily, eliminate the distraction of the background, eliminate the orange of the stigma, and make the background black. What remains is the awe-inspiring shapes, curves, and texture of this amazing flower!

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Beauty in the photographs details: Hollyhock Chair Boat

There is so much in this photograph that I love.

The place itself I love. It is the Hollyhock Retreat center on Cortes Island in British Columbia, a beautiful, remote, and Magical, Transformative place, especially in the summertime. I first went there in 1978 And attended a 13 week long Resident fellow program with a different workshop each week. I attended a dream workshop where I learned that I was Dan, Dan, The rainbow man, a healer and a teacher. And for the last 45 years, I’ve lived being a Healer and a teacher. I learned about Quan Yen (or Kuan Yin),The bodhisattva of compassion. I learned it from John Blofeld, that Very British China convert, Who wrote so beautifully about Quan Yen (or Kuan Yin), and also  translated the I Ching. John Blofeld so enjoyed his afternoon tea :). I learned about the I Ching, and Tarot cards. And I learned from the wind, the trees, low and high tides, I learned from the lapping of the water, BJ, Whiskey and orange juice, early morning sunshine, the wonderful gardens, and even more wonderful vegetarian meals. I learned by working with Bill Glackman, now a lifetime friend, doing handyman work around the then COld Mountain Institute.

But what do I love about this picture! I love the early morning light, with the side-light and long shadows. I love the empty chair and the empty boat, both waiting for us/me/you.

I can feel myself sitting in that chair, with my eyes closed, warm, with the sunshine on my face and arms in the cool morning, and ever so gently, I feel a slight breeze. With each breath, I breathe in the light, salty smells of the sea. I hear the gentle lapping of water on the beach. I hear the bird calls of morning,  welcoming the new day. That chair is a place to simply be, mindfully and appreciatively.

The empty boat, red and white and waiting, Is not about mindfulness. The empty boat is about adventure awaiting! Come,Let us row away to adventure! Morning is the time for both contemplation and beginning of adventures! I love that in this photograph.

I love the colors, the greens of the grass and the tree. I love the shades of blues in the sea, and in the mountains across the sea.  I love the bands of lighter color blue on the water.

I love how small I am in that early morning light, And how big that quiet sea is,  and how the shrouded mountains are at the top the photograph.

I love the lines of the small waves, lapping towards the shore.

I love the juxtaposition of the living Green tree, the stump, and the wooden chair. Three stages of existence?

I love the variations between the rocky shore, The tidal zone with it’s small rocks and mud , and the two big rocks In the nearby shallow water.

When I look at this picture, I feel gratitude, the hopes of a new morning, The beckoning of mindfulness and adventure, and the sheer beauty of it all: colors, bands of blue and green, and waves, sea, trees, shore, chair, boat, and distant mountains… and ME!

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Our first daffodil of Spring 2017

 

Our first daffodil of Spring! It reminds me of the quote from one of my favorite movies, “City of Angels” where Nicolas Cage reads the following from Hemingway. Cycles, and even pain, end, as flowers bloom once again.

“You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen.”
― Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

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