Tag Archives: poems

Plum Village Bell at 5:30 AM and translation

Morning Bell and Songs

Every morning,
In the dark of pre-dawn,
at 5:30 am,
while stars like glittering jewels observed in silence,
a buddhist nun would ring the huge bell,
and the deep vibrating gong would ring long,
moving slowly
into silence.
Then the sister would sing a song
with a beautiful sing-songy Vietnamese voice.
Then silence again,
and another ringing of the bell,
And another song.
This goes on for for 30 minutes.

Empty am I of thoughts,
Full of Joy and Peace.

Google translate of French on Bell at Plum Village.

“Body and mind in perfect harmony. I send you my heart with the sound of this bell. All those who hear me. And out of oblivion transcend any anxiety and pain. At the sound of the bell. I feel that in me afflictions Begin to dissolve. My mind is calm, relaxed my body. A smile on my lips born. Concentrating on the sounds of my bell. I ram my conscious breathing a true home. In the garden of my heart Peace blooms like a flower.”

Human: Multifaceted Diamonds

Human: Multifaceted Diamonds

Dan Windisch 1/29/00



each one …

unique and wondrous facets …

of an infinitely faceted …

gorgeous …

constantly changing …

ever evolving …

life diamond.


Each facet,

a unique human being/


dancing …

each living/creating/sharing/dying …

reflecting in their own special ways …

God’s light.


As counselors/teachers/friends and family

it is our task …

to brighten up  …

to cherish …

to lighten the pain… the dirt… the sorrow …

to bring out the potential …

to help each unique person …

shine/dance brighter …

in the loving light of God.


Being Fat (Phat) in America

Being Fat (Phat) in Amerika

Dan Windisch 5/15/00 minor changes 01/19/15
Preface note: This poem was originally written 15 years ago, before I had gastric bypass surgery. The poem is still very true. Please, see beauty beyond a person’s weight. See the beauty of their soul.

Ph is a measure of corrosiveness …

of extremes ….
The more extreme the Ph, the more corrosive it is.
Phat, P-H-A-T is the corrosive, and permitted, hatred of Amerika.

This venom of our society is aimed acceptably, openly, at Phat people.
In our politically correct society you don’t make phun, p-h-u-n,
of people of color, ethnic origin, or sexual preference.
Yet we laugh at phat people.
Make fun of phat people.
Slur the will-power of phat people.

Look at me,
look at my stat,
I’m phat!

At 51, 5’10” hovering gently a round 360 pounds.
HUGE gut before me, large rounded phace, huge arms,
yet … padded warm hands, nice legs muscled from cherished walks, small behind.

I look down,
steaming,  warm,  happy,
after a hot shower,
and can’t see my …

Like my mother prophesied,
to that skinny little boy,
who ate those watermelon seeds,
I am huge.
Is that a watermelon in my tummy?
I think not,

You see You judge.
Phat — No will power, out of control, Un-sexy, addicted to food,
weak… but phunny,
lonely, unattractive, somewhat disgusting,
DEFINITELY not as strong, or in control as You, You the skinny.

Yet am I who you see? That phat, phunny, punny, phifty-one year old?
Or am I that skinny little boy in the picture,
with that phar away look,
lost in books of dreams,
that skinny  little boy who who gave up lunch money, went hungry,
to buy adventure books
at the Scholastic School book Sale?

Or am I that skinny teen-ager on the front porch in his rented prom tux?

Or am I that picture of a young, slightly overweight, naval officer
with the warm eyes,
who every morning at 5AM in Officer Candidate School
had to Run with the other phat boys?

Yew trees heal.  I wish you would be yew and allow me to be me.

Which me do you see? Which one do you judge?
You judge the one you now see…
I’ll let yew in on a secret though, that’s just a small part
of me.

And I’ll let yew in on another secret too.
Phat people I know,
those not destroyed by the venom of society,
love more deeply,
cherish more fully,
are more sensual,
are better lovers,
and cherish more deeply,
than their many, skinny, smug and mean persecutors,
whose skinny superiority is their main cherished reality.

I’ve been skinny and I’ve been phat, and I know that …
It is who I am,
and what I blossom out of who I am,
that matters.
Not how skinny, not how phat.

I am more beautiful now than ever before in my life! I know that.
Does yewr soul eyes see my beauty?
or do you see only the phat man in front of you?

Dan Windisch Poems: Massage Dance

Massage Dance
Copyright by Dan Windisch 5/18/00 drdanw@comcast.net updated 1/11/15

I have been a licensed massage therapist for over 25 years.
i  massage friends and family,
those i care about,
for me, massage is too sacred to sell.

A major learning experience of my life was massage.

I learned that,
you memorize a recipe … then become a chef…
learn the the cha cha … then fly and dance dervishly … or slowly.
learn fly fishing …then joyfully easily  cast…
learn touch … and be touched.

i let my hands become instruments
of me, my sensitivity,
and of more than me.

At my best God’s love caring, healing, and peace FLOW through …
my touches, my strokes,
my caring, the depth, the pressure, the flow,
the oil, the music, the relaxation, the letting go, the giving, the being an instrument of love and peace and affirming…
that is massage.

The body I touch … becomes a touched soul …
and in my giving … there is a receiving …  a dance.
what I give flows through me …
the massage i give …
is you … and me …
and more than you … and more than me.
a symphony of strokes, speed, intensity, depth,
an interaction between music, muscle tightness, lightness and depth of touch.

When i receive a massage
i am naked to the world,
not quite napping,
floating in mild mist meditation,
here, not here,
realities, floating, fully, gently, one after another blending purr-fectly
with that long; slow; oiled stroke up my back,
that deep kneading, tight sore, like-a-rope-stuck-tight, then released, loosened shoulder muscle.
My ear rubbed, the ridge of bone never noticed behind my ear, now gently rubbed.
Toes warmly, oily, royally, treated.
Feet adored rolled squeezed pampered.
I purr, relaxed.
Fingers fondled, stretched, squeezed, released.
Hand quietly gently raised and held at the wrist,
arm resting at on the table,
fully relaxed.

Hand turned very slowly in a 12 inch circle…
Fingers and hand SLOWLY open and fold, then open and fold again.
SUCH BEAUTY!!!!! So much truth.
S-L-O-W-L-Y falling back hand opens like a flower unto the sun,
gently unconsciously choreographed peace, and unity, and openness,
then …
slowly falling forward
the fingers hand close cascading… together.
hand/finger falling friends.
in a peaceful relaxed symphony
that is wistfully,
to be beheld,
and felt.

Hair tugged and gently rubbed brings back memories of happy childhood moments…
then the memory is lost in the Joy of THIS moment.

How many wonderful parts of me are there yet to be massaged,
i droolingly, passively, happily, wonder … then forget,
as time loses meaning,
and more parts of me than i ever imagined existed,
are gently touched, explored, cherished and released.

I love massage.

Dan Windisch Poems: Do-Be-Do-Be-Do


Copyright by Dan Windisch 5/15/00 drdanw@comcast.net

Dr. Dan’s Theorum 1 of Mental Health…
is simple…
We do, then we be, then we do…

A dance of shining, then reflecting,
sun, moon,
kissing, being kissed,
laughter, echo of laughter cherished in a canyon,
givng a massage with creativity and joy,
receiving a massage with thankful awareness,
lover and beloved,

digging old brown dirt with rich smells and muscles bulging,
then sun on your skin… and lazy red colors flowing through closed eyes,
yin and yang.

Accomplishing, letting go.
Amerika a do-do society,
India a be-be society.
Balance buddy!

We know how to do…
goals, priorities,
datebooks, contacts, objectives, brainstorming,

teambuilding, incentives, rewards, salaries, hard-driving, competition, busy at all times,
take-no-prisioners, never be a loser, the one with the biggest toys wins….
at  the end …
or in the middle …
an aching emptiness.
Is that all there is Alfie?

We, as a So-sigh-a-tee,
simply don’t know…
how to be.

Here’s how I be,
when I be my best …
by living moment to moment …
between the busy-ness …  and the e-turn-all-ee,

Walking to a meeting,
i feel the air between my hand,
get lost in the moment,
slide great-fully, gratefully,
into its eternity… then slide back
I walk on.

The wind touches my face cool and gentle,
then moves on…
… moment cherished.

Muscles in legs contract, i feel them move,
the Power, the Organization,
axons fire,
muscles contract and release, a symphony of balance, electricity, contraction, expansion, and I, balanced above it all, marvel at the unconscious orgiastic orcheastic…
beauty of it all.

the awesome wonder of it flawlessly all,
overwhelms me …
then I move on.

At home i vacuum the rug and listen to the answering machine.
And the wonders begin…
The taste of a grapefruit, sweet, stronger than ever my most cherished memory of it,
overwhelms me.

The feel of water pounding through multiple nozzles onto my naked body
wakes me, thrills me, reminds me even more of how weak memories are,
how joyous the simple pleasure of water,
how strong the joys of the moment.

Soft, sweet smelling, and CLEAN sheets thrill me as I crawl into bed.
How great are the moments.

The walk in the woods outside my house.
How busy the ants are in their busy world as i watch, then walk bye.

Clouds shift and shape o-blow, oblivious of me,
leaves blown brown in the wind,
an old dead tree stands white stark against  new green leaves,
rabbits lay in the sun, then, nervous, flee flop away,
A hawk in gentle slow curves with sharp eyes waits for its next meal,
Frogs sing loud, love, croaking sounds in waters surrounding me.

I am part of it all. I be.

Do be do be do.