Saturday, March 17, 2018

Maybe I'm Just Getting Old

So it's 06:30 on a Saturday morning, and I'm wide awake. Nothing that a couple of beers, and pizza can do to ruin a good night's sleep, eh? Well, that's exactly how it has been since I realized I maybe just getting old. Even though I had every good intention of dozing off on the couch, the minute I crawled into bed the symptoms crept in with a tickle in the throat, and a third shifter's grin: “Yeah, right, I'm gonna sleep tonight.”
Thank God for Facebook, and a few thoughts that always seem to race into my mind when the moment calls, or I'd be sitting here staring at four walls, and desperation. So I guess it is time to make the best out of a typical situation, now that maybe I'm just getting old.
Maybe I've realized that it's not about the accumulation of years on these bones, but a lifestyle that has finally taken it's toll, or perhaps it's a little of both that made me roll out of a perfectly warm bed, and onto a wonderfully cold couch. Maybe I really am just getting old, who knows?
And then I reach a point on this solitary note that some things are inevitable, like having to run to the bathroom in the middle of the night. None the less, I wouldn't mind so much if that dream I was having would restart where it had left off, and I could slip back into slumber like I had hoped at 10:30 last night. Maybe I'm just getting old.
So, one last thought, perhaps not, perhaps a proper salutation like good night, or good day, good grief, it's only 6:48 in the morning, guess I'll stay up, and make coffee instead!

Sunday, February 25, 2018

Barriers Of Genius

A few thoughts:
As midnight tolls from a distance, I hear those voices speak from an inner solitude. To the common man of his time genius is hidden like a road sign we see so often on our way. It becomes so familiar with it's presence along the road that we almost heed to it's message before we even comprehend it's meaning. We take for granted how it may have saved a life, or simply gave direction to a stranger passing through. That is how we become complacent in our day to day routine.
Sometimes we discount our own worth by that pessimistic voice in our head that says "I can't take any more" or "I'm not good enough."
How would it be if we stopped for a moment, and took it all in, and truly listened?
 Believe in the gift given, look up, and see the night sky as never before. Imagine possibilities only dreamt of in a restless sleep. Count stars as blessings, and problems as opportunities. Grow like the wild flower in a remote place far from the gardener's hoe, or the plowman's pruning hook. See the genius of your vision, and break through barriers of self doubt and, societal scope. Know that in your own unique way, a sign post has been driven just for you for others to follow. Good night.

Monday, February 5, 2018

Meaningless Noise

A Few Thoughts:

Just one of those days, a frigid February day;
when I would rather gather no moss, like a rolling stone, but my butt is still frozen to this chair, and I wonder if I care, or dare to mention it doesn't matter to me who won the Superbowl.
Friend, if all we have in common is brief conversation about the weather, work, or the scores from last night, then we really have failed to mention that life is about more than dull improvisation that we care when we're just too damb caught up in our own situation to dig deeper into the intricate details that make us who we are as human beings. Blame our parents, blame our schools for not giving us enough tools to talk face to face, because hell, now we have Facebook, and who needs the art of true communication?
And again I wonder where I'm going when I know where I've been; it's with you my friend that we'll sit beside a crackling fire, have a drink, and share our desire to be more than a profile on a page in cyberspace. So tell me your story, and I'll lend you my ears, and life will transcend all those empty years we filled with meaningless noise.
God bless,

Monday, January 29, 2018

The Process of Grief

Grief is a process well documented in text books, and psychological journals. But as for me the best process is a creative one where the end result is something tangible to the eye, or pleasant to the ear. And so is my humble offering today for those who grieve.

Void of Silence

And then there was nothing
Where once there was music
Yet memories are kind
They keep me sane
When fear comes again
Life goes on
In Monday morning strain
As I rise in a darkened room
No light
Only a presence
A shadow of doubt
In a heart reaching out
Through a void of silence.

Is it an angel
Or just a dream
Comforts me
With her wings
Prayerful longings
Beside a stream
Busy days
Lonesome nights
Can't steal her away
Though a void of silence grows
The further I go
Down a snow covered road
without you.

It is inevitable
I draw from a gathering
Tapping keys, and a choir sings
To comfort me
But love,
The long journey home
Travels alongside
“You are not alone
Within this void of silence.”

D.A. Wittler 1/18

Saturday, January 20, 2018

A Few Thoughts At 6 A.M.

When you get a call, and your kid is hurting so much, but found the courage to share it with you, that's when you are grateful to be a dad. When his voice barely breaks, and he tells the story of how he lost the best friend he has ever had, that's when you know for sure that you did something right in his life. But even more so, when you know this extremely sorrowful moment in this life will fuel his resolve, build him up to face many more challenges in his life, that's when you know he has grown so much, and you don't have to worry any more that he's going to make it.
So this is what I do at 6 A.M. I write, I pray, and  I put my faith on the path in front of me to ease the way, if only till the next time.
For you Son.

If I Had Words

If I had words for you
They would attempt to comfort
But they could not erase your pain
Or replace your sense of loss.

If I had words for you
They would conjure memories
But they could not forge new ones
As you had only just begun to dream.

If I had words for you
They would not be needed
Or spoken
But felt so deep
You could hear them
Or read them
In tears streaming down my face.

D.A. Wittler 1/18

Thursday, December 21, 2017

Intangible Meanings

Since I didn't get Christmas cards out this year, please accept this offering. And yes, I hope one particular person is creeping around to see what Santa is bringing.

Call It A Gift

We speak of gifts this time of year
We spend our time in holiday cheer
With loved ones far, and near
But we must go deeper still
To discover what lay hidden there
Beneath wrappings we place with care.

To have a talent for
Or be available whenever
Are true hidden treasures
We seldom think of for each other
Yet we can use them, and give them
As any precious item placed before a tree
Like a life upon an altar in sacrifice.

And now I ask myself
Can this be my gift
To someone like you
And you be mine
Things intangible
Like trust in higher things
Of love, respect, and dignity?
Yes we can
So we shall
Appreciate these hidden meanings
Within this Christmas season
Tis more than we envision
Bright as any star amidst the heavens.

D.A. Wittler 17’

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Call It Catharsis

Call it catharsis, or finally accepting responsibility as we all must for our actions. When a marriage ends you don't stop to think about the consequences, only how awful you feel inside, and the anger that is in reality a hurt so deep it is beyond description. And so I share the final act of my stupidity that led me here today. It came about as I read an article on how  people know when their marriage is over. Please bare with me. Thank you.
How about when you are in church with your family, and you look over, and see that she isn't wearing her wedding ring. You beg yourself afterwards to ask her, afraid of the answer, and she says "I haven't been wearing it for a while." Reality doesn't set in until you ask yourself: "Was this a hint, or a test to see how long it would take until I noticed it was truly over?" And what did I do next? I did the meanest thing I could think of to express my hurt feelings; I sold my wedding band. Today I think to myself, "How despicable of me to be so cruel, especially when I told her what I had done, and how crushed I knew she felt." Then I knew it wasn't a test at all, it was about noticing who she was, and caring enough to be the man she needed me to be, and who I wasn't.