A Few Words For The Sake Of A Wall

A few thoughts:

 “Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.”
-Socrates

For me the question begs: "Do I have the courage to overcome what cannot be undone, like distance, time, and emotional energy of a negative kind?" And still, "Do I possess the tools to pry apart the brick, and mortar of a wall created in the mind?" The answer seems to jump out of me: "Caring is not a question, but an action waiting to be taken." So I guess the only thing left to do is start pulling away the clutter, and deal with the wall at hand, because part of that wall was built in my own frame of mind before it became a force of human nature. Like nature, our human condition can seem to be an insurmountable obstacle, but in reality just a mole hill waiting to be conquered.
God bless, and Happy Thanksgiving to all!

The Fear of New Beginings

A Series of Divine Accidents

Poems, and Thoughts

From My Adulthood.

Dale A. Wittler

I have heard that fear is our only enemy, and the person who can overcome it is truly blessed. To my knowledge there has only ever been one such person born on earth who has ever achieved that goal, and he died willingly to save the entire world. My aim in life has never gotten even close to such a lofty purpose, but I can say that to inspire even one person to become the best version of themselves is perhaps a surmountable destination given the obstacles, and mole hills created by uncertainty, and a lack of confidence in oneself.

Speaking as a man so often consumed by doubt, there is only one facet of life left to fully explore, and that is faith. Faith feeds the fire of a notion postulated by the late film director/actor Orson Wells who believed that all great film is about divine accidents. One never knows when something purely spontaneous will create a moment unscripted, and brilliant. More than mere coincidence, life is not about happenstance, rather a series of divine accidents. And so I embark on yet another leg of a journey began on July 24th. 1962. But as life provides references, information, and formal education in youth, it affords a gold mine of experience in adulthood.

It is here where I begin again, and perhaps end with the ultimate conclusion that to become a person willing to face fear, that fear become less of an enemy, and more of a yearning to emulate the greatest human being who ever lived. Perhaps then life becomes more about the divine side in each of us, and less about the fears that keep us from becoming the best version of ourselves. Here is a collection of my own series of divine accidents. Enjoy!

D.A.Wittler 11/05/2018

One Day At A Time For Dad

For the man  I knew as a child who seemed invincible, his work ethic unstoppable. Who hung his clothes on a kitchen chair at night so as not to wake my mother who was already planning out her day in a silent slumber only mother's can know.
For the father I now know who worries out loud whereas years ago he buried it deep in a silent rage only father's can feel. For the "old man" creeping by through life with a cane in hand, and an oxygen bottle at his side. For the son I wish I had been, and only now can comprehend. For a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold on to, and an ear always listening to a soul longing for freedom.
For a God to be kind enough to grant a peaceful end to a perfect day.
Amen

I Am Today

Who am I today?

Friend, stranger

Loner, introvert, lover?

Oh I am what I need to be

At any given moment

Taking in the beauty of your voice

It is my choice

Over miles of pasture

Fields of corn

Blankets of soy beans

Once green with life enduring

Until the harvest moon comes calling

Devouring in an autumn mist

Preparing for wisps of winter wind.

I am caring

A !atent soul emerging

On angel's wings appearing

I am my own invention

Being of God's creation

Free will lets me roam

Upon shores of freedom

To determine my life's course

While this mortal vessel courses

With that which bleeds

From a heart that leaps for joy

Dives into waters of depression

Or beats dry upon death's door

I am mortal man

I am today!

D.A. Wittler 11/1/18

Wounded

Something new to do instead of arts, and crafts.

Wounded
(For Lisa)

 Fell asleep anxious
 In my rocker
 A while ago
 Wanting to hear
 Church bells toll
 Murmer of crickets
 Chirping a symphony
 My wounded soul.

Like I thought
It never came
Until I dreamed
Then I heard
An angel sing
Whispering a tune.

Then it came
A healing warm
In solitude form
Calmed the storm
And saved me
My wounded ego.

D.A. Wittler 9/12/18

Being Found

A man went walking the woods one day, and got lost. He didn't know which way to go, or if there would be anyone there when he reached his destination. Then out of the blue sky there appeared a heavenly view, and he found his way home.
Safe, and sound in the warmth of his bed he prayed a tune of thanksgiving, and the world became brand new. For the first time he could grasp the meaning of his life, and it was full of love. And so the man longed for the simple things from his childhood like playing in the neighborhood, sleeping underneath the stars at night, and the crystal clear waters of a summer day.
From then on he held true to his passion in life, and it was good... How it ends is up to you, reach for the highest mountain, and the deepest sea will swallow you.
My story is one about a stray. Like a dog kicked to the curb without a home I wondered alone. I lost my way when times went bad, and there was only one hope left out on the open road. I followed my instincts, my keen sense of smell drove me onward to find love once again. The world I knew became so indifferent, a cruel memory, and so I clung to the only thing I knew.
 Back in the day I was cared for, lacked for nothing, but a father's love. And so I journeyed beyond it to find a place all my own. But in the long run, I was just running away from home. It took many years to build up a safe place away from the storms of life, and the sense of no direction haunting my bones. But there was love, and children, and a new way of living that told me I was no longer a stray, but a man with a purpose. In time though, even that dream died.
Today is a new day with a new song, and I sing it for you. I have learned so many new things along the way to carry me home.
I have found hope, and a father's love in the one place I wondered away from, and it is  here with you.  And so I reflect on the journey every day, and I stay close to gratitude because it shows me that love never dies, never gives up, or kicks you to the curb like a stray in the street. Love is a forever home, and faith a lasting shelter from the storm. But sometimes it takes lightning to wake you up to the possibility of hope beyond hope. And so my journey continues for another day in the light of a beautiful tomorrow with hopes, and promises beyond my wildest dreams.

Forged In Thought

A few thoughts: Labor day weekend.

Forged

A sword is forged in fire, and sheathed in leather or some other form of material to protect it from being dulled until it is either raised in tribute or weilded in battle. A child cries at birth to signify a dual right of passage from the warmth of its mother's womb, and clear it's lungs for life completely on its own. Life is like that, and it takes challenges for us to see things from different angles, and perspectives. Looking up from the base of a mountain is not the same as the view from atop a highest peak. Horses adjust their stride from a cantor to a gallop just as an eagle soars then dives upon an unsuspecting prey. The purpose for these changes is either a destination, a lesson, or a need being fulfilled. It is all in how we go about them that makes a difference.
Anger, when viewed as vengeance yields more anger when in reality it is hurt turned inside out. Fear, when seen as weakess makes a coward out of a hero, yet when used as fuel for selfless preservation committs acts of tremendous bravery when shared to save another. So what is the lesson, the destination, and the need being fulfilled today as we question life in all it's wonders, and perils? It is perspective. Are we seeing life as hapless victims, or as opportunities to go beyond our known world? Are we seeking wisdom, or retreating into the comfort of our isolation from the world? And what are the consequences of our actions, for even in doing nothing we do something; it is our choices that determine the outcome. We can be forged in the fire of our hearts, limited by the narrow view of our emotional state, or moved to go further than we thought ever possible by the proposition of being more than just ourselves in a sea of humanity.

D.A. Wittler 9/3/18

Much To learn

Today is s my birthdayoday so here goes.

Much To Learn

I saw it in a dream today, and so I share it with you now. So often in life we look to sages to tell us the meaning of things. We read books to enrich our knowledge of the world, or for the  sheer enjoyment of a good story. The point is to decide what it is we're looking for, a direction or something to enhance the experience of living itself.

We turn to education when we're young  to teach us the lessons we need to help us navigate our surroundings. We learn the basics of a rudimentary alphabet, a set of numbers on a line. We absorb the common elements of time, and space in order to orient ourselves to the meaning behind the stars, and the depths of the ocean at our feet. The rest of our lives is spent applying all of this stored information to establish an individual philosophy that we can live by; a creed if you will. Until such time, chum, chum.

That's what the sage in my dream passed on to me as he reclined at table with his faithful wife. We formed our sacred circle within the walls of a sacred space where there were so many people gathered in so many similar places doing the same thing in different languages in every corner. And all the while I heard him say “Is there a consensus?”

I saw sailors mourning beside a lawn, tears wiping upon their shoulders in symbolic tribute to comrades lost at sea. I saw families gathered also in remembrance. I saw the toil of labor, and disgust of tending the vineyard, and yet I found a final destination was not in wasted effort, but in patient reasoning of what I thought too difficult to ponder or preach. I could find a way to succeed! “Chum,chum.”

And then I knew a way in life was meant for struggles. For indeed until we figure it out there is much to learn. The final lesson is don't sorry about the process, it's the journey that counts, and what we learn along the way. So let our lessons teach us. Let those formal years be placed firmly between our ears, and let love resound from the deepest recesses of our hearts!

We must all learn at our own pace, and in our own time, but to think that each must come to a separate conclusion in our own unique way is folly. It all points in the same direction just as the compass rose to North every single time we make a turn in life. It is the map we must orient to true North, and not the tools we choose to get there that matter most.

Amen, and God bless.

D.A. Wittler 7/24/18

The Break

The Break

Six years ago today the world began to change. I never knew that turning fifty would be so traumatic, but it was. She told me so many times before it felt like two strangers living in the same space, but I wasn't listening.  Another job had come, and gone, another year of struggling to make ends meet, yet my heart was still wandering without direction. Then came a defining moment to make me realize I wasn't invincible any more.

Funny how your body tells you so when a bone gets broken, like an arm on a trail in the middle of nowhere. You feel so vulnerable at the mercy of time, and circumstance. Oh, but the break to come was so much more painful. I would have preferred the path to a blissful ending where no one gets hurt, but what I got was a gut wrenching reality check that sent me reeling into a pit of self pity looking up from the bottom with two choices to either live, or die. Well, I'm still here so it must mean karma is real, or God has a plan for every shattered dream, every romance gone sour. It must mean we return to fix the relationships we leave behind, or die living a lie that we tell ourselves will go away if we ignore them long enough.

But I couldn't live the lie any more, and so the breaking of two hearts began another journey backwards in time instead of moving forward. Funny how the break is sometimes what we need to heal our wounded souls. It remains a paradox in time until another moment comes along to tell us we can still live a dream if only we will it so, and God finally tells us he's listening through the voice of another human being. And all we need to do is listen once again instead of beating a drum inside our head that says we're not good enough. You are, I am so let us give life another go around, not like a merry-go-round where nothing changes as we spin, but everything emerges new again in light of love, and second chances.

Amen

D.A. Wittler 7/18/18

Deck with a View

A Deck With A View:

Heron's Perch

I watched it glide in

From across the lake

Silent stable flight

Then landing

Upon a pontoon perch

Like a tightrope walker

Part trapeze artist,

And zen master

Poised precariously

Between the elements

Air, water, land.

In a moment

I was immersed

In silent revery

This icon of tranquility.

Then, without warning

It lept into the lake

Splashing

Took flight again

Entering a strafing pattern

Inches above the water

Towards marshes on a distant shore.

Perhaps hunger drove it

Though in twilight

It prefers to hunt

In solitude it teaches

Patience, and awareness

Of a present now

In which there is no past or future.

And in a last glimpse of flight

I felt a calming breeze

Knowing I learned a lesson

From the master

Who sits aware

Of my life

With its elements

Of joy, sorrow, and despair

Telling  me not to worry

That life is but a transition

From one plain to another

That solitude is profound

Togetherness a gift

Awareness a silent pleasure

Only the seeking have found

Upon a heron's perch.

D.A. Wittler 6/30/18

Atwood Lake Indiana

Coming of Age as A Writer

Into the Long Night

An excerpt from:

The Rolltop Chronicles

(An unfinished novel)

By D.A. Wittler

I want to share with you a journey that began many years ago in my head. It is a tale of a young man who began to realize his view of the world was slightly skewed. It took the promptings, sufferings, and persistence of his senior year in high school for him to see himself in a new light as a writer, and not just a shy kid with no future ahead, and his father's legacy behind. And so the story begins in another time, another place, and in the mind of someone else…

Into the Long night she drove. Bitterness biting at her nose beneath a woolen scarf. Steam rising from a restless breath heaving from inside her. And then there was the driving snow accumulating in drifts along a deserted stretch of country road. “There would be no plows for hours, or even days along this forgotten thouroughfare” she thought, as there were mainly summer homes, and hidden cottages enveloped in an adirondike like forest in upstate New York..

“I have forgotten summer” she mused as her soul flung itself along an uncertain path of self loathing, and dread in a storm unrelenting. The old house would bring some comfort from the cold, but it could not replace the sense of loss clinging to her like intricate designs on a bay window; dark, and silent. Finally there appeared a light, and way home.

She thought to herself “Within this refuge I will find myself lost in memory of trivial things, and wayward sons on divergent trails of hope, and despair, and there is nothing more I can do but pray for their salvation. If there is a happily ever after in each life they aspire to, then what more can a sister, or a father do but hope?”

Once Upon A Dream

A few thoughts:
 I went to sleep, and dreamt a tangled life where there were ornate bird houses hung within it's branches. I heard a sermon being preached, and a good book lying open to so many blind pages falling to the floor. I saw unfettered spaces, and people walking different paces along a path of overgrown weeds, and I wondered why a life of faith must be so complicated when the birds know perfectly well how to fly without these chains of worry, work, and fear that keep us hidden beneath the shadows of a brilliant life of sun, and moon, and a billion beckoning stars  that beg us to see beyond the falling sky. "To life!" I cried; in spite of the ringing in my ears, and the desperation of simply breathing.

D.A. Wittler 6/8/18

Granny Knows

Granny Knows

I hear granny speaking
Like a lonely voice from another room Chimming in every fifteen minutes on the hour
"Welcome home, welcome home"
And I remember when...

Today is here
Tomorrow gone
Those fleeting moments arise
Spontaneous time
Opportunities forgotten
Hope renewed
Regrets recycled as compost
From yesterday's news
Yet memory continues
Reshaping every mistake I've ever made
Striving for perfection
Yet finding rage
Because it is not within me.

I am a fractured piece of pottery
Thrown from a wheel
Baked, and polished
Then soiled
Washed again, and again in perpetuity
Screaming to be heard, and recognized!

I am that sentence striking a chord
Every day of my existence with a word
Noone else has heard
But granny knows my lament
Chimes in every chance she gets
As I pull on chains of perpetual motion
Of time, space, and gratitude.

D.A. Wittler  3/28/18 

..

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!

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.

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,
Witt

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.

Peace
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
Whispering
“You are not alone
Within this void of silence.”

D.A. Wittler 1/18

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