Mythos & Marginalia

life notes; flaws and all

j.g. lewis

original content and images ©j.g. lewis

a daily breath...

A thought du jour, my daily breath includes collected and conceived observations, questions of life, fortune cookie philosophies, reminders, messages of peace and simplicity, unsolicited advice, inspirations, quotes and words that got me thinking. They may get you thinking too . . .

the time between

You are here.
What remains of what was
matters less and less as
distance replaces the time
between then and this.
That was then.
This is now.

06/30/2022                                                  j.g.l.

Mondays are just young Fridays

What has been heard, what has been said, after 24 or 27 months give or take? More or less, what was said (even wished) was mainly, and above all else, that we wanted things to return to normal.

We were longing for the everyday day-to-day, the regular way, sort of; or at least, some semblance of such. We wanted, we said, to be with people again, doing the things we usually did.

We wanted to see smiles, again, on stranger’s faces, we said from behind our masks and wanting so much for our lips to be read as much as our expressions of joy. Or reality. Or anything other than what it was for the 26 or 25 months of what came to be.

We weren’t asking for much, really, or nothing any more spectacular than what life grants us on any given day. We wanted the ordinary, if nothing else.

What we have known is not over. How we are living, coping, or struggling, is not the same as it was eight months, or 11 months, back (or 25 or 23). It was a long time, and longer still will be this shadow of a virus that has hung over us (more than a footnote, and still not quite a chapter) in this never-ending story.

What was, or what is, close to some kind of normal, feels closer now. Dare we say it? We wished it, didn’t we, and here we are now more than two years later, finally gathering in parks and parades, galleries, shopping malls, and back at the office.

Masked or unmasked, we might not be as close as we were before, but we are working on it. Aren’t we? Can’t we now see, or hear and experience life, a little bit like we did before?

Yes, we want more, but right now this is as good as it gets for those of us still cautious, yet relieved, that we are here to see what’s going on.

It is, or seems to be, a return to the usual, the normal, and the everyday ways. For some of us it will never happen, for many of us it will never be, but for all of us there is a new (or another) opportunity for ordinary.

The ordinary: after all we have been through, that may even be better than it sounds.

06/27/2022                                                                               j.g.l.

 

cloud songs

     Morning begins it all,
yet it is much later
                    you notice
   nights become shorter
when the day is no longer.
          We see less
       than we want to, and
   know more than
          we should.
   Darkness allows silence.
        May your thoughts
            be understood.

 

06/21/2022                                                                           j.g.l.

I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.

j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.

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No Words

Posted on March 30, 2018 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

by Adela Wilcox

Sometimes there are no words. Nothing comes out right, because we don’t know how to package it.

It’s okay.

The package doesn’t have to be perfect. Whatever the package can’t hold is of no use to you anyway. Anything so brittle that can’t be held by the strength of tears isn’t worthy of the love that formed them.

Sometimes there are no words. We don’t know how to express that which we haven’t connected to within ourselves.

It’s okay.

We find connection in service to each other, and empathy follows. The fragility of the human heart will forge connections which the mind cannot perceive.

Sometimes there are no words. The acts of others seem unfathomable, unconscionable. Inhuman.

It’s okay.

Solidarity arises from the best of our common soul, giving us a common goal, and a common purpose.

Sometimes there are no words. Loss brings us to our knees, leaves us speechless, and humble.

It’s okay.

In time we rebuild. In time we open our hearts again. And in time, we find those words which were once so elusive, and speak them to ourselves when no one else can speak them to us.

©2018 H. Adela Wilcox

Adela Wilcox lives in the beautiful Sierra Nevada Foothills of California. A writer, broadcaster, activist, musician, and gardener, Adela has published two volumes of poetry: Chrysalis Whispers (2010) and Phoenix Landed (2017).

 

 

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