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
other times
dull or
Still I write.

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

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Sadness, grief, fear, and anger

Posted on June 9, 2021 by j.g.lewis // 2 Comments

I am numb.
   Actually, I am sickened by Monday’s developing news about four pedestrians killed by a truck Sunday evening in a city not that far away from me. Then it was reported a fourth person, a boy, who also suffered serious injuries.
   It was later reported that all victims were three generations of the same family, who were hit when a truck jumped the curb at an intersection.
   By Monday night, it was reported that it was not an accident, but a premeditated attack on a Muslim family.
   The nine-year old boy has lost his father, mother, sister and grandmother: targets of a 20-year-old man who deliberately drove onto the sidewalk and mowed down this family.
   He did so because they were Muslim.
   It was a racial attack.
   It was mass murder.
   The driver has been charged with four counts of first-degree murder and one count of attempted murder. Police have said other charges, including terrorism, are possible.
   We’ll learn more as the week progresses, even more when the driver, barely out of his teens, appears in court Thursday.
   The investigation continues and the news spreads – like sadness, grief, fear, and anger – across this country; across this globe.
   It was an act of terrorism, said Canada’s Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.
   My heart and soul reverberates with each piece of news from every broadcast I hear. My eyes tear up as I read newspapers and points of view on social media.
   I can make no sense of this.
   I don’t think like that.
   This was a family out for a walk together on a warm spring evening, one of the few things we can do, as a family, in these COVID-19 lockdown days.
   They were attacked.
   They were killed because of what they represented to one man.
   I don’t like thinking about it, can hardly write about it, and don’t want to talk about it; but I must.
   We all must talk more openly about racism and hatred in any form.
   We must talk with family, friends and strangers.
   We must speak out against hate. And discrimination. We must speak out against violence, in action and intention, against others.
   We must do this together.
   We are all human.
   Speak out against hate
   Speak up for others
   Speak up for your self.
   Speak up for this family.

© 2021 j.g.lewis

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2 replies on “Sadness, grief, fear, and anger”

I am in such total agreement. Because of the continued hate that seems to be spewing forth like a broken fire hydrant, I’m finding it harder and harder to pay any attention to the news, feeling like if I do, I’m actually feeding the hate, giving it credence. I just do not understand at all. It feels like mankind is a ruptured and oozing boil, spreading its infectious ugliness to all. I always appreciate your comments though I’m not sure how it helps our sick, sick society. We who read you are already aware of the problem; those who are the problem close the book, slam the door, against any suggestion that their beliefs are morally and ethically wrong. I too am saddened, grief stricken, and angry — and feeling so helpless other than to try to love and care and respect everyone that I meet, hoping that the lack of confrontation is enough to destroy their hateful beliefs. Dunno. Dunno. But thank you, every day, for your thoughts.

It’s all too much. Every day there is more. It hurts.
I write to let it out and, at times, it won’t flow.
We all need to keep trying. Thank you for coming.
deep peave

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