I have never been inside a safe injection site (I have no need) but regularly pass by one such place in my neighborhood. I do, however, see the signs everywhere because the activity that goes on inside these facilities spills out onto the street.

   Discarded needles along sidewalks and city parks are, at times, as obvious as dog shit and encampment tents.

   This city has long had an illegal drug problem. I hesitate to call it a crisis as it is only one plank in the many issues of poverty, homelessness, and crime that we live with in the reality of Toronto. It is more than it is, and too much for this city council to handle.

   A recent announcement by our provincial government has, again, brought the existence of safe injection sites to the top of concerns discussed and debated. The Tories intend to close more than half of the 17 existing locations in this province in short order. They, instead, have a multi-million-dollar concept to better care for the addicted and afflicted.

   The government have been working on this plan after a review of safe injection sites sparked by the shooting death of a young mother last summer. The woman, walking home with groceries on a sunny afternoon, was caught in the middle of a shootout between rival drug dealers who operate near one of these “safe” sites.

   This provincial government has long avoided dealing with the drug crisis. There has been talk of, for some time (but no action), increasing rehabilitation centers to help people get off the drugs they rely on. Through the years both overdoses and fatalities increased exponentially.

   The Ford government’s announcement, it says, is designed to stop all that.

   Problem is, this is a Conservative government who cannot keep emergency rooms open, sustain a necessary number of hospital beds, and have not provided either enough mental health supports or rehabilitation facilities, nor shelter beds or social housing. 

   So, all these planned closures in favour of proposed HART HUBS — ‘Homeless and Addiction Recovery Treatment’ —  is so suspect. There are currently no options in place so the closure of these existing facilities by next spring will result in more overdoses, more deaths, and increased pressure on an already overtaxed emergency services system. Ambulances and paramedics are now run ragged.

   It is a problem with costly solutions we are still not sure will work.

   The city is unsafe in so many ways — gun violence, poor planning and traffic congestion leading to increased deaths of cyclists and pedestrians — and now this.

   City council is financially unable to deal with what is before us due to both the financial mismanagement of the past and its current need or desire to spend much-needed capital on attracting events like FIFA soccer in a few years. There is a focus on bringing visitors here, instead of caring for those who call this place home. 

   Some city councilors are paying more attention to the issues than they ever have before; some are grandstanding you might say (I do), but the action is mainly (and rightfully) criticizing other levels of government rather than doing what is needed.

   Yes, it is a multi-level issue requiring a multi-pronged approach, but nobody is dealing with any of these issues deeply enough or quickly enough. 

   And, so far, death on the street is the final and finite result. We need action, not simply reaction.

© 2024 j.g. lewis 

Love, as benevolent beings, is what we live for: generally, specifically, and personally. It is, at times, a force often doubted or denied, but our lives are full of love. If we choose to look.

   Familial love should prepare us for everything else we come to cherish. Unconditional, above all else, it is possibly our first experience with contentment. Even to your youngest self. 

   Through our families we are introduced slowly to divine love — ‘agape’ as the ancient Greeks might say — in whichever faith or familiarity we are raised into. The principles of such will, in essence, provide morals and meanings that guide us through the days and decades.

   Friendships or platonic love becomes important to our being as the world we step into grows larger and more complex. We recognize there are others to rely on and experientially grow with.

   Romantic love speaks for itself: you know it when you feel it.

   It is self-love, above all else, that keeps us in the state to care about everything else. Of all the love available to you, self-love is crucial to your well-being. When that commodity runs short, or becomes unrecognizable, you are unable to function as you should. The difficulties become obvious, if only to yourself.

   I have been struggling for a time, I know it, I do; but had not recognized the symptoms as early as I should. I know it now, but didn’t then or didn’t when, I needed to.

   My mental health suffered, dark thoughts consumed my headspace, and it took (or takes) time to get over. Anxieties are no longer day-to-day, not in the same way. It took work and an understanding beyond what I could see (or had been seeing). My natural curiosity led me to research. I went deeper than I thought, made therapy a part of me and walked a little closer to central patterns of my life. Yes, I journaled — I found the time —I made the words my own: so many thoughts others may never read but important, nonetheless.

   A self-journey, indeed, but there where people around to support me, guide me (when I let them in), and love me as I was. In this process, full of distractions and diversions, I came to the stark realization that there was nobody else to blame for my issues and misunderstandings. For far too long I realized I had been. 

   I began to own up to my responsibilities; to live in a state of action and not reaction. It was revolutionary, at least to me, and I didn’t come to that decision recklessly.

   This revitalization of sorts has come over these past months where I began doing things I haven’t done for a while. It was my own art therapy you might say, I do, because I can find no better description for the attempts I made. This self-care has offered a new level of self-assurance.

   I did not see the sign until recently: Love me til I’m me again.

   I have been. I am now of sound mind, most of my time. I am me; perhaps not always the person I wanted to be but I am better able to live and be loved, just as I am and what I will be.

   This is not an easy admission, but I am the me I will continue to be. I am, now, happy with that. I must be.

   I am me.

© 2024 j.g. lewis

       It begins with sight.

       Attention.

           We steal a view, catch 

     a glimpse, at first not even noticing 

                     eyes staring back. Across the room, 

                   across our lives.

     Attraction.

     What we feel, all we see.

           People come into focus 

     if only for a time, or longer. If we are lucky.

                     If we notice.

     Fortunate we are

                     if 

     the beginnings are shorter 

                     than the endings.

© 2024 j.g. lewis

Fake news, conspiracy theories, and unaccountable accounts of what is really going on, often heralded as divine truth. All lies, most of the time. Abundant now on all our screens, we struggle to know or understand what it truly means. Uninformed opinions are allowed much credence in an era where we really need to know. Politicians rant and rave, minds so flawed and so depraved you must question followers who wholeheartedly agree. 

What passes for the news is nothing now, compared to what it was. Then. Perhaps it was limited access to history as it happened that required us to believe the events of the day. Daily newspapers, trusted broadcasts at the top or bottom of the hour, later revealed events at suppertime and then late-night news; we then paid attention. We had to. It had that power. Action and reaction. 

Today, rare occurrences and once-in-a-lifetime happenings happen all too often in this never-ending 24-hour news cycle. Minutes and hours blur into everyday ephemera. Less is certain, more is questionable, not enough is never enough information. Misinformation/disinformation: one in the same, a deadly game. 

Who, what, where, when and why. Always with the questions. There are less authentic reporters than answers. Journalism suffers: our fifth estate in a crisis state. It is not aways fair, it is not always obvious, it is not always news. Sadly. A celebrity event disguised as the truth is simply not news. 

No isolation from the devastation as our world has been compacted onto tiny screens, perhaps small enough for our minds to handle. Mainstream media is easy to blame when you don’t take the time to find out for yourself. Things will really happen when the media is not around to notice. 

And you won’t believe it.

© 2024 j.g. lewis

Intelligence and intellectuality, 

a consciousness of our reality.

Clarity.

Perspicacity, mental reception 

or sensory perception, emotions 

consequential 

to daily expression of thoughts 

and being, lay within our mind.

Two percent 

of a body’s mass; small in size 

and stature, a human brain has

greater efficiency 

than we consider thinking about.

Involved in; no, responsible for 

everything we do.

Neurons and neurotransmitters 

affect fundamental function and 

well being 

far beyond our mental health.

Grey matter. And matter it does.

How we think, 

feel, react or behave, the mystery 

or magic of the cerebrum is tested 

daily. Now, 

then, and again, and again. Always.

Anxiety, depression, joy and pain, 

deeper thoughts 

hidden inside memory and minutes 

contained within the human brain.

Believe.

© 2024 j.g. lewis