It is vast, and unblemished, maybe even uninteresting, at first.
   At the beginning of the day, to the naked eye, it is nothing more than a vacant page, or space between the lines. Upon closer inspection, it is anything but.
   A page lies as open as an eye. This is my landscape. You see white space; I see themes and dreams, and possibility. The view changes, as does my mind, by the minute, moment-to-moment, year to fear, as each day becomes each day, and I am still here.
   The landscape changes, oft times like a blur through a car window. It’s like that when you travel forward. Look closely at what you see, take note of the spared indifference to what is, and what could be. This is more than my breath, voice, thoughts, leftovers or left behinds. It is more than indulgence and possessions.
   It is there for a reason.
   This is a world of secrets in a universe of sounds. It contains sins and silence, handily left for obsessive thoughts, and action. I know no discomfort, or a source for objective reasoning, so it should be as it flows, and like any great adventure you are never aware when it stops. There are no endings.
   It is not about anything, or could be about everything. It is my landscape.
   As permanent as chalked messages on a sidewalk, as indelible as DNA, there is something here than need not be understood, but it can be. And should. If you take the time, take what is mine, and read between the lines to see what might matter now to you, or me.
   This is my landscape. It may not all be personal, but it is intimate, and available. It is not a complete picture, but it is honest. It is here to entertain and inform, even advise, but take my words with a grain of fault, for there is nothing more human than a human being struggling to exist. I do both; struggle, and exist.
   This is my landscape, even when it is all mixed up. I might say some things now and then I am now only trying to comprehend, and admittedly there is naivety, as I want to learn, to know, to understand. So it goes from society’s distinct or damaged black and white to every Kodachrome colour that is, sadly, missing in this day and age. I use the past only as a reference, and not a regret; I have none; I can’t, at least not yet.
   Judge me not by my words or what I believe, take nothing for granted, if you know what I mean. Beneath all adventures, or even my stillness, is a strong inner voice. Not by purchase and not by choice. My blood boils with anger, and terror, and compassion. And love. I have a purpose, with promise, thoughts ever full of hope, evermore. Finding momentum to even my most dormant dreams I break it down again, and again.
   Again. These are my eyes.
   There is no revolution, not right now. Perhaps, maybe, there will be, for someone, somewhere else, a person to show something new about you, or your inner being. It may not be me, but keep reading, to see.
   This is my landscape. These are my dreams.
© 2016 j.g. lewis

The light follows wherever she goes. Constant. In each apartment
or home, the aquarium’s glow casts shadows into her days, and
her nights. Most times comforting, the hum of the pump,
its gentle bubbles rising to the surface, has become
the white noise of even her darkest days.

Controlled. There is life contained within the glass walls, fish
with a purpose, providing motion when everything else becomes still.
And silent. People come and people go. Some stay for a while,
becoming little more than lovers. She remained a convenience,
a receptacle for ego, anger, and lust.

She knew her demands would eventually push them away. She asked
for so little, and cared for so much. No exit from the outside,
survival requires time. The aquarium has few demands,
save fresh water, food, and oxygen. Simplicity.
Why aren’t all other relationships so easily sustained?

Men required more attention and could not respect who she was, or
accept what they were offered. Fools. She didn’t ask much, except
to be loved. And they moved on. Or she did. Another home,
the same furniture, anxiety and a few less memories, boxes of stuff
collected through the years, and the aquarium.

Loneliness follows her everywhere. Unrelenting. She thought she felt love,
and it destroyed all she knew. Stars now cry on hot summer nights and
the flowers simply stand there. Stillness. The aquarium provides the
only sign of life, the only beauty she continually acknowledges,
because it can be controlled.

©2014 j.g. lewis

Can certain images we often see, come only at night, and only in dreams?

You wake and wonder about a reality prompted by nocturnal scenes, and more so, by what we believe. By no means figments of your imagination, the dreams are real but require an imagination that happens while you sleep.

Through the day you have walked for miles, and thoughts have travelled far and wide. At the end of the journey the body is cold and tired of thinking, and moving, and doing. A good night’s rest can restore the body’s strength, but more importantly revitalize all that matters.

As the body adjusts to a horizontal plane, tension is relieved and joints become free of pain. Spread across the mattress, weight and mass is more equally distributed, your feet and shoulders now free of the burdens they carry. Comfort is important; lord knows you’ve spent enough time through the day adjusting to someone else’s needs, wants or orders. This time is all about your entire self.

Quickly you react to the new stationery position; the blood flows more freely and, finding its own tone or tempo, the chest rises and falls. Each breath shifts into rhythm with a lessening heartbeat. Muscles once constricted or contracted can expand as the body takes up a new space and shape. The mind becomes free to wander, your head feels hazy, and your now-closed eyes lapse into the head.

There is that slight dizziness as you notice the descent. This is the point where the mind realizes it is free-falling away from thought patterns, stupid questions, and the annoying idle chatter it is forced to contend with through the day.

Your mind may, briefly, seize the moment and try to react. We all have those one or two questions that demand to be answered at the end of the day, yet the solutions are not strong enough to hold you back, and are too weak to resist the pull of Morpheus.

With the blood slowing down to a nocturnal pace, all those emotions stuck in the veins and capillaries are now free to drop off the cell walls and circulate through the limbs and up to the head. Automatically you breathe in the still night air, releasing negative energy and feelings with each exhale.

It is while you are sleeping that the mind opens up and deep thoughts and memories begin drop in. Unpredictable predictions are released from the darkest crevasses of the brain. With the blood flowing smoothly, feelings and hormones shake themselves free and begin to travel through the bloodstream to the heart where they were born, and the brain where they were active.

The residue of days and years gone by, information forgotten or misplaced, along with people and places, are the things dreams are made of. Everything we dream is not imagined, and most of it is true. Or can be. Much of it is forgotten, or lodged in those hiding places we are often too busy to visit during our waking hours.

Dreams need not solve the world’s problems, and may only be mild entertainment. Depending on the stress or satisfaction of our daily lives, and ultimately sympathetic to time, there is nothing simple about dreams.

A dream is the result of what you know, or want to know. Dreams are not at all logical, but many times will make sense, if you don’t mind or allow it to matter.

The Canadian government has introduced a bill to protect transgender people against discrimination and violence.

Sad.

It’s sad really, not because it happened, but sad because it had to happen.

I feel blessed to live in a land respected for democracy, human rights, peacekeeping, and charity on a worldwide scale. We are recognized as a multi-cultural nation that, under our constitution, guarantees our rights to freedom of religion, to move around the country freely with equal and legal rights to life, liberty and security. Entrenched in our Human Rights code is protection for all citizens, regardless of skin color, gender, sexual orientation, race, or faith.

Still there is a need to further define who needs to be protected against discrimination and from hate crimes.

It has been a while since I’ve taken a look into our constitution. I did, when it was introduced in 1982, leaf through the document with more than a pedestrian interest, and distinctly recall the use of the word peoples.

Peoples, to me anyway, mean human beings. Humans, to me, indicate those of flesh and bone, and mind, muscle, ego, and id. Apparently it is not enough.

I know it’s more than a black and white issue; in fact, it is not any shade of grey, or even about the wide spectrum of color. It is about how people are treated on the basis of anatomy and psychology. It is confusing for some.

Why can’t we all just live together?

Instead of going into detail, wouldn’t it just be easier to be more general and treat people as people, following a golden rule that — despite its religious shadows — asks you to do unto others as you would have them do unto you?

Shouldn’t the Ethic of Reciprocity be enough? Am I just being naïve?

I honestly thought we had moved further away from the genocide and persecution that has stained global history. I seriously believed that stories about pink triangles would now only be lore to educate and inform future generations about what once existed, and how we — the big WE, the global WE — had changed.

WE, obviously, cannot think in big terms and, quite obviously, have to craft our laws around small minds that cannot view people unlike themselves as humans with the same rights and freedoms they have the freedom to enjoy.

WE should be allowed to live and work without judgment, and to make friends and take lovers of ethnicity, faith, or skin tone unlike our own. That, I believe, is the freedom our constitutional document provides. That is the kind of freedom I believed I was raising my daughter under, and that is the type of freedom I respect.

I know I am not alone, yet there is still the need to further define. Any time you have to define, you are actually becoming more exclusionary than inclusive.

Every timeWE add another definition to our laws, or further clarify what or whom can do what where, or with whom, it does not strengthen the document, but rather weakens our society.
© 2016 j.g. lewis

No matter, no matter what color.
You are still my brother.
I said no matter, no matter what color.
You are still my brother.

Everybody wants to live together
Why can’t we be together?
                       -Timmy Thomas @1972

I love bicycles. From the sheer freedom of the ride to the aesthetic of a purposefully functional design, I’ve had a lifelong love affair with the two-wheeled glory.

With youthful memories of careening down lakeshore paths and sidewalks on a rusty red CCM, receiving my first non-hand-me-down bike with a banana seat and butterfly handlebars, and discovering increased acceleration with my first 10-speed (Apollo brand; a thing of beauty), each of my bikes has marked another stage of life.

The first poem I remember writing in grade school began with the line ‘Bicycles, tricycles, velocipedes’. I can’t recall the rest of the verse, but I do know it was written about the time I discovered the thesaurus.

It has always been more than transportation for me. As a teenager, the bike served as off-season training for a competitive alpine skier. There is also a certain romance to the bicycle, exemplified by a high school girlfriend who shared the same affinity. I remained true to the two wheels, even after several serious accidents, broken bones, and more than a few outbreaks of road rash.

I didn’t bring a bike with me when I moved from another province, but this summer may be time to get back in the saddle.

There is a tremendous circuit of bike trails and paths throughout Toronto, and soon to be more. Maybe. City council is debating a long stretch of pavement, unencumbered by streetcars, which will further link existing routes. Unfortunately, the plan also seriously reduces on-street parking in the area, and will hinder traffic at peak periods.

I believe in bike lanes. More so, I believe bike lanes are necessary in this car-centric city (or any urban environment on this continent). It is all about safety, and it has been a growing concern for decades. Years ago cars and bikes could inhabit the same roads, quite easily. Then both cars and bikes got faster, and the numbers increased. At some point the animosity grew between the two factions. We now have far too much road rage. It happens all the time, and happens year round.

Now I have a lot of respect for those committed cyclists who pass on the gas guzzling vehicles the majority of us rely on to get to and from work. Bless the bastards who shun the environmental hazards and ride through the sleet and snow, navigating the ruts and drifts of a snowstorm, thumbing a nose or waving a finger to inclement weather (bonus points to those Winnipeg cyclists who take on the -40 prairie temperatures).

But curse the confused; the riders who, without a light or helmet or common sense, weave through traffic on the icy roads at night with a bag of groceries on each handlebar. Damn the careless souls who give cyclists a bad name; those who exhibit little care about safety for themselves or others.

The bicycle lanes being proposed here, and in others cities, address the need for safety that planners of the modern roadways of North America have been blind to. Quite simply, cars and bikes cannot co-exist on the roads they way they exist right now. There needs to be lanes that give cyclists a place, and drivers the space, without concerns.

A lot of talk centers around the dangers a car presents to a bike, but there needs to be greater caution on the part of the cyclists as well. Yes, bicycles have the same rights to the road as a car, but they must also operate under the same rules. A rolling stop at an intersection is the same for a car as it is for bike; it is not a stop. It is, technically, illegal. As is weaving through traffic, or not signaling turns and lane changes (a problem with both bikes and cars).

Bike lanes, on so many points, go a long way towards reducing both concerns and the conflict. Yes, the lanes might slow traffic slightly, but they will keep people moving safely along the path.