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 . . .

cloud songs

Everything within your grasp,

         and that so far removed, 

   is as consequential 

   as it feels.

 

             Breathe 

     between the space 

within the enormity of it all.

 

   There, right there, 

                   is liberation.

 

Freedom awaits 

those that recognize 

personal growth, and them 

         who continue to look.

 

07/19/2024                                                                                                  j.g.l.

knowledge

Did you realize, or

do you? Now, was there 

   more or less gravity to the

                    situation at hand? 

 

All present and accounted for, 

   yet still we want a little more

knowledge.      If you know

                                       you know. 

 

Perspective is far greater than

   a simple rationalization, or a

sudden realization. Do you care, 

                                           truth or dare.

 

07/18/2024                                                                           j.g.l.

Mondays are just young Fridays

Last Friday — inspired by a horoscope offered in a publication I had never read before — I went silent. The words in the free community newspaper suggested I keep opinions to myself for a single day, and I took the words of wisdom to heart. 

   Breaking my usual routine I made coffee at home, freeing myself of the need to speak even civilities to attentive coffee shop staff. I did not speak. I can’t recall if I muttered anything under my breath, but I did not offer any opinions to anyone. From what I remember, not even myself.

   I spent the day painting, reading, and thinking.

   I didn’t listen to the radio or stereo, avoided the television, pretty much shred away from social media, and in the afternoon paid particular attention to birdsong emerging after a torrential downpour.

   I simply painted, and read, and thought, and that was all that was required. I didn’t even write. 

   It was placid, serene, and especially comfortable.

   I enjoyed this slight respite; it was almost meditative, to a point (but I didn’t overthink that angle).

   Instead, I stayed in the moment, contemplating the moods and the colours of the day.

   There was a lot of thought, self-analysis and otherwise. Self-thought entirely, not another voice to suggest, scold, or alter my perspective.

   My opinions may have mattered only to me, but does it even make sense that on that day I chose not to have any, even subconsciously?

   That was good enough to me. It was good for me. I may even choose to do it again, perhaps even regularly.

   There is power in silence.

 

07/15/2024                                                                                                                     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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Ask The Impossible

Posted on July 8, 2015 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

 

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Don’t talk to me at dawn. Caught up in whispers
of residual dreams beyond my control,
I’m not always ready for a new day, and
frequently have difficulty comprehending
where the night falls.

Morning is not the time for words
if the night has come before. Every breath
a struggle. I wake. No heartbeat. No. No talk.
Blinded by sight and sound I won’t hear
the meaning, or the message.

Give voice to my days instead, where I won’t
see your reflection, but will feel the wonder above
the cacophony and confusion
that terrorizes an otherwise
monotonous day.

Evening’s long shadow laps up scraps
of humanity. I pay less and less attention as
the planets close in. Considering your many renditions,
I await your arrival. Any night. What shade
will you be this night?

Then is the time, when distance fades, where we tell
each other stories. Little else matters, and we ask
the impossible. Inevitably darkness
consumes me, until you become
less significant.

Through nights, when I’m restless, when dawn
is simply a concept, don’t waste your words on me.
I will not hear them, promises or otherwise,
or find the light, or time, to
see your lips move.

Dawn reveals serious wounds, time misspent
and misplaced words. Where morning hints
of the night before and I may not hear your call,
don’t talk to me at dawn,
or talk to me at all.

© 2015 j.g. lewis

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