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 . . .

Mondays are just young Fridays

Week to week our priorities often change, with or without dedicated thought or demanded intention. In hindsight, you recognize it simply happens.

   What you did or didn’t do last week (or the one before) has only as much significance as you award it.

   Sure, plans are made, dates are changed, and personal situations are altered in an effort to accomplish or further an ambition or desire that may (or may not) be obviously less important now than it was then.

   But when did it change? Or why?

   Or was it you who, after slight thought or idle consideration, determined the truth you were seeking is not as important as what is now, anyhow? 

   So, while plans change, certain ideas are likely to remain that might be better left for another day.

 

06/24/2024                                                                                                            j.g.l.

subtle details

It is just a moment.

   It’s one of the many moments you will experience throughout the day, if you take the time to notice.

   We move too fast, too often, in our daily life. The places we must go and tasks we must perform — or obligations we are committed to —  tend to overwhelm us. 

   We are ever-conscious of our required duties, but less observant of life as it passes by.

   Take a moment or two, here and there, throughout the day to observe the subtle details. Ignore the demands and observe a few of the little things that may seem unimportant at the time but bring about a small sense of self.

   It is mindful meditation in the simplest form, but it will provide a small shred of balance to this busy life.

   Stop, just for a moment, and look.

   Feel the simple satisfaction that comes with knowing where you are.

 

06/20/2024                                                                                              j.g.l.

06/19/2024

be gentle with your self

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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Is It Ever As It Seems

Posted on December 16, 2015 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

_MG_3230 - Version 2

December rain sneaks into a sleep that may
or might not have been. Gentle, with enough of a breath
to be noticed, yet crafty enough to remain unknown.
Window open slightly, the world from
the other side of the curtains
seeps into your space. If sleep is sleep, or has it been?
Wide-eyed now, hands reaching upwards, grasping at clouds
and the residue that comes with the season. Emotions,
struggling with premonitions of silence, you attempt
to fashion thoughts into dreams
of what you want or where you’ve seen
or what you wish, or what might have been.
It’s not bright, not this time of day. There can’t be a moon,
not one you can see anyway.
Clouds and thoughts, and your restless ways
fighting the fever for hours and for days.
You might seem so strong and still, right now, who can say.
Lucent thought, lenient waves, comfort you enough to stay
tangled in the life you knew
in this sleep, just not all the way through.
Who you are, or what you want
the raindrops fall, the memories taunt.

Night is only a time for precious remembrances. No one can hear
what you think, perhaps no one can know. Not even you.
A life imagined. You can’t turn it off, or
turn it down, or see your way to shut out the view.
The only one is you. Trying to speak the words
you need to feel, you come up silent against
the rain’s steady peel. It’s takes over, it always does.
December rain. It’s not the same. The chill
cannot be the temperature, you are wrapped in the blankets,
pillows pushed aside in a heap, as they are when you sleep.
A rest that is not now, for if it were 
would you hear your heartbeat, or remember
all that you dream? Or is it ever as it seems.
The steady rhythm never forgets, patterns of the past
come back slowly. It’s wet, its cold, the memory is old
but it is right there. Remember.
Of course you do, of course you have,
you cannot spend all those waking hours in
wonder, and not have it come rushing back.
When you’re ready for mercy,
December rain seems to know.
It crashes against the silence and the mystery it holds.
© 2015 j.g. lewis

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