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

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.

Mondays are just young Fridays

The lush canopy of green above us seemed to take its time arriving.
   The recent sunshine, warmth, and humidity contribute to a general feeling of euphoria.
   No specifics required.
   The changing of the seasons is not lost on us; nor is the change of reasons.
   In the grand scheme of things, this feeling doesn’t last as long as it should.
   Shouldn’t we appreciate this more than we do?
   Look up. Look around.
   Think of where you are now and why you are here.

06/20/2022                                                                            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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Let The Journal Do What it Needs To Do

Posted on June 7, 2017 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

It is intimidating, at first.

It’s there, resting on the countertop, all shiny and new, the cover in pristine condition with those elegant floral images, tribal designs, photograph of Paris, or embossed with that fabulous life-altering quote. All those pages are waiting; all crisp, new and clean.

You’ve wanted to journal many times. You’ve even started three, or five, or a dozen times before. You were enthusiastic at first, yet. after a while, or in a week or two, you forgot or couldn’t find the time.

Your mind went to other places and the journal eventually got left on the bus with the almost-new yoga mat, or tucked in that catchall drawer full of good intentions and bad ideas. We all have that sort of drawer, or a box in the basement or storage locker.

You know you have got things to say, you remind yourself daily of that quote you’ve been meaning to write down, or that life-lesson learned from a two-year-old. You realize you should take note of the conversation you had with grandma at dinner last Sunday; she is getting on, and becoming more forgetful, but that was an awesome memory she shared.

Life is like that: as full of moments and dreams and occasions as it is words, and sentences, and paragraphs.

So you bought this journal, a month back, and it is still sitting there. You had the courage to take it out of the bag. You even sat, held it, and admired it the other night while watching that TV series that started out good, and may get better if you watch a little longer.

Then Sunday, when you had the whole house to yourself, you made a pot of tea and put on that perfect CD (you know the one; it’s light, and inspiring) and the mood was perfect, but you just sat there.

Do you use pencil or pen? Is it printing or cursive? You used to have really, really nice handwriting (at least you did in high school), but then somehow it got a little messier. You use the computer more and more (at home and at work), and your thumbs are pretty damn good at texting those short bursts of brilliance, but your fingers get tired if you write too long.

Maybe your thoughts are more perfect, or more presentable (and correctable) if you use the laptop. And then, just as you decide you’ll write, and have decided you will use a pencil (correctable, if required), the kids come home from wherever they were, and they are hungry. Or your sister calls, or Beth (is there anything more mood-shattering than a phone call from Beth?), and you put the journal back on the counter, just until later.

Later comes and goes; days pass, weeks pass, and you even move the journal a couple of times to dust, or make room for a grade school science project. You even laugh at a few of the comments your daughter made while working on the project, and you remind yourself to write them down, in your journal, when you get the chance. When you find the time.

Thing is, you never find the time.

There is always something else that has to be done, whether it’s the report for the office, or historical group, or planning Evan’s 40th birthday. . . or, or, or, or. . .

Days are full of ors. This or that, now or then; damn it, there are just too many choices, and often they are made for you, or you don’t like the choices but go along with it anyway, or you make the wrong choice.

So this is the time you need to choose something for your self. You need to make the choice to give yourself the time to do what you’ve been meaning to do, and to do it for yourself.

This is what a journal is for. It’s time for all that, time for just you and your thoughts. It is writing from your heart and writing it out loud.

You need not worry about pen (ball-point or fountain), or pencil, or crayon, or how you write, or what time of the day you will find those stolen moments; you only need to concern yourself with making the time, and letting the journal do what it needs to do.

You will find a purpose for your journal if you give yourself nothing more than a reason to write. You do not have to worry about sentence structure, punctuation, dangling participles, or format; you only need to let your thoughts out.

Yes, the moment you put pen to paper you will begin to stain those crisp pages, but that is the purpose, and it may get messy as your mood changes, at the days go on, or as you find yourself either struggling with or containing certain thoughts.

Indeed, life sometimes is messy, and that alone should be enough of a reason to write. You know you’ve got something to say.

Say it. Write now.

©2017 j.g. lewis

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