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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Mondays are just young Fridays

Posted on December 23, 2019 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

It’s touching how the music of your past will cause you to wonder, or create newfound feelings.
  I’ve been playing a lot of old vinyl lately, at random, for no other reason than to fill the silence with worthwhile noise. Nostalgia seems to have crept in.
  Yesterday morning I played Hold On by Dan Hill, a popular Canadian folksinger/songwriter in the mid-70s. The album’s title track was, then, a big hit with its massive background choir, epic arrangement, and inspiring lyrics.
  I enjoyed the song, then, in the ‘70s.
  I was more touched by it yesterday, more than I was then. What I remember.
The words spoke to me differently, or they seemed to have a purpose I did not or would not have been able to comprehend then, in the ‘70s.
  Still they affected me. Then.
  And they did yesterday.
  I don’t previously remember the lump in my throat, or my eyes welling up because the lyrics took on a new meaning. The words showed themselves as they hadn’t before, not as a teenager could imagine. Like, previously, it was conceptual, and I did not know how to read between the lines.
  I believe good songs, strong music, or poetry and great literature will resonate with you dependent upon age, circumstance, or where you are in life geographically or mentally.
  At times, art will take you back to remind you. Other times it will question the changes.
  The art remains the same. You, or your interpretation of it, are different.
  I should hope to be different than I was more than 40 years ago. I have earned the right to feel stories and songs through my own ears and not simply as they were told to me.
  I have survived. I have been tested and I have tried. I have failed, and I have survived, and I’m still holding on to what I believe in.
  And I still listen to the music, not to remind me, but to continue encouraging and inspiring me, as it did then.
  As it did yesterday. . .

12/23/2019                                             j.g.l.

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