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 . . .
I'm like a pencil;
Still I write.
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
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logical and chronological
Possibilities are not endless,
probabilities are even lesser
or unlikely. Chances remain
few and far between. Your
perspective is all that matters;
in fact, all you really have.
Perspective is a wholly useful
word, possibly a word we all
need to employ with greater
perspective. It is a word of
understanding, or trying to
understand, others and even
(or especially) yourself.
We all need a greater view of
what is happening around us;
no matter how far we look.
I know I, even on a morning
with no stars, need greater
perspective on where I am
and where I am going, or
what I am doing.
What am I doing?
I need to look at myself and
my purpose from all angles
to better understand what I
can do. I need to look at all
the possibilities available to
me, even those I can’t see
when it gets too dark, and too
cold, and mainly improbable.
Maybe today you will do as
you planned and maybe today,
caution be damned, you’ll do what
you do and you will understand
that maybe the time you’ve taken,
until now, has served a purpose
that is stronger than the disbelief
and doubt you felt yesterday.
Maybe today you will know what
you mean, and maybe, today, it
will be easier than it seems. Maybe
today you’ll find your way, maybe
today is that kind of day?
We exchange knowledge
We wait for a response.
We listen closely (most of the time)
to what others say, often
we feel the words.
We don’t, as often as we should,
say what we should.
We wait to hear recognition or acknowledgement
about who we are or what we have done, but
have we done all that we need to do, or all that
we could, to find the understanding
required of us?
We wait for answers to questions that come
without notice, without reason, without thought,
and still we want a thoughtful response.
We continue waiting.
What do we require?
We know not all questions have answers;
we have heard the silence. We know it well.
What do we need to hear, and know,
to feel whole, or present, or loved?
What do we do when the words don’t come?
What can we say to show we are there to talk, and
to listen. How should we respond when
we know we don’t always say what we mean?
We don’t say it like we mean it.
© 2020 j.g. lewis