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

Our impressions of what art is, or how we perceive any form of artistic expression, may change by the minute, with the medium, or be modified by our mood.

   What may be discounted one day could reveal itself in the next to be an abstraction of genius, or an even bigger mess.

   Judgement routinely varies with thought.

   Perspective is altered.

   Perception is not always accurate.

   Subjective thinking pays little heed to fact, form, authenticity, or taste. Feelings simply arrive (often unaccounted for) and may stick with you, become your muse, or be ignored the next day. Yet the art remains.

06/17/2024                                                                                                      j.g.l.

still we rise

We are all expanding
and evolving; spiritually,
mentally and physically.
Organically. Individually.
we encounter barriers,
circumstance or
undue conflict,
and still we rise.
Occasionally we
cross paths with
other souls who help us
to see and believe
we are moving
in the right direction.
We are nourished
by their presence,
however temporarily.
Growth is good. Sharing
in the advancement
of the human spirit
is even better.
Grow when you can,
assist others
when it is possible.
we are strong,
we are powerful.

© 2018 j.g. lewis

good intentions

I am going to yoga later this morning. At least, that is my intention.

   It’s almost 6 a.m., and a mat that hasn’t seen much activity in quite a while is waiting beside my packsack. It has been years, really, since I have stepped into a class. I’ve been feeling, lately, like it is time to do what I used to do regularly.

   Almost a decade ago, yoga was a true constant in my life. It was a practice that, for all intents and purposes, consumed me physically, mentally, and spiritually.

   Today, I’m trying to get that feeling back.

   I have very few expectations.

   My balance is not what it once was, I am often stiff and struggling, and I’m feeling the need to give this body the stretching it needs. My birthday a few days ago reminded me I am not getting any younger.

   So, I’m off to yoga in a few hours and I am doing so with good intentions.


06/14/2024                                                                                          j.g.l.

I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
other times
dull or
Still I write.

j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.

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My January Breath

Posted on January 29, 2022 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

   Snowflakes. Only movement.
        Twilight comes until twilight goes.
      Daylight leaves too early. Swiftly.
      The deeper the night, the colder
           the darkness.

My January breath suspended,
         my thoughts wishing to go
    somewhere. Anywhere, other
        than here. A deafening
           winter silence.

       The air is slow. Still. Almost.
            Alone, even in the shadow
            of the streetlamps. Nobody to
                shield your ears from the cold
          or dampen the inevitable.

Pointless the task, reviewing patterns
    and paths carved into the cartography of
      the ego. Realization. What once was
            may never be. This season
               stays the longest.

Even with full sunlight. The wind,
    should it decide, rips through me.
Harsh. I am not here. Not really.
            Permanent as my
                 January breath.

Flurries obscure constellations and
the Moon. Isolation. The circumference
         of my being is reduced, Limited.
            Blinded by temporal beauty,
         or tears.

   Nothing has happened, or is
        happening. The brazen chill
   clashes with body heat, the atmosphere
       the victor. Obvious. The world
              still gets in your eyes.

Time agape with a grey known only
      to the night. A solitary trek through the
      ordinary. Undisturbed. Each step resonates
           the soul-crushing scream
   of a thousand snowflakes.

      Beneath winter’s fickle façade, the ice
   cracks, The fragility of the planet apparent.
Vulnerable. Each season has precious moments.
            Gone. Time stands still. This is
                   my January breath.

©2015 j.g. lewis

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