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.
Naturally
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.
Individually
we are strong,
together
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.

   Namaste.

06/14/2024                                                                                          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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Anything Anymore

Posted on April 30, 2022 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

Silence amidst the screams, vacancy, space between darkness and dreams
beyond paisley skies, red velvet mistakes, and muddled remnants of
happenstance and half-lived Tuesdays.

Neverland tenements where landlords fail to repair cracked windows,
broken pipes, and the noxiously rhythmical drip, drip, drip of the sink.
You don’t care anymore.

Deadbolt locks designed to keep your self safe from yourself, or
your type. It gets harder to have faith when held sway by misfortune and
the troubles you create.

Awake, if hardly asleep. Ridiculous notions, infractions on lustful wishes
meant to placate the mind during desperate times or validate your existence
as a lover, has-been; one or the other.

Somewhere in this middle-of-the-night existence, 4:23 slips away, as
only 4:24 can. Time less subjective than one can imagine. Down the hall
the television knows only one volume.

Unfettered anger thrives in this sort of dive, trash bins overflow with
long-forgotten get-rich-quick schemes, recycled promises, and the pursuit
of happiness. Or something like it.

Consumption remains a tireless game, complete with ill-conceived products
and yesterday’s shame. Tomorrow (really today) won’t promise anything anymore.
Less to discover outside any door.

Black noise in a white noise sort of way. Continual reminders of not being alone in
this awkwardness. You hear the echo of booty-call passion in the bedroom above.
It doesn’t mean anything. It never is love.

Sunrise, even sunset, less reason to see. It keeps you awake for another day. Time
even less subjective than it was an hour ago. Close the door on a short night, look
for another reflection in the mirror.

Underneath the pizza crusts and bad fast-food choices, empty calories and
abandoned wine bottles, a Bible sits in a box you never look in. You can’t deal with
the guilt. Or the lies.

©2017 j.g. lewis

 

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