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 . . .

look forward

The Tulips at St. James Park have run their course, the bulbs dug up and stored away until planting this fall.
    Right now it is just dirt, but I can feel potential.
    In the coming days, gardeners will fill the plant beds with a fresh crop of flowers to see us through the summer. I am anticipating beautiful things.
    Over the past couple of years, St. James Park has become a regular part of my landscape. It began during the COVID lockdown when I found myself passing through the park on my daily walks around downtown Toronto. It was more than a habit.
    The park became an oasis in my day; comfort within the concrete of the city. The shade of the magnificent trees always gave me a reason to stop.
    Sometimes I would sketch the flowers and trees, write a poem when the muse called out, or simply spend time with my journal or my camera.
    Some days I would just sit, as I did yesterday and the day before. Some days you only have to listen or look around.
    Yesterday, I noticed the water has been turned on in the bird bath after a two-year absence. It’s not quite a fountain but I know I’ll find myself, at some point, wasting time with my camera and capturing birds as they refresh themselves in the heat of the day.
    I look forward to it; time well-wasted is good for the soul. It’s always nice to have a place where there is the potential to do just that.

06/02/2023                                                                                                                   j.g.l.

?

We live in a world of what ifs.
What if we did something else,
or what if we weren’t there (as
sometimes we shouldn’t be
when it comes down to the
wrong place at the right time).
What if it never happened?
What if we had responded
differently or if we had taken
the advice we were told?
Would we have been so bold?

05/30/2023                                                                                        j.g.l.

Remembrance.

As it is, not
as we wish it to be.

You have days
to think back on,

and you do…

05/25/2023                                                                                           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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logical and chronological

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comfort and solace

Posted on April 30, 2023 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

I received a letter this past week from a faraway friend whom, over the years, has shared with me details and the dimensions of her life. The letters are always a joy to receive and the dialogue from the back and forth correspondence, over time, is endearing.

In the most recent letter, she shared news of intense sadness as her father, her “rock”, had recently passed away. She is now grieving.

We all deal with grief personally, intimately and unknowingly. It is always unexpected: you don’t plan for grief, in any circumstance.

Grief consumes you. It forces you to think about an awful lot of things, and our relationship with the departed is both embraced and questioned.

It is only natural.

My friend wrote that at the memorial service, she and her sister gave offered the eulogy, and then she recited a poem that was dear to her.

I was reminded, as she shared her thoughts and the written words, of how we can each find comfort and solace in poetry. A poem can make our emotions become clearer by offering perspective.

Sometimes, when we can’t find our own words, those of someone else find their way to us. A poem captures both life and death, and each element and emotion in between.

Poetry offers a deeper peace.

With a poem there is always room for more.

 

In Blackwater Woods

by Mary Oliver

 

Look, the trees

are turning

their own bodies

into pillars

 

of light,

are giving off the rich

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

 

the long tapers

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

 

of the ponds,

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

 

nameless now.

Every year

everything

I have ever learned

 

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

 

is salvation,

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

To live in this world

 

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

 

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.

04/30/2023                                                                                             j.g.l.

 

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