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 . . .

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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A Lunar Awakening
Posted on March 25, 2015 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment

 “Sometimes the moon and sun argue over who will tuck me in at night.”

                                                                                                                                          -Hafiz

Perhaps it was last Friday’s equinox, or the fact we are wandering through an infrequent astronomical stretch, but again the daily pull between the sun and the moon has captured my imagination.

A reccurring cycle, whether bathed in sunlight or consumed by darkness, the gravity of the two celestial bodies exerts a constituent force on the soul. The sun is more evident — a greater amount of time is spent in its presence — since it is always there. Yet the sun only burns, it never changes, the surrounding atmosphere dictates or influences its power.

The moon, however, is different each night; it’s always changing. Never is the moon the same as it was.

I remember, as a child, my friends being fascinated with textbook constellations, always searching for Orion, Aquarius or the Big Dipper. I was content with the moon; not only was it obvious, but never afraid to show itself as it was. Whether full, half-hearted, or crescent, it remained true and dependable. Even with its slightest whispers, or a new moon holding back its light, I always knew it was there.

The moon is a motivator. When there is nothing left to talk about, to write about, or think about, there is always the moon. I’m not alone in this inspiration. Thoreau, Frost, Collins, Poe, Yeats, Laux (I could fill paragraphs alone with poets soothed or intrigued by moonglow) all found paper and pen as the moon spoke.

Over the past year, pages of poetry have spilled out of me in the shade of the moon. It has been an unidentified, almost mystic, dynamic I’ve not experienced before. The force wasn’t previously familiar, but I’ve always known the place where the moon resides.

I think I’ve spent a lot of my life hovering within a darkness. Maybe I found comfort there? A foreboding sadness, I might have even thought it was a normal means of dealing with negative situations and emotions, all the while still trying to convince myself I was searching for happiness. I continued looking for the light instead of realizing the true brightness was already there, inside of me.

I think a lot of people live like this, searching for a destination that will never be reached because we are already there. It takes stepping out of your comfort zone and changing your perspective to see it. Perhaps, for the first time, I actually realize this.

It’s like the moon; you see the sphere in all its phases, but you don’t notice the complete power until it is full.

Always in awe of the full moon (more of romance than of restlessness), I’ve felt all phases over the past 15 months have produced a correlation between the celestial map and my direction. It began with a new moon ushering in 2014, then even more so with last April’s spectacular lunar eclipse, the first of a consecutive four such events (two more in the tetra; April 4 and September 28 of this year). Since then I’ve been caught up in a lunar wake, the push and pull, the black and white, and a discovery of each shade between.

It has been a lunar awakening.

There is more to darkness than the inherent absence of light. There is lightness in darkness, something that allows sight; still, slight, but still present. Lightness is, in fact, more present in darkness, than the reverse. When is it light, you never think of the dark. In darkness, light may be all you yearn for.

The light is right there; a light I have shied away from.

It’s amazing how your perspective can change a situation. Rather than stepping away from the darkness, I am stepping towards this light. I am allowing my eyes to open wide, rather than adjusting to the darkness. This light shines on my faults, and my strengths, and encourages me to keep stepping forward.

The more light I allow in, the brighter I become. The darkness fades. I focus now on all the beauty and wonder I finally have the chance to see.

My lightness and my darkness are my yin and yang. I’ve long known of these contrary forces and had believed I fully understood the principle, the sunny and shady sides of the street, the strong and the weak, the masculine and the feminine. But when the concept becomes more personal, you realize it’s not about opposites, but rather a matter of balance.

There are two sides to everything and everyone. One side is not complete without the other.

Like the equinox – where the realms of the moon and the sun are equal — you need the darkness as much as the light, as surely as the moon needs the sun to provide its power.

Not Now
The moon is not full, not now.
It is new, it is hiding, even it has
little courage now. Concealed.
Behind clouds it knows and
thoughts it has never had before,
it waits. For what? Like you, or
I, it masks its enthusiasm with
tentative steps, a walk that can
keep you awake through the
night. Wondering. Why? When?
What will it take before it again
shows itself completely? Maybe
more time? Or maybe more light?
                              © j.g. lewis 2014

The Hardest Part Is Getting To The Mat
Posted on March 18, 2015 by j.g.lewis // 2 Comments

mat

Some days you just don’t feel like going.
Maybe you are still healing, or maybe you are just hurting, and you know you should go, but you just can’t. Or you don’t think you can.
Can you?
You know it will do you good; it always does, most days anyway. But not today, you say to yourself. Your self agrees, or it doesn’t put up much of an argument.
But it does make you think.
It’s only a mat; it’s only 90 minutes.
It sounds so simple, and still you ask yourself, why?
Why do I need to go to Yoga? Why do I need to get to class?
Why today, or why any day?
The answer is simple: sometimes you need to hear yourself breathe.
You need to hear yourself breathe, just to know you’re alive. Sometimes you need to hear other people breathing.
Living.
It reminds you why you are here, or why you are alive.
Why are you breathing?
Other times it serves as a reminder that you are not alone.
Other people too are breathing, living, struggling, and waiting: coping.
Trying.
The others ones, unlike you, are strong. In them you find strength. They set an example for you. They inspire you. They might not even know it. Hell, they might not even want to be here. But, like you, they came.
Like you, they didn’t want to come.
Like you, they resented the alarm, or sat up in bed and just stared at the clock. Or they listened to the weather report and questioned why and who, in their right mind, would bother?
Like you, their minds are caught up in the now or when, the here and then.
Like you, they wanted to put it off until tomorrow, but they (and you) know tomorrows never come… not in the Now.
Now, you can no longer rationalize. And for every posture there are two or three good excuses, and for every minute in the room you can think of ten more ways to spend an equal amount of time.
Yet somehow you ended up here, as did they.
You may have nothing in common with any of them — other than they are here, or they struggled to get there — but you made some sort of commitment, and they did too.
For that you are thankful.
Because today, or any day (or just that one day last week), you needed them there. You needed to hear them.
If they were breathing, so too were you. And if they were trying, why couldn’t you?
But then, or now, you didn’t need an answer; you are here anyway.
So are they.
And you didn’t want to be there, but the fact is, they are.
It reminds you.
It reminds you we all are human. We all need to try, to cope, and to push ourselves further. We all need a little inspiration and, on those days when you can’t find it in yourself, there’s probably somebody there to inspire you.
For some unknown reason, nothing else matters. You are here. So are they.
After that, everything else matters.
You are not alone.
Can’t you hear them breathing?

© j.g. lewis 2014

 

Sometimes I still struggle. 
Sometimes I need to be reminded why.

A Knowing Unknown
Posted on March 11, 2015 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment

 

unknown

unforeseen shard of fuchsia,
fibril against the monotony
of the day.
fleeting
before the ashen dome
shuts
for the night.
just enough to satisfy, a
need for brighter landscapes.
traces of optimism,
or hope,
just enough.

interior lights pressed into action,
exhaust spews into the damp chill
of the city.
swiftly
as night falls, so too the
mercury.
last gasp of winter.
seasons end, another begins, a
need for warmth.
we seek optimism.
or just
enough hope.

cold dark thoughts relegated to
the intricate concealed wrinkles
of the mind.
painfully
we accept the totality of our loses
hopefully
forging new perceptions.
new thoughts, and language, a
stronger need.
brittle optimism
may be
enough now.

time changes, we too, in increments.
the night inevitably lost to dreams
of serious moonlight.
quietly.
did we not notice, do we not
care?
one less hour. one step
closer, the prelude, a
knowing unknown.
perhaps warmth,
optimism, or
just enough hope.