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.

follow on social media

keep in touch

Enter your email to receive notification of significant posts. Don't worry, I won't clog up your inbox or sell your data

Infuse Your Muse
Posted on June 24, 2015 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment

IMG_0545

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”
                                                                                                                                                         – Marcel Proust

It’s different for each of us; the power, the magic, the light or spirit that guides us through what we love to do. All of us have a muse, tangible or intangible, we come to rely on to keep the creative juices flowing.

In fact, we may have several muses we count on (depending on the project or circumstance), but sometimes they are not easily accessible, or can’t be summoned exactly when we want.

We are demanding of our muses, expecting them to provide the inspiration to make it through another page or poem. We expect them to be there; we expect them to be as easily turned on as our laptop. It’s when they do not meet your expectations that you begin to expect more of yourself. You push yourself harder, stepping past the point of creativity.
You start forcing the work, and most often the results appear exactly as they are. Forced.

This is when frustration sets in and, often, when we begin to run dry. When the inspiration for your work goes missing or is ignored, productivity decreases and the results are less than enthusiastic. The term ‘writer’s block’ (a convenient excuse, more than a syndrome) is often used, but it is far more than that.

When your work becomes routine, you have probably been working too hard or have become too focused. It gets to the point where you begin to ignore life as it surrounds you. In doing so, you fail to notice your muses.

Like the sister goddess they are (the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, as Greek mythology goes), a muse is to be treated kindly, and not as slaves or implements. A muse must be respected and treated as the gifts they are. They cannot be overworked, and they, along with your self, need time to rejuvenate.

When you are at odds with your inspiration, it is time to infuse your muse.

There are easy ways to restore the creative process, sometimes it’s as simple as giving yourself permission to step away from the page or palette for a while. This is a good time to read, to take a walk or short trip, listen to live music, or go out for coffee with a friend. Feed your muse and it will continue to provide the mental nutrition you need.

Then there are times when the simple becomes complicated, when you don’t feel like talking and dumping your problems on a friend, or when reading the book everybody is raving about becomes more about analyzing another page of words.

This is when you need a wholesale change in how you have been functioning. As Carpal Tunnel syndrome may settle in when certain muscles are over-used, your creativity may become cramped in its current isolation. This is a perfect time to find a project or passion that uses another part of your brain or body, a time when you need to stretch other muscles.

For a musician, it might be taking up yoga. The graphic designer who spends too much time hunched over a Mac may take to the garden (I think the ‘high tech, high touch’ philosophy was introduced in the early ‘80s). A painter may take up sculpture as a means of providing an alternative artistic vision. A writer may take up painting, or a musical instrument. Sometimes
it is doing quite the opposite of what you have been doing.

I have been stuck in the edit mode over the past months, rechecking, reformatting, and (in some cases) rewriting past works, all with a certain goal in mind. Editing, while necessary, does not have the same creative spark as writing fresh material. It can be laborious, soul sucking, occasionally painful (you are, after all, killing your babies) and immeasurably frustrating. The more you edit, the more frustrating it becomes.

I often use poetry to counter to process, to give myself time to let words fall onto the page. It can, and does, work, but it still finds you in the same place; sitting in front of a keyboard trying to formularize feelings for the greater world.

It does not allow a fresh perspective.

Over the past months, I’ve stepped back behind a camera as a means of getting beyond the now-familiar fictional worlds I have created. Photography is also very familiar to me, having spent my first career as a photojournalist, but it is not an art form in which I have become immersed for many years. Even then, my former camera work was more focused (no pun intended) on what was newsworthy and what needed to be recorded. It was a career of learning how to fit art and intuition into a deadline.

These days my photography is more specific to composition and controlling, capturing or defying the availability of light. It’s a challenge, as much as it is enjoyable. It’s forcing me to look at life differently, to find a new perspective. It is about stepping beyond boundaries and comfort zone. As you look deeper, you begin using a separate and distinct side of your psyche.

Although I am still mainly in edit mode, these regular breaks from my current reality are allowing a new vibrancy into my poetry, and have fostered a greater overall sense of well-being. It comes from not doing something that is usual. While it may not be unusual, it is something different.

The adage ‘a change is as good as a rest’ rings true. Your creativity is refreshed by not using your talents in the same manner you have been. As you return to the work that brought you down in the first place, you can approach it in a different context. You may discover elements of your regular craft that you had not noticed before, simply because you are now looking at them in a different way.

Sometimes it is not what we look at, but how we look at it.

Words For A Father
Posted on June 17, 2015 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment

IMG_8442

Always words I wanted to say.
Even now, they can’t stain the page.
Whys and whens, I might never know
if I don’t say,
if I couldn’t find the words, or some time,
to ask my father.

Forever a distance I could never cross.
More than a few steps, questions lost,
ifs, ands, or buts, I dared not to mention.
How could I, then?
Or now? If I didn’t find the time, or the words
for my father.

There have always been years, months and days
I never found the time, or the way.
The fault is mine, tongue-tied.
Can I speak, now?
Or ever? Time is a barrier to words
with my father.

A love held back, not purposely so.
It’s my fault, I know it’s there, I’ve felt it grow,
still I can’t, so it seems, make myself known.
How can I, now?
How would he know? Does he? Do I
know my father?

There is a will to utter sentences in my head,
to say what needs to be told, has to said.
I’d like to think he realizes what holds me back.
I understand him less,
than he knows me. How can he?
He is my father.

I was supposed to ask, supposed to say,
but never did. Was it meant to stay that way?
The clock has expired, true nature of time.
Words unspoken.
Unrealized. Thoughts remain mine.
Not my father’s.

Did he know why I needed my time?
Questions then would always remind.
Maybe he thought it best I find the answers
on my own.
It’s probably right, words meant to remain
with my father.

 

Words and thoughts change over time, even those you feel you cannot express. The bulk of this poem was written in late 2012. The last two stanzas were just added. The words were never spoken, yet the poem is complete. Or maybe it just now provides closure? Father’s Day is about remembering, and I do. And I am. Peace and love Dad.

We Keep Stepping Forward
Posted on June 10, 2015 by j.g.lewis // 1 Comment

IMG_8315

Each movement of every step, the seconds adding up to minutes and days, takes you closer to a finite end. In spite of all we want to believe, or all we put off, we are slowly making our way towards a certain death.

I can’t sugar coat it. I’m neither a pessimist nor an optimist, but a realist. We are all dying; it is a natural part of our evolution, the last step of life’s cycle.

Many of us are, or may be, fortunate to walk through our time steering clear of the multitude of diseases that accelerate the process. A greater number of us will be blessed with a cure for ailments unknown, or will be healed. Some of us won’t be as lucky. I, at this age, count myself in the first group, though things can change; things always do.

All of us are dying. From the moment the cord is cut, it is part of the process. We grow up and grow old. As the years pass, our skin will fade, hair will thin and take on a silver tone, bones become brittle, eyes grow weak, and gravity just happens. We see it, most noticeably, as the ageing process is personified by our parents. We watch, we listen, as they do, and as they do, so do we. We don’t notice it to the same effect until they are gone, as they pass on through old age or otherwise.

And we keep stepping forward.

The death of a parent forces a closer look at what you are doing in your own life, and how you are living. You think a little deeper of changes, physical and spiritual, you have made or are making. You question choice and chance.

How we choose to move forward makes up the difference between a life lived, and a life well-lived. Caution rarely seems to work, for in doing so you miss out on what this life affords. At the same time, reckless behavior — tipping the temptations that cross your path — will surely hasten the pace. Some things are simply too good to miss, and some things are mistakes.

It’s finding a balance, making decisions on how to live, without becoming obsessed or depressed with the end result.

Death is neither a possibility nor a probability, but an eventuality. You can decide to face it head on, or choose to ignore it by trying to squeeze as much life and experience out of your years. Still you need to be cognizant of where you’ll end up. Ignore is the root word of ignorance, and I will no longer be ignorant. I’m well past the Peter Pan stage (I was a lost boy far too long) and would like to think my decision to live is a somewhat serious concern.

It’s deciding how my body and mind, and thus my soul, are to be nurtured. I still carry a manageable share of vices, can occasionally be led into temptation, but I’m trying to create that equilibrium between what will prolong, and what will kill. I’m hardly middle-of-the-road, but I am more careful how and where I spend my time, and with whom I spend it. It’s how we decide to live now that has the greatest ramification on how we die.

I am attempting to find value in all that is around me, and weed out things with less worth. Simplicity is attractive, but getting there is rather complicated. I suppose patience has a lot to do with it. I’m more patient now than I was when I was younger.

I’m past the point of wanting things, but hold a desire for what I need in my life. Yet, I no longer think about it, as much. Time is wasted wanting things that may never occur. But to allow the desire to continue means accepting things the way they are right now, and leaving your mind open to what may be.

Desire surpasses want (on so many levels), but is less forceful and occurs naturally, much like death. Or like life. The things I want to do, the places and people I want to visit, become more significant when they are desires. They become the things worth living for.

I don’t know how much time I have left, yet I do know my time is precious, so I’m going to enjoy as it flows. I will do so patiently, naturally, with intent, appreciation and forethought.

I’ll continue dying to live, instead of living to die.

“When did the choices get so hard
With so much more at stake
Life gets mighty precious
When there’s less of it to waste”
                           – Bonnie Raitt