How do we choose to travel?
What is reliable in the rain?
What is our ultimate destination,
for this time, this journey, or
this day?
We move at the speed of life.
Depending on traffic, others
may chose to follow your path,
but not your direction.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
A little cold, little wet,
a little tired and yet
I am here. Still,
full of wonder.
The morning chill leaves
little to the imagination
and much less
to hope for.
Expected, perhaps, as it
always is, this time, this
season is only what
we ask of it.
11/21/2024 j.g.l.
The answers are far less certain
than even last week, to all those
perennial questions or solutions
you might seek.
What do you believe, or
what do you believe in?
Come Monday, you have fewer
questions than you had last week.
For a while there are less doubts
in what you believe.
Whom do you believe in,
and who believes in you?
11/18/2024 j.g.l.
Consider each moment
leading up to now.
Cause and effect
affects where you are,
whom you have been, and all
you are now.
Any possibility sustains every reality.
To doubt is to question;
to ask is to reply.
11/22/2024 j.g.l.
As of late, for reasons as varied as they are non-existent, I have not been writing in the manner of which I have come to expect of myself. I am neither as prolific nor as detailed as, I feel, I usually am.
My poetry, while still insightful, does not command the length or breadth I feel I am capable of. Revisions to a manuscript I have toiled away on for some time have become painful (perhaps a sign that the work is closer to completion than I care to acknowledge), and my mind wanders to another project that requires the same diligence.
My daily writing is less than it once was (I feel guilty about that), and even the scant sentences I jot down in my journal seem to only document my time here on earth. Nothing extravagant, nothing more than a slight glimpse of where I am. Nothing that memorable, sadly.
I’ve been feeling for months that I am ready to embark on another kind of writing but have yet to determine exactly what that might be. I am full or ideas, characters, dialogue and circumstance, but it doesn’t quite feel like it has the backbone it needs to pull me in a certain direction. I even, a few weeks back, bought a fresh new notebook to keep these thoughts separate from all the others. The notes I have included in this book are random, undeveloped, at times personal, and (as of yet) make little sense. I reread these notes, almost daily, and I am inspired enough to clarify or expand on certain streams of thought, but it needs a more definite direction.
Perhaps I do as well?
11/17/2024 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.
Yesterday, the words of the illuminated advertising panel on a bus shelter captured my attention half a block away: “Feels like he can’t keep up with the demand.”
I’m not one to be easily swayed by advertising slogans or superlatives, but this message, even from a distance, hit home.
It is about feelings.
The ‘he’ could be ‘me’
I’m having a difficult time right now; actually, I have been for a while. I have ups and downs. You might call it depression, but I tend to use the word “glum”, as I’m not always in a morose state. But when it hits, it hurts.
I saw the advertising as I was walking to a scheduled medical appointment. I’ve had various appointments more frequently lately, dealing with a physiological reality that has presented difficulties in my workplace. The symptoms have spilled over into my personal life.
I have a visual disability.
The impairment is something I have learned (or am continually learning) to deal with or work with (or live with). I still don’t think it is severe, as many disabilities are, but that might just be the attitude that allows me a greater freedom to do, and try to do, the things I enjoy doing.
Yet, I am enjoying things less and less.
Right now, I am having difficulties keeping up with the demand. My work is suffering and my outside interests are suffering along with it.
I do not write, right now, in my usual prolific state. Keeping up with daily contributions to this website is, at times, challenging. My love of writing, and my need to write, keeps me going because it is something I simply do. I am finding it hard to express myself. My mantra of “write every damn day” somehow keeps me going, so I do.
But I know I could do more. I know I could push myself a little further, or a little deeper. Yes, it is a demand I make of myself, but I’m feeling I can’t keep up.
As I have stated, I live with the physiological condition. A few months back I began to feel challenged mentally.
I started seeing a therapist weekly. I’ve also had further consultations with other healthcare professionals in an attempt to get my mental health back to where I feel it should be; in fact, I know it should be.
And I recognize it will take more work.
Therapy has been both a challenge and a blessing. I am looking at things differently right now. I’m becoming more of an advocate for myself.
Self-care is taking on a greater meaning.
Though, at times, I still doubt.
It has been a tough couple of years for all of us. I think the pandemic period of our lives taught us about resiliency. We need our coping skills.
We need to learn more about coping. Above all else, it is important to learn that there are people out there who can help. The toughest part is asking. That, itself, takes strength.
When you think of it (and I have a lot) it takes a lot less strength to ask for help than it does to deal with some of the thoughts you end up having.
It’s about paying attention to your feelings
It is about taking care of your self.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
Undetermined hesitancy,
well past procrastination, yet far less than wasting time.
Waiting is less a function and more of a state.
It is not stillness; for that to occur the mind must settle, not
impervious, but free to allow thoughts in. And out.
Then become silence.
We, then, are waiting, knowing time will tick on anyway.
If we can stop even for a moment, to simply breathe,
we can find perspective.
It is searching for something meaningful
from something meaningless.
We seek further meaning,
knowing our lives are deeper than our pockets.
We understand there is greater nutrition in a shared meal,
that Friday will arrive each week, and a bicycle and a car
each have a purpose.
We wait; believing home has nothing to do with boundaries.
For our past to catch up with our ever-present worry, for
today to be the gift we were told it would be,
the future must unfold as it should.
In searching for this equilibrium,
have we become stuck in the balance?
Our mind is occupied.
Waiting.
We know there are people, who miss us as we miss them,
and we wait in one space thinking that one person may find us.
Waiting may be a reminder
they are not coming.
As we wait, we attempt to determine if
our response is an action, or a reaction.
We know inaction.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
Is there a price to independence? Freedom comes at a cost
emotionally if not financially. Choices not always obvious,
you take what you can, when something is taken from you.
A choice, again,but why must we always choose for others?
If it is not only for the self, it is mainly for you. No regrets.
If what you had were all you had lost, would you question
again the price and the costs of possessions and decisions.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
Rest your eyes.
You have seen so much
humanity and pain,
happiness or joy.
The eyes strain
to take everything in.
We see what is before us,
sometimes it is not easy.
Sometimes it is not all;
sometimes it is too much.
Our vision is not always clear.
We become weary
of dealing with it all.
Rest your eyes.
Give your soul a break.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
Expression as permanent
as breath on the mirror, but more captivating
when you think of it that away.
You can’t take it back, nor
leave it any longer, as fog on the glass dissipates
you realize another breath will follow.
Optimism reminds you to hold the thought
and not your breath.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
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.
