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.
We want to know what
we don’t know, or hadn’t thought of,
or forgot.
What mattered then,
or what mattered when, shifts over time.
We notice.
Perception is what you don’t see.
Deception is what know.
You see it differently through your aloneness.
The truth behind a lie,
you question how and why.
It made sense.
Anticipation keeps us waiting
for only so long. Will it matter
if you felt it never did?
© 2021 j.g. lewis
Slow down: even with the ideas that come to quicky. Take the time to acknowledge the feelings that arrive, as they arrive.
Write it down. How else will you remember what you were thinking?
Print neatly. You hardly understand the thoughts at the time, why make it more difficult to comprehend weeks or years from now?
Follow your own logic; only you need to truly make sense of what is happening, or all that has happened.
Pay attention to the lessons of the past. Be mindful that not all are worth repeating.
Clarity. Make corrections as you go. Flaws become more difficult to correct the longer you live with them.
11/14/2024 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.
What brings you here, anywhere
really? Out of habit, curiosity, or
happenstance? Each one of us
has patterns; a nature of being.
It is how we experience our time
in this place, on this planet, in
this city or another. Confusion.
A delusion? We are grounded by
behaviours, many of which we
will not realize or acknowledge.
Primarily, it is how we function.
Action or response to any given
situation. Stimulation, capitulation,
barely interpretation of that which
surrounds us. Still, here we are.
Nevertheless. In the midst of it all.
11/15/2024 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.
Love, as benevolent beings, is what we live for: generally, specifically, and personally. It is, at times, a force often doubted or denied, but our lives are full of love. If we choose to look.
Familial love should prepare us for everything else we come to cherish. Unconditional, above all else, it is possibly our first experience with contentment. Even to your youngest self.
Through our families we are introduced slowly to divine love — ‘agape’ as the ancient Greeks might say — in whichever faith or familiarity we are raised into. The principles of such will, in essence, provide morals and meanings that guide us through the days and decades.
Friendships or platonic love becomes important to our being as the world we step into grows larger and more complex. We recognize there are others to rely on and experientially grow with.
Romantic love speaks for itself: you know it when you feel it.
It is self-love, above all else, that keeps us in the state to care about everything else. Of all the love available to you, self-love is crucial to your well-being. When that commodity runs short, or becomes unrecognizable, you are unable to function as you should. The difficulties become obvious, if only to yourself.
I have been struggling for a time, I know it, I do; but had not recognized the symptoms as early as I should. I know it now, but didn’t then or didn’t when, I needed to.
My mental health suffered, dark thoughts consumed my headspace, and it took (or takes) time to get over. Anxieties are no longer day-to-day, not in the same way. It took work and an understanding beyond what I could see (or had been seeing). My natural curiosity led me to research. I went deeper than I thought, made therapy a part of me and walked a little closer to central patterns of my life. Yes, I journaled — I found the time —I made the words my own: so many thoughts others may never read but important, nonetheless.
A self-journey, indeed, but there where people around to support me, guide me (when I let them in), and love me as I was. In this process, full of distractions and diversions, I came to the stark realization that there was nobody else to blame for my issues and misunderstandings. For far too long I realized I had been.
I began to own up to my responsibilities; to live in a state of action and not reaction. It was revolutionary, at least to me, and I didn’t come to that decision recklessly.
This revitalization of sorts has come over these past months where I began doing things I haven’t done for a while. It was my own art therapy you might say, I do, because I can find no better description for the attempts I made. This self-care has offered a new level of self-assurance.
I did not see the sign until recently: Love me til I’m me again.
I have been. I am now of sound mind, most of my time. I am me; perhaps not always the person I wanted to be but I am better able to live and be loved, just as I am and what I will be.
This is not an easy admission, but I am the me I will continue to be. I am, now, happy with that. I must be.
I am me.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
It begins with sight.
Attention.
We steal a view, catch
a glimpse, at first not even noticing
eyes staring back. Across the room,
across our lives.
Attraction.
What we feel, all we see.
People come into focus
if only for a time, or longer. If we are lucky.
If we notice.
Fortunate we are
if
the beginnings are shorter
than the endings.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
Fake news, conspiracy theories, and unaccountable accounts of what is really going on, often heralded as divine truth. All lies, most of the time. Abundant now on all our screens, we struggle to know or understand what it truly means. Uninformed opinions are allowed much credence in an era where we really need to know. Politicians rant and rave, minds so flawed and so depraved you must question followers who wholeheartedly agree.
What passes for the news is nothing now, compared to what it was. Then. Perhaps it was limited access to history as it happened that required us to believe the events of the day. Daily newspapers, trusted broadcasts at the top or bottom of the hour, later revealed events at suppertime and then late-night news; we then paid attention. We had to. It had that power. Action and reaction.
Today, rare occurrences and once-in-a-lifetime happenings happen all too often in this never-ending 24-hour news cycle. Minutes and hours blur into everyday ephemera. Less is certain, more is questionable, not enough is never enough information. Misinformation/disinformation: one in the same, a deadly game.
Who, what, where, when and why. Always with the questions. There are less authentic reporters than answers. Journalism suffers: our fifth estate in a crisis state. It is not aways fair, it is not always obvious, it is not always news. Sadly. A celebrity event disguised as the truth is simply not news.
No isolation from the devastation as our world has been compacted onto tiny screens, perhaps small enough for our minds to handle. Mainstream media is easy to blame when you don’t take the time to find out for yourself. Things will really happen when the media is not around to notice.
And you won’t believe it.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
Intelligence and intellectuality,
a consciousness of our reality.
Clarity.
Perspicacity, mental reception
or sensory perception, emotions
consequential
to daily expression of thoughts
and being, lay within our mind.
Two percent
of a body’s mass; small in size
and stature, a human brain has
greater efficiency
than we consider thinking about.
Involved in; no, responsible for
everything we do.
Neurons and neurotransmitters
affect fundamental function and
well being
far beyond our mental health.
Grey matter. And matter it does.
How we think,
feel, react or behave, the mystery
or magic of the cerebrum is tested
daily. Now,
then, and again, and again. Always.
Anxiety, depression, joy and pain,
deeper thoughts
hidden inside memory and minutes
contained within the human brain.
Believe.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
We do what we do until we are comfortable doing it.
Uncomfortable, at first, it is a desire to realize our intention that pulls us through the process.
We try; we keep trying. Seeking satisfaction, we keep doing what we do. We may feel we are up to the task, but often wonder why.
Oh, the wonder of it all.
It takes a while to see results, but they are of less concern than the why and while it takes. It is doing more than seeing and being more than believing.
When it comes to anything, you need not ask yourself what you are doing or even why you need to do it. Instead, ask yourself what need it satisfies.
© 2024 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.
