Failed attempts or application.
Unfitting. State of a nation.

Weak argument. Nothing’s ever new
Happenstance. Déjà vu.

Here and now is now or never,
the lives, the lies, go on forever.
This ain’t living.

Injustice. You can’t breathe.
Chests rise and fall, like democracy.

Architects of misery,
we can’t ignore, or let be.

Air so heavy. Birds don’t fly.
Politician postures, no one cries.
This ain’t breathing.

Build a nation or build a wall
Ignorance, above all.

Embarrassing priorities.
Prime time for all to see.

Unbalanced power, it’s not right
Hypocrisy in plain sight.
This ain’t working.

© 2019 j.g. lewis

Throughout January, Mythos & Marginalia is looking at Where We are, as witnessed by contributing writers from across this magnificent planet.

By Denise McQuiston

I remember once, it seems like decades ago, hearing that the Earth’s poles were going to shift and all hell would break loose. It sounded scary; I didn’t think much of it after. That was then. Today I do.
We all do.
People in Alaska are probably thinking about it with earthquakes and thousands of aftershocks. Today it’s scary. Fires, record storms, global warming and global cooling, what is next? This question sits on your shoulder waiting to be answered.
The current climate conditions aren’t the only question looming over our shoulders.
The agenda of world leaders is questionable. Election fraud leaves us feeling powerless. Trade policies hurt the planet and all the life it sustains. We want to feel like we have control of policies and our leaders. But we don’t.
We can flee from a hurricane and tornado, but bad leadership is something we must endure and suffer under.
We are no longer in shock of this.
We are over the shock. We are over the anxiety.
We are awake now and in the great fight for our souls.
Amen or R.I.P.

© 2019 Denise McQuiston

Denise McQuiston is a writer, avid photographer, and wanderer who lives in Western Massachusetts. When worlds collide she can be found drining around New England with the music blaring. You can read more of Denise on Facebook Self Healing Movements + Tuina Answers.

Throughout January, Mythos & Marginalia is looking at Where We are, as witnessed by contributing writers from across this magnificent planet.

By Mitch Smith

Where I am now is decidedly different from where I was at twelve months ago.

Then I was angry and cynical about our country and the tin pot dictator who had stolen the White House. I was in a perpetual storm of ego and angst, of despair and hopelessness. I had to take a small part-time job because of some financial issues and I was trapped, it seemed, in a loop of maddening sameness; a La Brea tar pit of banality.

Needless to say, I was not at the top of anyone’s social list, not even mine. 

Then mid-year, my daughter, who had given birth to my granddaughter in November 2017, ran into some difficulties with the baby’s father and needed a place to stay. I was all too happy to accommodate them, although I will admit to a certain trepidation and fear. What would that mean to my life, to my routine, to my stability?

As tenuous as my life was, I had lived alone for almost twenty years, which is a hard nut to crack. 

Zariah came into my life like a laser, like a shooting star across a black sky. Everything I thought I knew about love and devotion and surrender were all shaken away, like loose skin, and I was immersed in a level of sheer and utter rapture.

Now, months later, I am still floating with this feeling. Seeing her grow and take on a personality and a spirit is an everyday miracle for me. Seeing her smile, and even cry, blows my heart up like a giant balloon. 

My angst and cynicism? Oh, they are still there, but now I find that I don’t need to dwell there anymore, they no longer define me, or explain me. I am now someone’s grandfather; someone’s father; someone’s lap to nap in or shoulder to cry on.

I stand now, at the end of a tumultuous year, in a renewed sense of hope. I am seeing the world through different eyes and no longer assuming the worst of everyone and the world at large.

That little girl has rescued me from myself.

I am home. 

Photo by Mitch Smith

Mitch Smith is a 64-year old semi-retired substance abuse counselor, who lives with his daughter, and granddaughter, my dog and two cats. Mitch enjoys reading, writing, photography, and continually learning how to be content and happy in his life. 

Throughout January, Mythos & Marginalia is looking at Where We are, as witnessed by contributing writers from across this magnificent planet.

I’ve become more respectful of my time.

I started wearing a watch again. At one time a permanent fixture on my wrist, I stopped strapping on the timepiece eight years ago.

I know, or I must have, worn a watch through my teenage years, but it was a high-school graduation gift from my parents that I first remember as a constant reminder of time.

A wristwatch reminds us of where we are and where we need to be. It becomes habitual to check your wrist on your way to an assignment, event, or meeting. The wristwatch is a practical, purposeful piece of jewelry where you can casually glance down without interrupting the flow of time.

It can become pretty easy to be a slave to time.

I stopped wearing a wristwatch when a career move suddenly had me based in an office. There was always a wall clock, or a computer always displaying the time in digital format. I appreciated that.

I remember the feeling of freedom I found by removing the wristwatch.

My days were more structured than they had ever been. I started and stopped work at the same time each day, knew it took 14 minutes to walk to work, and if there was ever a doubt as to what time it was any other time of day, I could always check my cellular phone.

I began to rely on my cell phone to tell me what time it was, when I needed to know what time it was outside the office, or when something needed to be done, and done on time. It was convenient, my cell phone was always in my pocket.

Thing is, I began to count on the clock on my phone a little too much and I began checking the time a little too often. Of course, now, when you check the time on your phone you can also check your email, or messages. We all have experienced the advances of mobile technology over the past decade, and we have all experienced the wonder of having a computer in our pocket and information and applications always at close range.

Aren’t we all checking our phones a little too much? I know I was pulling out my mobile device too many times a day, whether I needed to know the time or not.

It became a bad habit. It became pretty easy to become a slave to your phone.

I was, quite simply, checking my mobile device too many times, whether I needed to know the time or not.

It was a bad habit, so I have switched back to a wristwatch.

Almost immediately, I began to notice how much less I was looking at my phone. Granted, I’ve only been wearing a wristwatch again a little more than a week but I am glancing at my phone less, and less. I am more conscious of time away from my phone.

The decision to again wear a wristwatch was a conscious. I even bought myself a new watch as an early Christmas gift to myself (it’s the most wonderful time of the year…)

I didn’t purchase a watch that would sync up to my iphone. I didn’t buy a watch that would check my pulse, count my steps, monitor my brainwaves, or allow me to catch a movie, soap opera or ballgame whenever I wanted. Truthfully, I didn’t even want a watch that told me what date, or day of the week it was (I carry an agenda), but a calendar function was pretty much standard on any wristwatch that caught my fancy.

I want to be less mindful of the time.

You look at time differently when it is expressed on the traditional watch face. Time seems to move a little slower, or is more organic. Time seems more forgiving, or as forgiving as it can be (it is time, after all), when it is displayed by the hands of a clock.

You look at time differently when it is not expressed as digits, you think differently, use your brain differently, as you have to (consciously or unconsciously) calculate exactly what time it is. Whether it is half past two or a quarter to three; the top of, or bottom of, the hour, you begin to see the time by the virtue of how you were taught to tell time. You recognize 11:11 differently, whether it is by the light of day or happenstance of night.

It is no longer simply digits. There seems to be a greater purpose to the time. It feels now like it is more my time in how I choose to interpret, perceive, or ignore. It is now real time, and not real time.

Time seems more tangible, minutes turn to hours naturally in a more isolated state.

We respect time when we have to think about it. Maybe we all need to think a little more about what time it is, or what we are doing with our time.

Sometime. In the past week, or
the past day or two,
it happened.

It is not memory, nor even déjà vu.

You stopped
for a moment, a breath
caught in your chest, a
small tear in the corner
of your eye.

Unaccountable recollection of a moment,
or a face; an amalgam of a personal antidote,
myth, family story of another time or place.

More than a feeling, but not quite an emotion.
Greater than a concept, far more than a notion.

If you called it happiness, you would do it a disservice.
Not enough force to be joy, nor significant gravity
to be bliss. It simply arrives.
Unnoticed, without warning.

The spirit of Christmas
can’t be explained,
cannot be justified,
will not be claimed.

It just is
what it is.

It arrives during a phone call from
a daughter, a playful story about a mom,
or grandmother’s recipe
shared or prepared.

It is fleeting, yes, but
it makes your day.
It’s never enough, but
all we have at times.

Remember that feeling.

© 2018 j.g. lewis