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 . . .

Mondays are just young Fridays

I called up a friend on Saturday. 

   I had a question that couldn’t readily be answered by Google, and with my limited knowledge or recollection of the subject matter, I could not satisfy my curiosity.

   It was while I was wondering or trying to figure this all out, that I suddenly had the idea that this certain friend may have an answer, opinion, or perspective I was looking for.

   Now, I hadn’t spoken with this friend for quite some time. She lives in a different city, and while we do keep connected with occasional cards or letters and random comments on Facebook, it has been more than five years since we’ve actually met up in person.

   Still, I felt comfortable enough picking up the phone and making contact.

   I know I surprised her with the call, and her voice was as emphatically cheery as I remembered it to be. I asked the question; we conversed over the intended topic, and I valued her opinion and her recommendations. I expressed my appreciation for her thoughts, and then we went about randomly explaining certain aspects of our lives.

   We spoke of each other’s families, upcoming holiday plans, interests and experiences, relationships, and all the stuff that friends talk about. It was the kind of conversation that seemed to pick up where it left off. We shared, in bits and pieces, what our lives were about in the moment. It is what friends do.

   How one defines a friend — especially in these days where social media uses the term so broadly — is so very subjective. In my phone call Saturday, I realized that his friendship was far more than many others. I am blessed.

   Saturday’s delightful conversation went a lot longer than I imagined it would. It also strengthened a connection that is now more than a decade old. Given that I will soon be moving, and we will soon be in the same city, I am looking forward to experiencing this friendship on a more regular basis.

   A true friend is one you can call up at random, ask questions and have answers provided with clarity and consideration. Friendship recognizes where you are but eliminates the distance.

   Friendship is the type of thing you want more of.

   A friend is more than a name and number in your address book. Friendship allows you to use that number whenever it is needed.

11/25/2024                                                                                                                                            j.g.l.

 

this journey

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

this season

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.

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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Persistent Existence

Posted on October 25, 2017 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

Last week, or last night, or the one before, the
mind-numbing silence raging above sirens, a lyric, or
spouse’s snore, a greater noise than a stream of words.
The life of a poet stretched out to the last stanza.
No longer.
News in the mourning. Not an everyday death. Not
a delinquent child, or deviant mind, trying to fit in, nor
the useless corpse bleeding out in a suburban mall
parking lot. Snuffed-out lives, intended target or otherwise,
the guns, the knives.
Collateral damage we hear on the radio each morning,
as we drive to work, as we try to survive another day.
Street crime, sign of the times, taken for granted.
Death, each day, over and over, and over.
Wilful violence.
This death was different, even expected. A musician
who sang for everyman, as he was himself. A father,
a friend, one we would come to know because his art
allowed more. It went further. He found a purpose
in his calling.
Who will now speak for a generation stuck between
nostalgia and this undefined future. Who will soothe
heaving hearts with the melody required. Illusions
of someday. Each day. Whether we know it
or not.
Cries of anguish above streetlights, beyond sidewalks
littered with deceit and dog shit, or forests brimming
with autumn’s glow. The final hours yet to show as moon
glow, stardust and daily drama, mix with the harsh realities
of hatred.
Undisputed ignorance clashes with brittle indifference.
You can say, and I will believe, this world of violence
has become an extreme. Yet it does not take away from
the efforts to sustain; to fill our lungs with the promise
of another day.
We tolerate as we try, complicit in persistent existence,
to continue moving forward. We all brave on, each
waking hour, defying the only true certainty known
in this life. Death awaits. May we be blessed to
greet it kindly.
©2017 j.g. lewis

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