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.
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.
I watched the glorious lunar eclipse last night; a Super Moon, a Blood Moon, and a Wolf Moon, all rolled into one.
The sky was clear, it was late, but temperatures had dipped past the frigidly-uncomfortable level (-33 wind-chill in Toronto). So I sat, all bundled up, in my car and I just watched.
I didn’t, as I often do, fasten the longest lens onto my camera and take multiple frames and progressive shots as the big bright sphere was dimmed.
I just watched.
I was warm in the car. I played Mahler (his 5th), and I watched this celestial spectacle unfold in front of me.
Without interruption.
It was a pleasure.
All I did was watch.
All too frequently we spend too much time trying to capture an event with our camera or cell phone. We fuss with our tripod (I know I do), concentrate on composition and exposure, and try and catch the perfect shot. So intent we are on recording the proceedings, that we may actually miss out on something just as it happens.
Our focus is on capturing the event instead of seeing it for all that it is.
We second guess our memory. We believe we need evidence to bolster our recollection.
We don’t remember we don’t always have our cameras with us when monumental moments occur. Somehow we still remember a child’s first steps, grandmother’s subtle gesture, a lover’s smile, or your favourite band playing your favourite song at your first concert.
Epic events happen whether you have your camera out, or not.
I chose, last night, not to bother trying to record the moment. Instead I chose to watch, and listen to a powerful score.
Mahler’s work was maturing at this point of his career, and his intention for the 5th was ‘a song without words’. The textures and tonality of this story flowed through the darkening sphere. The Adagietto provided an appropriate calm as the coppery hues enveloped the Moon.
I sat spellbound.
I can’t remember sitting this still, for this long, staring up at the Moon.
The symphony ended with a full orchestra crescendo just as the top rim of the Moon was about to be swallowed up.
I got out of the car, stood, and watched for a moment as the eclipse was fully formed.
I reveled in the magnificence I had just witnessed.
I, then, climbed back into the car’s comfort.
I sat in silence and I watched.
I just watched.
And I will remember.
01/21/2019 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.