Mythos & Marginalia

life notes between the lines and along the edges


  • Right Here Right Now

    Come under my blanket, literally or metaphorically.
    Share my words, and time, beneath this moonless sky. Breathe
    deeply. There is warmth here; we have a place to discover,
    to dream, and to make this world a little smaller.

    You are not like me. Obviously. The voice is foreign. Your skin
    is different; or maybe it is mine. But let’s put those differences
    on the table and sit, as equals, as strangers, as humans, under
    the canopy of night, united by what makes us the same.

    How different can we be? You are here. So am I. Should we all
    not be allowed a place for art, for dancing, and dialogue, and
    just allowing things to happen. Shouldn’t this city, this place
    of all places, allow for a naturally-occurring random acts of belonging.

    We belong here; we are all here, more likely than not strangers.
    Regardless of where we come from, or where we have been,
    there are more commonalities than differences. There has to be,
    we are the same. We are all right here. Right now.

    Can you let go of what you are used to? Can you imagine
    becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable? Can we
    as a species, as a people, as a force, take back the negativity
    that exists outside this blanket? Can we try?

    Communication, unhindered by race, or faith, or morals and
    mindset, should be the easiest way to absolve the madness
    that occurs daily on this planet. If poetry is the language,
    it matters less about the accent and more about the intent.

    You have a voice, and it is lovely, and unique, and has
    a purpose. Speak up. Share, let others know how you feel, and
    what you deal with daily, weekly, and now. You belong.
    Come under the cover, and make room for others.

    © 2016 j.g. lewis

     

  • Our Current State

    You can’t fully prepare yourself for what is to come.
    It is unknown and uncertain and not knowing is often
    where we dwell.
    Uncertainty gets us thinking, keeps us curious about
    who we are and what will become of the days, weeks,
    and years we leave behind.
    We do indeed live in the moment(s), yet those that
    preceded this time will continue to influence our current
    state of mind.
    Past tense.
    Present tense.
    What was is not what is now.
    The sooner you are able to grasp all that, the better able you
    are to understand how you can you be ready for the future?
    It need not be such a definite moment, but it will define you,
    whether you will admit it or not.
    What you say, what you write, what you experience or what
    you remember does have a lasting impression.

    © 2022 j.g. lewis

  • Awake Enough

    If a star should fall tonight
    would you even notice?
    Beyond the bandwidth of your rationalizations,
    a succession of contradictions and explanations,
    would you mind or will it matter
    if a star fell to the earth? Would
    you even hear the shatter?

    Millions of people, like constellations,
    dealing with insurmountable issues of trust
    and faith, and complex relations,
    whosoever can take the time, find the conscious mind
    to pay attention to an innocuous occasion
    like a falling star,
    or the possibilities of such.

    How can we take seriously
    that which happens in the heavens
    while this planet demands so much attention
    to serious matters. Somewhere, nearby, a neighbor screams,
    the night is not quiet as it once seemed.
    If you slept through it all
    will the stars even fall?
    Who would even notice or wake to the sound?
    Does it even matter when you are not around?

    Always in darkness, we know not how
    to embrace it, or to end it.
    Should a star fall from the sky
    would you know who might have sent it?
    Are you willing to guess, are you willing to receive it?
    As we stay, as we do, entangled in temporary lives
    filled with perpetual motion,
    a star falls, and we seldom heed the sight or
    take time to amend our emotions.
    All of us stuck in the middle of something,
    nearer to the end, always in the darkness.

    When the star falls, cutting through the clouds,
    diamond-sharp edges tearing at the canvas
    of your semi-comfortable existence,
    releasing the inevitable. Blood drawn,
    spilling out, time and again.
    Would you recognize what is hidden,
    or understand the mind a falling star can damage?

    Your soul or conscience telling you
    what you don’t want to hear, thoughts teeming
    with contempt and abject fear. Wide-eyed awake
    still with no sight, making excuses to yourself
    for excusing another life.
    The galaxies you once noticed
    have turned their backs on you.
    One star, any star, any star will do.
    If a star falls from the sky,
    and it will,
    will it come close.

    Darkness ever strong,
    discomfort goes too long, likewise your shame.
    You can’t forgive your silence, or forget your
    indiscretions, as you shoulder all the blame.
    Destined to repeat past mistakes, time
    and again,
    when the star falls before you,
    will you recognize the pain?

    Should a star fall from your life, another
    luminary gone, and so too the brightness,
    will you slip back into the bottle?
    It has comforted you before.
    Can you close up all the curtains, again, and hide
    behind your door
    trying to banish all reminders.
    Will you try to validate your presence
    with another hand, replacing thoughts
    of how it happened
    with those you cannot understand.
    If a star falls in the night
    will you be awake enough to feel it?

    Let them fall, slipping hastily through the air,
    down, down,
    crashing down,
    let them see you there.
    Perhaps they will stick around, for
    now is never
    what was planned,
    and you know it rarely it is.
    If a star falls from the night
    is it worthwhile trying to find it?

    © 2015 j.g. lewis

  • Take All Day

    As the morning calls out, I choose to blink, wipe stiff sleep from mine eyes and soak up the sun, rather than shielding my pupils from the pain of past days.
       Meaningful motion begins the day.
       There is purposeful thought in understanding that nothing will be cured or conquered by staying still. Each day, in fact each moment of the day, is a tactile, tangible exercise in stepping forward past your faults, flaws, and the forgotten lessons that have guided your way to this point.
       Even the sleep you have just survived prepares you for possibilities, if only to give you enough rest. Silence, however long it lasts, is a prayer that says far more than you can comprehend at least, all at once.
       It could take all day to figure it out.
       Some days it is a struggle, yes, but aren’t most things you deem worthwhile? If it were too easy it would provide no effort, and exertion is required for any form of motion.
       Even doing nothing involves some sort of inertia.
       It is a responsibility to make use of even the stillness, even in the quietest moments. Morning is only a start. Make it meaningful.
       You have hours to complete the day.

    ©2022 j.g. lewis

  • Versions Of The Truth

    Even my name will carry forward
    to years I will not touch. This certainty remains
    as truthful as it is obvious. We exist
    in this fractured reality.

    We all will die.
    Admit that and you will move
    more freely in this world.

    Journey or adventure.

    Most of us, week to week, are not aware
    of a destination or even our path.
    This has been my familiarity.

    No other person’s experience can be
    compared to your own experience.
    We know various versions of the truth.

    Time is tactile.
    My hand will cup a breast only while my lips
    have a taste to be quenched by lust,
    or temptation.

    Others will touch, or wish not to be touched.

    Morals coat any decision made.
    Experience tells us so.

    Any human connection is hard; even harder
    is loss of connection. Emotions are a commodity
    shared with few, expressed by even less of us.

    Trust.

    The mind is never vacant, but a room muddled
    by darkness. This space hosts a scent
    I will remember after I
    am left for dead.

    We will all die; most of us alone.
    Admit that, and you will move
    more freely through this life.

    © 2019 j.g. lewis