I’m not sure I can kneel down before you, or
give in to your power. Not like before.
A situation such that I am unsure whom or what
I can trust, let alone myself. Still I look up.
Here I stand, pockets full of dust, starry eyes
gazing through the ozone. Toxins leech freely
into the atmosphere. Degradation of the night sky
deprives us of opportunity to see
what we once believed. You are there.
See me for what I am as I try to listen
through misaligned radio frequencies.
I cannot know where you have been.
You hide. It is your way.
My hands are not big enough
to grasp the message.
I’m not looking for the sky to save me, nor
am I waiting for the time to be right. I need
to go home now and find what is so far away.
I’ve lost my balance.
I’m losing my fear of heights.

Equality may never be, the darkness and bright
allow us only to see what we want, not what
we could have been. A level of light is expected,
my immeasurable impatience is being taunted.
However you look at it, whether you believe
in you, or believe me, this poetic justice
is all I have known. Your shadow remains
blended with the heavens. A starry night
will not dissuade your presence
in the lives you alter, or the ones you destroy.
Yet, in this moment, I know I would try again.
How could I not?
The option of a moonless night
is more of what I have been living, than how I
want to live. Between particles of unknown origin
in an ever-increasing pool of light pollution, space
junk, and refracted thought of a thousand
nameless faceless constellations,
you are still there.
I’m not looking for the sky to save me.
© 2016 j.g. lewis

It’s one of those songs that rushes through my head in times of strife, or disappointment, or when my wholly humble heart can hold no more.

Recorded in the ‘70s by Elvis Costello & The Attractions, the song title immediately rings out when the absurdity of this crazy cruel planet becomes so obvious.

“What’s so funny ‘bout peace, love and understanding.”

We have to question society, and ourselves, as we hear about the senseless tragedies occurring each and every day. Sunday’s vicious massacre is immediately top of mind; but there was Paris last fall, 9/11’s long tall shadow, and in between too many wars, school shootings, workplace massacres, and street-level attacks demonstrating how violent this world has become. And how hatred continues to spread like the disease it is.

We watch, we listen, and we grieve.

We wonder why, or how, or when it will happen again. We know it will. Sadly. Surely. In spite of all we talk about and listen to, regardless of the over-analyzed theories and reasoning, from all angles, we know it will happen again. History can, and will, dictate the future.

I hate to question if peace, love, and understanding is even possible, but I can only come up with one answer; and I have to believe it is YES. It is not an immediate YES, and sadly it’s not a resounding YES, but it is a YES one we ALL must strive for.

We must.

We all need to, individually and collectively, try more, and try harder, to understand those around us and those on the other side of the world. People are different everywhere, and differences should be celebrated, not shot down in the street or a nightclub.

There are too many questions about what is going on, and to say the solutions are peace, love, and understanding, is far too simplistic. But they are real. What else have we got? These are not Pollyanna ramblings of an unknowing man, I have seen too much to fall into that category (and I, truly, may be closer to a pessimist that an optimist). I am a realist, a humanist, a pacifist, and I’m tired of reading about hate crimes.

I’m tired of politicians and potential leaders making statements that cater more to the jealous, or uninformed, or misinformed, or imbalanced.

I’m tired of people sucking it up, and I’m tired of those who believe their right to bear arms eclipses the rights of those who only want to walk through their own lives safely.

I’m tired of bloodshed.

I’m tired of the posturing, and the lack of will, or effort, and courage to face the issues. There will be talk, and debate, over gun control, but it will fall off. It always does. But these heinous acts will continue. It will happen again.

It has become so obvious how much we need peace, love, and understanding. Right now.
If peace is to counter war, and love contrary to hate, then the opposite of understanding is ignorance, and there is far too much of that going around. Ignorance is not limited by faith, or gender, or culture or country, and it carries such destructive forces.

I can’t propose immediate solutions – I can’t even come close – but I can ask that we all think a little more, and talk a little more; about peace; about love; and about understanding.
It is, or should be, the three things we are capable of, and it is, right now, what we seem to lack most of all. But if we all took a step forward towards understanding, we might begin to see how this world could look, instead of how it is looking now.
© 2016 j.g. lewis

“(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace Love And Understanding”

As I walk on through this wicked world,
Searching for light in the darkness of insanity,
I ask myself, Is all hope lost?
Is there only pain, and hatred, and misery?

And each time I feel like this inside,
There’s one thing I wanna know,
What’s so funny ’bout peace, love, and understanding?,
What’s so funny ’bout peace, love, and understanding?

And as I walked on through troubled times,
My spirit gets so downhearted sometimes,
So where are the strong?,
And who are the trusted?,
And where is the harmony?,
Sweet harmony

‘Cause each time I feel it slipping away, just makes me wanna cry,
What’s so funny ’bout peace, love, and understanding?,
What’s so funny ’bout peace, love, and understanding?
                                                                              © 1974 Nick Lowe

It is vast, and unblemished, maybe even uninteresting, at first.
   At the beginning of the day, to the naked eye, it is nothing more than a vacant page, or space between the lines. Upon closer inspection, it is anything but.
   A page lies as open as an eye. This is my landscape. You see white space; I see themes and dreams, and possibility. The view changes, as does my mind, by the minute, moment-to-moment, year to fear, as each day becomes each day, and I am still here.
   The landscape changes, oft times like a blur through a car window. It’s like that when you travel forward. Look closely at what you see, take note of the spared indifference to what is, and what could be. This is more than my breath, voice, thoughts, leftovers or left behinds. It is more than indulgence and possessions.
   It is there for a reason.
   This is a world of secrets in a universe of sounds. It contains sins and silence, handily left for obsessive thoughts, and action. I know no discomfort, or a source for objective reasoning, so it should be as it flows, and like any great adventure you are never aware when it stops. There are no endings.
   It is not about anything, or could be about everything. It is my landscape.
   As permanent as chalked messages on a sidewalk, as indelible as DNA, there is something here than need not be understood, but it can be. And should. If you take the time, take what is mine, and read between the lines to see what might matter now to you, or me.
   This is my landscape. It may not all be personal, but it is intimate, and available. It is not a complete picture, but it is honest. It is here to entertain and inform, even advise, but take my words with a grain of fault, for there is nothing more human than a human being struggling to exist. I do both; struggle, and exist.
   This is my landscape, even when it is all mixed up. I might say some things now and then I am now only trying to comprehend, and admittedly there is naivety, as I want to learn, to know, to understand. So it goes from society’s distinct or damaged black and white to every Kodachrome colour that is, sadly, missing in this day and age. I use the past only as a reference, and not a regret; I have none; I can’t, at least not yet.
   Judge me not by my words or what I believe, take nothing for granted, if you know what I mean. Beneath all adventures, or even my stillness, is a strong inner voice. Not by purchase and not by choice. My blood boils with anger, and terror, and compassion. And love. I have a purpose, with promise, thoughts ever full of hope, evermore. Finding momentum to even my most dormant dreams I break it down again, and again.
   Again. These are my eyes.
   There is no revolution, not right now. Perhaps, maybe, there will be, for someone, somewhere else, a person to show something new about you, or your inner being. It may not be me, but keep reading, to see.
   This is my landscape. These are my dreams.
© 2016 j.g. lewis

The light follows wherever she goes. Constant. In each apartment
or home, the aquarium’s glow casts shadows into her days, and
her nights. Most times comforting, the hum of the pump,
its gentle bubbles rising to the surface, has become
the white noise of even her darkest days.

Controlled. There is life contained within the glass walls, fish
with a purpose, providing motion when everything else becomes still.
And silent. People come and people go. Some stay for a while,
becoming little more than lovers. She remained a convenience,
a receptacle for ego, anger, and lust.

She knew her demands would eventually push them away. She asked
for so little, and cared for so much. No exit from the outside,
survival requires time. The aquarium has few demands,
save fresh water, food, and oxygen. Simplicity.
Why aren’t all other relationships so easily sustained?

Men required more attention and could not respect who she was, or
accept what they were offered. Fools. She didn’t ask much, except
to be loved. And they moved on. Or she did. Another home,
the same furniture, anxiety and a few less memories, boxes of stuff
collected through the years, and the aquarium.

Loneliness follows her everywhere. Unrelenting. She thought she felt love,
and it destroyed all she knew. Stars now cry on hot summer nights and
the flowers simply stand there. Stillness. The aquarium provides the
only sign of life, the only beauty she continually acknowledges,
because it can be controlled.

©2014 j.g. lewis

Can certain images we often see, come only at night, and only in dreams?

You wake and wonder about a reality prompted by nocturnal scenes, and more so, by what we believe. By no means figments of your imagination, the dreams are real but require an imagination that happens while you sleep.

Through the day you have walked for miles, and thoughts have travelled far and wide. At the end of the journey the body is cold and tired of thinking, and moving, and doing. A good night’s rest can restore the body’s strength, but more importantly revitalize all that matters.

As the body adjusts to a horizontal plane, tension is relieved and joints become free of pain. Spread across the mattress, weight and mass is more equally distributed, your feet and shoulders now free of the burdens they carry. Comfort is important; lord knows you’ve spent enough time through the day adjusting to someone else’s needs, wants or orders. This time is all about your entire self.

Quickly you react to the new stationery position; the blood flows more freely and, finding its own tone or tempo, the chest rises and falls. Each breath shifts into rhythm with a lessening heartbeat. Muscles once constricted or contracted can expand as the body takes up a new space and shape. The mind becomes free to wander, your head feels hazy, and your now-closed eyes lapse into the head.

There is that slight dizziness as you notice the descent. This is the point where the mind realizes it is free-falling away from thought patterns, stupid questions, and the annoying idle chatter it is forced to contend with through the day.

Your mind may, briefly, seize the moment and try to react. We all have those one or two questions that demand to be answered at the end of the day, yet the solutions are not strong enough to hold you back, and are too weak to resist the pull of Morpheus.

With the blood slowing down to a nocturnal pace, all those emotions stuck in the veins and capillaries are now free to drop off the cell walls and circulate through the limbs and up to the head. Automatically you breathe in the still night air, releasing negative energy and feelings with each exhale.

It is while you are sleeping that the mind opens up and deep thoughts and memories begin drop in. Unpredictable predictions are released from the darkest crevasses of the brain. With the blood flowing smoothly, feelings and hormones shake themselves free and begin to travel through the bloodstream to the heart where they were born, and the brain where they were active.

The residue of days and years gone by, information forgotten or misplaced, along with people and places, are the things dreams are made of. Everything we dream is not imagined, and most of it is true. Or can be. Much of it is forgotten, or lodged in those hiding places we are often too busy to visit during our waking hours.

Dreams need not solve the world’s problems, and may only be mild entertainment. Depending on the stress or satisfaction of our daily lives, and ultimately sympathetic to time, there is nothing simple about dreams.

A dream is the result of what you know, or want to know. Dreams are not at all logical, but many times will make sense, if you don’t mind or allow it to matter.