We are supposed to talk; today especially.
   What’s bothering you?
   May I ask, or should I tell you my opinion on mental health?
   Ask or answer, the stigma or stereotypes surrounding mental health issues will haunt you no matter how progressive we are told this society (any society) has become.
   We are all damaged, right now.
   We are fragile.
   We read about it, we hear about it on the endless stream of mental health updates we are inundated each time we click on the device, channel, or format, of our choice.
   Employers love to boast about all they are doing to help, packaging up pat answers, outsourcing online support systems, and stuffing them into some diversity and inclusion policy they are trying to use to show how progressive and forward-thinking they are. But only if it fits in the advertising budget.
   It is all talk when we need action.
   All. Of. Us.
   What can I say about this mental hell?
   We’ve been living through one of the greatest global health challenges we have ever faced over the past two years and still we don’t know where we are headed.
   All this misinformation, disinformation, conspiracy theories and outright lies do nothing but confuse.
   We have politicians spending more time crafting a good sound bite than they are trying to understand the implications of what it is they are trying to say.
   All talk. No action.
   I am in the age 54 years plus category that, according to pundits and poll-makers, are less likely to talk about their feelings.
   I’m not sure it is safe to do so.
   Who do we tell?
   Who should we tell?
   Politicians? Healthcare professions?
   We can talk to each other; in fact we should, but maybe we should just keep listening.
   A good answer or idea is due to come around any day now.
   My ears are open.

© 2022 j,g, lewis

A proverbial line in the sand, twists and bends
a rubber band, ideals and morals
stretching and straining
until it snaps.
You, there now, wondering
what to accept.
Everything you hope, along with
anything you don’t
blurred.
No tears, not that you will admit, still
the vision is not clear. Where you are,
what can you see?
It can only be
uncertainty.

Within our dead wisdom and cluttered minds
boundaries are defined, so we can know
who to allow
into our lives,
or how far we will let them go
before we say no.
Always within the shadow of the question,
exorbitant explanations
were true before,
but now?
Was it not evermore? What we don’t see
cannot hurt us, still the pain resonates.
It can.
And will.

Have you forsaken those with a powerful presence
for fear you will be crushed? Are you not
strong enough?
You won’t know until you try.
Do you compromise your self
for a quick rush, to see how it feels, Did
did you like where
it touched? A temporary crutch?
Promises may have been illusions,
or may have been true.
Grieving dreams,
you second-guess the honesty,
a reply to which
you won’t believe.

Is darkness looming at the door, or
is it light? It’s been there before,
and the vices chosen
to medicate
and the thoughts once used to meditate
don’t take away what is there.
You look both ways, crossing
a road travelled many times before.
Will you open up the sturdy door?
Or question how you will, or did,
or can
have the courage to ask. With
more trials than tasks,
what will you accept?

© 2016 j.g. lewis

It’s interesting, or odd, how you do something with dedicated regularity, and then suddenly stop.
   Not just for a day or three, it goes on for months.
   And you’re not sure why.
   Yes, you think about it, but you don’t analyze it with any sort of concern. Like it will all come back to you.
   And surely you will, but why did you stop?
   We are all creatures of habit.
   Often, what we do becomes a noticeable part of who we are.
   But who notices when something changes.
   Maybe something has altered your daily routine and you can’t find the mental space or strength to figure it out.
   It’s not like you, yet day after day after day you don’t do what you used to do daily.
   Your routine has been disturbed, as if new priorities have pushed away the reason you got so involved.
   Days go by, and then weeks, and you still don’t know why.
   It’s not like you haven’t done this before.
   These are the moments or minutes that ground you.
   What are a few minutes in the course of a day, a week, or a life?
   It matters.
   You matter, as do the little things you do.
   And they do. Or, they did.
   Maybe they will again tomorrow?

Left brain. Right brain. A delicate balance.
A left-handed Gemini; no stranger to controversy, but
I can’t take sides. I dart back and forth regularly between
a practical reality, where I must live,
and the fractured imagination where
I want to be. And I, a dreamer, know this. We all dream,
of course we do; there you find other people, and you.
Déjà vu.
We’ve been here before.
Pyjamas in bed, most of the time. Insomnia.
You question the whys.
Never settling for the answers, there is always another way.
Another sleep (when else would we dream), another day.
Imagination can soothe.
Practicality will confuse.
My imagination is as practical as my every day is creative.
This is my choice, my voice, and where I choose to live.
I’ve been here before.
I will come back often.

“An idea is salvation by imagination.”
-Frank Lloyd Wright

© 2018 j.g. lewis

Will half of a full moon count for much
if we look longer?

Luna waxes and wanes, sharing its silence,
or its spirit, in each phase.

Do you ignore all that is not complete?

Will you allow yourself to be sated by
what is not there?

We only see what we believe.

It might only be darkness, though it
may well be more; full or not.

© 2022 j.g. lewis