There is a tree on the highway between Brandon and Winnipeg, one I have passed
hundreds of times, which marks the halfway point of the journey.

Roots deep and strong, the tree has been there my whole life, surviving deep-freeze
winters, occasional drought, and the widening of the highway. It is an important tree,
familiar to anybody who grew up in the area. Mention “the tree” and people immediately
know where you were.

The landmark helped answer the ‘how much farther’ question from a restless kid in the
back of a sweltering station wagon, and came in handy on any of the bloodshot drives
across the barren prairies at 4 a.m., winter or summer.

The tree is a part of me, even now, if only in memory.

It’s too bad there aren’t more trees in our lives, markers to let us know something is
halfway done. Yes, we have battery meters that let us know when our laptop or personal
device is running low, gas gauges in the car, and clocks and calendars, but we need more
organic clues to help us navigate this journey.

Don’t we often question if the glass is half empty, or half full?

We tend to do things differently when we get onto the second half of anything.. Knowing
there is only one more lap around the track, we naturally pick up the pace to put in our
best performance? If we are caught up in a particularly enjoyable evening, don’t we tend
to ease up a little at the halfway point, trying to stretch out the pleasure to avoid the
inevitable?

There can be increased optimism if something is nearly done, or added sadness because
time is expiring. If we don’t know where we are, how can we know how to react?

June is, for all intents and purposes, the halfway point of the year. By its very nature it is
a wonderful month for reminding us where we have been, and what we have done, while
still allowing time to look ahead at the possibilities. Summer comes with June; and color,
and optimism. Longer days allow a review of the grief and glory we have experienced,
and provide increased light to renew your intentions and review your values.

This month is a pulse check. How is your heart beating? What remains unfinished, what
is still undone, what more can you do? How will you do it? Should you even bother? Of
course there are more questions, but there is still time for answers.

© 2016 j.g. lewis

 

An active pacifist,
I am                        resilient, steadfast,
passive,                  yet passionate
about all that inspires me.

                         Protest.

Upsetting,
                         at times confusing,
       we take a stand when we can
but not always
when we should.
                                                  Do we
choose to ignore
the significantly unsettling actions
of them who believe in something else?

                            Why?

How can we know
the truth untold, but
exhibited so many ways?

Are we not blessed
with perception?                    Can we
know the ignorance evident
in public displays of rejection?

Stand up for what matters.
Make it matter.          More.

                                                  Can you
believe in your heart, in
your soul?            In me?

There is so much more to say.
Will you?              Speak up.

 

© 2021 j.g. lewis

 

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

 

 

© 2016 j.g. lewis

When does patience turn to procrastination?
   For weeks now (almost) I have been plotting a painting onto a canvas. Thoughtfully, decisively, carefully, consciously, marking each line. Deliberately.
   It is a large canvas. It had to be; this is a big project.
   I have not painted in oils for decades. I’ve thought about it (a lot), and this pandemic seemed to provide opportunity, or an outlet, to make it happen.
   I was slow getting started, but 12 days ago I finally began taking the design from my head and mapping it out.
   I was incrementally inspired.
   I am now at the point — actually, I am hesitating — where I need to mix my medium, take up my brush and begin to apply colour to the canvas.
   But really, for days now, I stare at the lines on the white surface and I see what it could be, but only in my mind.
   Is this now a mental block?
   Like the lines on the surface, I am at the intersection of design, desire, and fear.
   That’s it: fear.
   It is not fear of starting (because, technically, I have begun) but there is the fear of this not looking as I imagined it would look.
   Exactly.
   Can I be that exacting? Will this work live up to my expectations or will it be even better than I imagined?
   There is that doubt.
   Right now, I can only know the unknown. That invokes this fear.
   This is how I struggle, linearly, creatively, even spiritually, when I take on any artistic project.
   Hesitation.
   I keep talking myself out of the next step. Is it lack of confidence; or is it lack of control?
   I have come to know myself. I know, knowing myself, that the moment I mix the paint, the moment I apply some life to the canvas, what has only been a project will become an obsession. It is the way I am with all things creative.
   I know, or I feel, the initial underpainting will pull me in.
   If I — and I will — take the next step, will it take me further from, or closer to the realization that I am an artist?
   If it takes time, that time is now. Today.

© 2021 j.g. lewis

Do you feel stuck where you are?

Are you content with your state of being: emotionally, physically or spiritually?

Can you tell the difference between a routine and a rut?

Do you do what is expected, or intended? Are you surprised when you don’t?

Over and over we settle for the words, or the life, presented to us.

Change is always possible, but it has to begin within.

It is easy to take the same steps or drive the same route, to do, again, what you did yesterday.

It is not always comfortable. It is not always right.

It is a habit.

We are limited by habits, and patterns, no matter how routine. No matter how uncomfortable.

Are you comfortable with change to your lifestyle or living situation?

Has it become too comfortable?

Are you ready for change? Have you even thought about it?

Have you settled?

 

©2019 j.g. lewis