Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days


  • Not Often Clear

    What you have has nothing to do
    with what you have been given.
    It’s not fate,
    it’s not kismet, and it’s not obvious.
    It is what we choose to allow.
    Many times, how we live is simply a choice.
    Other times you have to ask.
    We all have so much to do. Obligations.
    Survival: doing what needs to be done.
    What is expected is not often clear, or
    not always possible.
    Sometimes, if you have too many options,
    you make the wrong choices.
    Try to choose carefully, decide what
    will fit into the current situation.
    Accept the reality.
    Choosing is difficult,
    and often contentious. You need to know
    where you are, more than where to start.
    Admit your mistakes
    early in the process. Honesty is always easier.

    © 2019 j.g. lewis

  • To Mindfully Communicate

    A handwritten letter says what nothing else can,

    A handwritten letter offers something deeper than what we’ve become accustomed to in this era of instant communication.

    Yes, we tap out quick missives in reply to today’s email and text messages. We respond, with a sentence or series of words, to a social media post, but it is always more reaction than interaction.

    The width and breadth of a traditional handwritten letter goes deeper and wider. A few lines, a couple of pages, perhaps a bit of history or update on a current reality; each letter of every word contains something you just don’t get from an email.

    Correspondence — communication in handwritten form — is to be appreciated and respected for exactly what it is; a truthful rendering on a person’s thoughts, feelings, or theories. There is a certain intimacy involved in the inherent honesty of a letter.

    You write differently, perhaps more truthfully, when you commit words to a page by pen or pencil. You forgo the convenience of a keyboard and bypass the spellcheck and cut-and-paste familiarity of this virtual realm we live in.

    You tell the story of an adventure, or future plans, in greater detail when you write by hand. Between the salutation and the sign-off, the words on the page take on a life of their own. There is a change in the tense, the texture, and the tone of how, and what, we write.

    Outside of the eraser on a pencil (the original word processor) which allows you to catch the occasional error or slightly modify a sentence, words land on the page as you think and as you go.

    You read differently, more observantly, when you look over the pages of a handwritten letter. The brain, overly-accustomed to the increased amount of text we consume in a single day, has to process the information in what has become an unfamiliar manner.

    The eyes register the information more keenly — with less physical strain on the eyeball than what is required to read off an illuminated screen — and follow each curve and line of every letter, at times struggling with the varied uniformity of each person’s interpretation of the alphabet. It can be a challenge to read someone else’s handwriting, but there is an appreciation that another human being took the time to mindfully communicate.

    A handwritten letter takes time. Thoughts captured on paper one day could take days or weeks to arrive at the intended destination. There is not the immediacy of electronic communication, but there is not the need.

    A handwritten letter is timeless.

     

  • What Happened

            Confused by what is important,
       outside of the deception,
       outside of the party lines,
              guided by misplaced trust.
      We have become
    disciples of those with
       as many faces
            as hands.
        Did you know
                 the ramifications of what they’re
            saying or the power
            they have?
                               Politics.
    I wonder what is important
          outside of the violence
          outside of the gleaming excesses.
              I don’t think this world
       needs to hear more political apologies
    every single day.
      We all lead hectic lives,
      we think – or hope – that I or anyone
    can be forgiven for forgetting
         what happened when
         we trusted
    leadership and looking forward.
            No accountability.
         We do not
      blame – or fault – you, I or anyone
    trapped by this contagion, this sin
       brought on
         by ego and ignorance.
            Politics. The evil within.

     

    © 2019 j.g. lewis

  • The Seconds Between

    We seek shelter, a leafy tree,
    tenement steps, even pressing closer
    to a random building
    in hopes we may be spared.
                      It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
    Ignoring the signs, we forget the distinction
    between lightning and thunder,
    not counting the seconds between,
    or caring.
    Overcast, overcome with the immediacy
    of the moment. Summer weather
    a reminder of the turmoil we live with,
                                  or clouds we live under.
    A day as promising as a politician’s smile,
    just as deceiving. Unnoticed, but not
    unexpected. Forced,
    by chance, to deal with inclement emotions
    and torrential pain. Crushing humidity,
    atmospheric pressure bucking
    under its own weight. Our thoughts
    hold us hostage.
                            Days rarely go as planned.
    Night will come, as surely as our breath.
    Here we are, huddled with strangers,
    waiting out another storm.

    © 2019 j.g. lewis

  • Hard Reality

    What ever happened to
    the peace and love we spoke of,
    decades before? Our realism of idealism
    before capitalism; humanity above profit.
    Conscious thought. Truth.
    Was this a concept
    within a dream, altered by greed
    and get-rich-schemes
    that became the way of the world.
    Do we know how it happened?
    Can we understand? Why?
    Each generation judges those before,
    every generation knows a state of war.
    This reality becomes hard
    when the violence is right there
    in your backyard. Fact.
    Something is not the same.
    We were young once. Age
    now testimony to where we have been,
    what have we witnessed, and
    how we have failed those
    who shall follow. Evolution.
    How do we speak of freedom?
    Can we hold a stranger’s hand?
    Are weather-beaten symbols and
    time-ravaged slogans relevant any more?
    Honesty. Do we remember
    how to make love, not war?

    © 2019 j.g. lewis