In-Spir-Ation
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Hello friends, I started this newsletter at the beginning of the Covid pandemic, and named it Keep Breathing. The name was partially in reference to this new, frightening illness, but also harkened back to everything I’d taught and practiced for years: To pause and take a conscious breath is to be present with what is. To pause and take a conscious breath is to open to possibility. There is life in a single breath. And there is magic. We breathe with the trees and the plants. We breathe with the stars. We breathe with every other living thing. We breathe. We create music with our breath. As a young poet, reading aloud in the cafés of Los Angeles and San Francisco, I learned to mark meter and use commas to indicate breath. I do the same now, writing fiction and other prose... My editors are amused, because my commas look like rogue markings on the page, not always following standard grammatical rules. But those commas telegraph something important: This thought pauses here, and then moves on. That character inhales here, then springs to action. And so my writing becomes a living thing, filled with the power of breath. I, and my art form, continue to breathe and be inspired. In-spir-ation. To breathe into. In-spir-ation. To be breathed into by a divine source. Breath. The start of magic. The origin of art. The beginning of so much of life on earth. What are you breathing into being? Best wishes - Thorn Need a break? How about a visit with corgi sleuths Klaus and Marsha?
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T. Thorn Coyle
Hello friends, We’re in the midst of a glorious false spring here in Portland, Oregon. Crocuses are blooming, and plum trees and daffodils are showing small buds. The air is cool and fresh, the sun shines, and yesterday, a small red finch scoped out the front porch of our 108 year old home, seeing if there’s a good spot to nest. Finches nested on our porch a couple of years in a row a few years back. Seeing that finch lifted my heart. Seeking a place to nest is a sign of hope. There is a...
Hello friends, While on a walking break from the writer’s conference I taught at last weekend, I paused to snap a picture of a wall mural. It was advertising something—toasted English Muffins, I believe—and showed a mountain scene, with trees, lake, and sky, and people entertaining each other with song around a campfire. But besides the incongruity of such a beautiful scene marketing a breakfast bread, it was the message that stopped me: “Wake up to what’s possible.” What's Possible mural by...
Hello friends, We had one of our rare snow days here in Portland, Oregon. When snow arrives here, it stays for a week at the most. This week’s storm lasted for all of twenty-four hours. That sort of snow is a pleasure to walk in, and a pleasure to watch from the warmth and comfort of our 108 year old home. Others are not so fortunate, I know. Before the storm hit, our household contributed to a hotel fund for some folks who live on the street. And, as the temperatures reached freezing in the...