We Can Be Light…
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Hello friends, Last night, I lit candles in the darkness. This morning, long before sunrise, I did the same. Out loud, I spoke these words, “May we forever be light for each other.” I repeated that phrase three times. A prayer. An incantation. A spell. A call for hope. Today is the Solstice. For me, it is winter. For those in the southern hemisphere, summer. The ancients thought that on solstice, the sun stood still in the sky before changing direction. That is literally what solstice means. Sol sistere. Sun stands still. There is a reason so many of us hang lights during the darkest months. Since moving further north just under nine years ago, the comprehension of this need has deepened. We need reminders that, in the midst of snow or rain, sun will come again to warm the land. In times that feel darkest, we need reminders of light. But here’s the thing: we need the dark. We need space to rest and regroup. Fields need to lay fallow. The animals and insects need to sleep. And we need to remember that we humans are the ones who can kindle light. Ever since Prometheus stole fire from the Gods, Raven stole the sun, or our ancestors figured out how to set a bow to wood, or strike flint, we have made light. We can make light now. We can make light for each other. We can offer up our hope, our creativity, and our love. There's a solstice gift, from me to you, below. Best wishes - Thorn As a solstice gift, I made one of my Patreon stories public. It is a second chance gay romance set at this time of year in Gävle, Sweden at Yuletide: A Love That Will Not Burn Paid subscribers, I hope to see you at our creativity sprints this morning!
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T. Thorn Coyle
Hello friends, When was the last time you paused because something was so beautiful, you needed a moment? When was the last time you were emotionally moved by nature, a painting, a song, a film, a dance? And how often do you make space to welcome beauty in your life? “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” wrote Margaret Wolfe Hungerford. She was speaking of subjectivity. That each of us finds different things—objects, people, places—beautiful. But there’s more to it than simple taste or...
Hello friends, I had oral surgery last week, and now that I’m able to eat kind-of-solid-but-still-mushy food, I’m making oatmeal every morning. As a consequence, I’ve been engaging in some simple honey magic. No, I’m not harvesting my own honey. No, I’m not leaving a jar of honey out beneath the full moon. Those are two magical things to do, but my ambitions right now are simpler. All I am doing is this: Gathering some honey on a teaspoon, I drizzle the golden amber substance into the bottom...
Hello friends, A mourning dove hoo-hoos outside my window. Black capped chickadees chirp and crows call. Daffodils spring along sidewalks, and the sun peers out among grey clouds. It is the time of equinox here on planet Earth. I love equinoxes and solstices, because these are four times a year when I stop to take a larger pause. To notice the changes—subtle and large—around me. In the seasons. In the slant of sun. In the conversations of birds. In the fall of snow or leaves, or the rise of a...