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Hello again, dear ones. Welcome back (or for the first time, for those who have recently joined) to the monthly Resourcing the Revolution newsletter.

I'll admit that I cackled a bit as I realized that edition 13 would drop on October 30th. The day before Samhain. On the edge of eclipse season. During Scorpio season. In a portal month...

Here we gooooo. Shit’s gonna get weird. In the best way.

The world continues to spin (sometimes sideways). The WTF keeps stacking up.

And yet we silly humans still have to get up in the morning, pay bills, make dinner, and somehow navigate the in-between — caught between a world that still pretends to exist and the one that’s yet to fully crystallize.

Some days, the only thing that makes sense is the rhythm of the land.

And so what do I do? I write.

From my window, I watch the oaks begin to drop their leaves. Shifting from the deep green of summer to a brick-red carpet covering the forest floor.

And I hear nature, as she always does, inviting us deeper.

Beyond the chaos of the human world, back into a cycle older than empire. Older than time. Or at least, as old as the Earth herself.

When I look around (and listen), I hear a lot of familiar threads. Snippets of conversation here, in-depth unloading there. And a few recurring patterns.

On one hand, I see the steady build of anxiety, hopelessness, and overwhelm. I see it, I feel it, and I get it.

I’ve had my own moments lately, wondering what good any of it does.

Why I bother at all. And what it might look like to just log off, tune out, and let the world burn.

But then the small voice whispers:
We must not obey in advance.

Because that’s what the old world wants. For us to give up, to go numb. To curl up under our desks or back beneath our covers, too tired to stand and speak our truth. Too worn out to resist.

And yet… there are still moments.

Moments where, despite the seemingly endless parade of shit, I feel hope.

Where peace and joy become the vibes of the moment. And where I remember what it feels like to dream a new future.

As I was writing this edition, I kept circling back to something I shared in last January’s edition of the newsletter — David Hawkins’ Map of Consciousness.

When you look at the map, what stands out to you?

For me?

Courage. Neutrality. Willingness. The trio that lifts us out of pure survival and into something more alive.

Can we be willing to open our hearts and minds to a more equitable, just, and generative future?

Can we practice neutrality instead of being angry, or afraid, or apathetic? (Not as indifference, but as steadiness in the face of fear?)

Can we reimagine the world we wish to inhabit, and begin to build it now?

If we can, this moment becomes about emergence, not just endurance.

Now is the time to dream bigger.

Quote of the Month: Imagine Transformation

This month’s quote comes from a recent newsletter from my teacher. I’ve studied under her for twelve years at this point, and watched her walk through the fires of transformation (even as I’ve navigated my own).

And I love this reminder that no matter how much Instagram or someone else’s carefully curated feed might try to convince you that transformation can be packaged with a nice tidy bow, that’s not how it works in reality.

This month, may we remember: the unknown isn’t our enemy. It’s the compost where our next becoming takes root.

It’s the only place that can birth real transformation.

Idea of the Month: Imagine The Portal

I had a whole different Idea of the Month written up, until I read something that blew my mind so thoroughly and resonated so deeply with this month’s theme, that I scrapped this entire section yesterday afternoon and started over.

(You’ll still see that other idea in December’s edition. But for now, trust me — this is the message that needed to come through. And now I know the real reason this edition got pushed a week. 😅)

And honestly? I think that’s part of the magic, part of the medicine.

This edition needed to wait. I needed to wait.

Because yesterday something extraordinary happened in the skies.

A visitor from another star system, known as 3I/ATLAS, made its closest pass to our Sun (its perihelion).

It’s only the third known interstellar object to enter our solar system, and no one, scientists included, knows exactly what’s happening as it moves unseen behind the glare of the Sun.

Through a scientific lens, it’s all plasma, turbulence, and magnetic disruption.

But energetically and symbolically? It’s something much bigger. At its closest point to the Sun, 3I/ATLAS becomes a kind of cosmic mirror.

It disappears from view, eclipsed by the light of the Sun. And yet its presence ripples through everything.

The nervous system surges. Old griefs stir. Truths surface. Systems tremble.

And within that chaos, something begins to hum: Not destruction, but remembrance.

There’s an author I follow on Substack who wrote a (long but totally worth it) post about this moment and how it aligns with the astrology of the coming months. That post was the catalyst for the sudden change in today’s edition.

He writes:

And, seriously. Go read it.

What he’s telling, and what I feel so deeply in my bones, is that we’re not watching a world end — we’re witnessing our entire world transform.

The collapse is real. The grief is valid. But they’re not the whole story.

This moment, and the months ahead, are a threshold. A kind of spiritual perihelion, if you will. A passage between one age and the next, where the old burns away and the new emerges from the ashes.

And the story I’m hearing over and over again (in my communities, my reading, my body) is that if we choose to attune to what’s rising… if we move through this transition with presence, with awareness, and with love…

We can be part of birthing something new. Something resonant. Something so much brighter than the current collapse allows us to believe possible.

I remember reading another astrologer a while back (I wish I could remember who) saying that as we entered the Age of Aquarius, we had two choices:

We could take the high road.
Or we could be dragged, kicking and screaming.

And well… I think we all know which one we chose. (Collectively, anyway.)

But we have another chance. Another choice point.

A moment to radically reimagine… everything.

So what does this have to do with you? With us? With Resourcing the Revolution?

If you’ve been feeling the fatigue, the hollow ache, the sense that the old ways no longer fit...

That your work is changing, your identity is loosening, your nervous system is done being in survival mode...

It means that you’re feeling the call of the future — and the weight of carrying what no longer belongs to you.

3I/ATLAS is here as a messenger, not a warning.

And the next few months, from now through February, mark a collective portal.

Not one moment, but a series of initiations:

Old systems crumbling.
New frequencies rising.
Inner rewiring accelerating.
Everything untrue being burned away.

This… is the reimagining.

And no, you don’t need to have all the answers to meet this moment.

You just need to stay present.

Stay grounded. Stay in your body. Stay in your heart.

Let go of what can’t make the leap. And trust that the next world is already humming just beneath the noise of the old one.

Just waiting for us to reimagine it.

Photo of the Month: Reimagine What Remains

Here in the Appalachians, we’ve passed the threshold of first hard frost and first freeze. The morning it happened, I had a rare weekend to myself and had every intention of sleeping in on Saturday.

But alas, my dogs are assholes and got me up before the sun even rose. So I bundled up and we wandered through 20-something degrees and frost-covered grass as the world woke up around us.

Along the way, this leaf stopped me in my tracks. Proof that endings can be beautiful, too.

Short Practice of the Month: Imagine a New Beginning

When the world gets loud, when everything around you feels like it’s going sideways, there’s a quiet kind of medicine to be found.

It’s simple. (Not always easy.)

But it’s one of the most powerful things you can do to reclaim your center.

How to do it:

One hand on your chest. One on your belly.
Close your eyes.
Breathe like the world isn’t ending.
(Because maybe it’s just beginning.)

If you want to take it a little deeper, set a 10-minute timer and do absolutely nothing. Don’t “try” to meditate. Just sit and breathe.

Let yourself be still.

Notice what arises. And don’t fight it.

Just be.

Post of the Month: Imagine Beginning Again

I’ve talked a lot about systems and futures in this newsletter, but today I also feel compelled to bring up how hard we can be on ourselves.

There’s a thread that I’ve pulled on many times, about the messy middle and what it means to be human, on purpose, even when it's hard.

This month’s post from the archives offers a vulnerable look at the moments when we forget to offer ourselves the very same grace we give to others.

From the post:

So as we reimagine the future, let’s not forget how to be human in the process and cut ourselves some slack, yeah?

Song of the Month: Imagine the Flame

From the first time I heard this song, just about a year ago, I knew it was destined to be included as a song of the month. Katarina & Sophia Rayne and Preeta’s Phoenix speaks to the initiation of fire that we’re passing through in the coming months.

Dance with the flame, you are transformed
Slowly becoming, becoming reborn
The embers take you, fire creates you

Shifting from love, pulses right through me
Have faith in heart that guided and knew me
Break through, break through

I'm ready to break right out of this cage
I′m ready to soar, like a lion, I roar
Burn me alive, like a phoenix, I rise

Play it when you need to remember: fire doesn’t just destroy — it also has the power to remake you.

Mindset of the Month: Imagine Doing Nothing

This month’s mindset work comes from another author I’ve followed for over a decade. In a recent-ish post, Chuck Wendig wrote that the current news era has stolen his downtime.

In a career where downtime (not just mindlessly scrolling or having Netflix on in the background) is crucial to the process of creativity, he speaks of the news as “toxic groundwater — it fills all the low places. The moment my brain stops moving for a second, in seeps all the septic things going on here in the country and around the world.”

And I agree with Chuck, in that I do think the sense of "vigilance as virtue" is doing all of us a disservice.

There’s a point at which awareness tips into exhaustion and vigilance becomes its own form of dissociation.

When every pause fills with headlines, we lose the inner quiet required to metabolize any of it. We get lost in the toxic soup and forget how to just be human.

As the parent of a toddler, I’ve come to see downtime not as a luxury, but as medicine. Vital, necessary, and often fully out of reach.

Stillness and rest are treasures, the kind that let us recalibrate our nervous systems and reset our ability to discern what’s ours to carry… and what can be composted.

This month, I’m looking to nature for guidance. As I mentioned in the intro, here in the northern hemisphere (and especially in the Appalachians), we’re already deep into autumn.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve watched in real time as the trees let go of their brilliant colors without apology or trying to cling to their former glory.

The leaves that have fallen so far are already starting to lose their lustre, becoming dry and crunchy underfoot. You can smell the decomposition in the air, those leaves and the last of the garden becoming nourishment for what’s next.

The earth knows how to rest. How to make space for this season of stillness and decay. Come spring, the renewal will come. But for now, it’s time for letting go.

This month, I invite each of us to mirror nature’s pattern.

Take a deep inhale. A quiet walk. A slow practice.

Or, most revolutionary of all, like our short practice of the month — do nothing at all.

What if our practices this month aren’t about doing more, but about doing less, on purpose?

What if our stillness became our defiance, our way of reclaiming our attention and restoring our energy?

Let’s let the downtime do its sacred work.

And let stillness compost what’s ready to return to soil.

You with me?

Imagine What Comes Next

This is the moment, dear ones. The fire passage is here. And the reimagining is already underway.

Over the next four months, the future is calling. Not in theory, but in real-time.

Question is… will you answer?

Until next time: rest, then rise.

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P.S. I’d love your voice in shaping what comes next for Resourcing the Revolution.

If you missed last week’s email, or you haven’t had a chance yet, I’m gathering quick reflections through a short, anonymous feedback form.

It shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes, and it will be a huge help to me as I craft what’s coming up.
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