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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.
This month and next, we’re circling back to the old rhythm of the third Thursday — a gentle shift to keep these editions from overlapping with the quieter weeks of Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Since I wrote October’s edition, the mountains where I live have swung wildly between seasons.
First, an abrupt plunge into winter, with snow, shrieking wind, and winchills below zero. Oak leaves that had been clinging stubbornly to their branches finally let go all at once.
And now, just as quickly, the weather has snapped back: unseasonably warm, lurching between vibrant cyan skies and cloud-soaked afternoons.
Like the land can’t quite decide what season we’re in. And honestly? The world feels eerily similar.
We’re riding waves of chaos and contradiction. Loud voices getting louder and more frantic. Cracks in the collective starting to show. Spectacle and collapse wrapped in gilt and glitter.
And beneath it all, a fatigue that feels ancient. Like we’re carrying generations of weight we were never meant to hold.
But… that’s not the whole story.
If you step outside, even for a breath, the Earth speaks a different truth, continuing to do what she always does.
Slowing. Composting. Darkening days drawing us, inevitably, toward winter. But not because she’s looking for escape.
No. She does it all again, every year. Because transformation is what sits at the end of this season, ready to nourish the new growth come spring.
This turning — her turning — is the sacred pattern so many of us were never taught to notice, much less to trust.
The longer I live, the more I notice the quiet patterns beneath the noise. The cycles of the natural world. The spinning and returning of the planets (astrological and astronomical). The evolution (and revolution) of humanity.
And I’ve come to believe that real wisdom lives in spirals — the growth pattern of trees, of galaxies, of the self.
Where some might see repetition as proof that nothing can or will change, I have to wonder…
What if returning doesn’t mean we’re back where we started?
What if we’re slowly climbing the mountain and seeing the same bend in the trail, just from a higher elevation?
Each time we circle back, we carry something new. An experience, a scar, a perspective. A new capacity to meet the moment with softness, and dream a new way forward.
And that’s where this month’s edition begins: in the tension of this season, and with the invitation to return.
Not to pretend to make sense of the chaos or hustle harder or perform like everything is fine while the old world breaks open around us.
But to return to yourself.
This month, we explore The Art of Returning, a reminder that healing, resilience, and revolution all live inside the spiral.
Ready? Let’s take a breath and gently step in.
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Quote of the Month: Returning as Sacred Passage
As the season leans toward stillness, this reflection landed in my inbox like a quiet nudge from the universe. A sacred reminder (and invitation) to embrace everything this change of seasons brings.
“According to many Indigenous traditions, this turning of the year is recognized not as an ending, but as a precious passage. The descent itself is medicine.
Plants show us the way: they withdraw energy into their roots, conserving life beneath the soil until the Sun’s full blazes return.
And so, we are invited to do the same. Soften your pace, tend to your inner landscape, and trust the regenerative intelligence of the dark.”
— Anima Mundi
This season, may we all let ourselves root deeper and trust the dark to hold us. Spring will come soon enough.
For now, let the winter do her work.
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Idea of the Month: Return to What Grounds You
I… don’t even know how to speak about what’s unfolding here in the US right now. It feels like a year’s worth of news appears, unbidden, within the span of each 24-hour cycle, and the pace is simply more than one human can bear at once.
So in these moments, I return to the practices that ground me.
To svadyaya (self-study), which helps me notice when I’m getting sucked into the vortex of the media firehose. To small acts that resource me or lift my spirits when I start to fade.
There’s a daily sankalpa from my teacher Britt’s 108 Day Pilgrim program that starts with the words “Practice, practice, practice. Practice is the thing we do when we don’t know what to do.”
When the world spins out around you, the work becomes this:
First, notice it happening.
Then, do whatever it takes to bring yourself back.
Return to center.
Return to self.
And remember that the returning itself is sacred.
Each loop of the spiral — each return — is a chance to meet the moment from a wiser, more grounded place.
In this way, we don’t try to escape the pattern, but shift how we relate to it.
Not to feel shame for spinning out or getting sucked in, but to honor the recognition of it happening and celebrate the return itself.
Remember: healing, change, transformation, revolution… none of these are linear. They spiral around, run through cycles, ebb and flow like the tides.
So every time you return to your intentions and your high truth, you build resilience.
Each return brings you one more turn, one more spiral, up the mountain.
Practice, practice, practice.
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Photo of the Month: The Truth of Return
For weeks, there was a stack of logs sitting near our house that had become a makeshift jungle gym for my kiddo.
A mountain to be climbed. Conquered. Leapt from. At least, until it got split for firewood.
And then I saw it.
Not just the tree rings or the spirals. But the face in the spiral.
The owl — wide-eyed, ancient, watching — that until that moment had been hidden in plain sight.
And suddenly, it wasn’t just wood anymore. It was a message waiting to be observed. Waiting for me to slow down long enough to actually pay attention.
This… is the truth of return.
You come back to what you’ve seen before. The same path, the same pain, the same pattern.
But you see it differently, because you are different.
So this month, slow down. Look again.
The wisdom was always there.
You just had to spiral high enough (and go slow enough) to finally see it.
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Short Practice of the Month: Return to the Breath
This month, the practice is deceptively simple… and intentionally spacious.
There’s no set duration. No “do it now” nudge. Just a call to notice.
How to do it:
- Every time you feel yourself start to get pulled into a stress response, pause.
- Place one hand on your body — your heart, your arm, your belly. (Wherever you feel presence most easily.)
- Take one slow, deep, conscious breath.
- Quietly remind yourself, “I am here. Now. Nowhere else.”
- Repeat as needed.
This practice, repeated often, helps retrain the nervous system to return to the present. To recognize safety, and to anchor in the now.
And over time, the body begins to recognize (and become) center(ed).
It learns it can come back. That you do come back.
And that the return itself is the path.
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Post of the Month: Resilience Lives in the Return
This month’s featured post looks back at two moments when things went sideways — and how returning to center changed everything.
These stories are proof that resilience grows in the mess, and that returning is an act of power, not perfection.
From the post:
When you’re on top of the world, it’s easy to go with the flow. Yet, every successful inventor and entrepreneur has a history of failure(s) behind them.
So how do you deal with the uncertainty and failure that often marks the path to success?
When the road gets rocky and you fall down, what happens? Do you give up and go home? Or do you get back up, dust yourself off, and try again?
Sometimes, resilience doesn’t look like bouncing back.
Instead, it might be pausing, laughing through the grief, eating takeout, and choosing to try again the next day (even if the world didn’t notice).
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Song of the Month: Turning and Returning |
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This month’s song comes to us by way of Peia & Woven Kin. “The End Was the Beginning” feels like it holds the echoes of past selves, future possibilities, and the timeless hum of return.
It reminds us that in the grand cycle of life, endings are just beginnings… and we’re never really too busy to breathe.
And though too busy to breathe,
Our hurried lives fed their machine
As a silent virus consumed the land.
Control, greed and industry,
we’ll wash our hands of your thrashing teeth
and arise from our blinded slumbering.
Oh we’ll say of these days
The great turning was before our very eyes.
Oh we’ll say of these days,
That the end was the beginning, in good time.
Oh we’ll say of these days
That the end was the beginning of our time.
Is our current reality an ending? A beginning?
Who knows.
Let’s honor the great turning, either way.
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Mindset of the Month: Turning Toward Devotion
Step outside the chaos of the current moment, and we still live in a world obsessed with results, timelines, proof, and shiny success stories.
But, as we all know, real transformation rarely happens on demand.
There’s a teaching from the Bhagavad Gita (Chapter 2, Verse 47) that’s been a steady reminder for me over the past decade-plus:
“You have a right to your actions, but not to the fruits of your actions.” I changed the phrasing slightly, because this is the way I’ve always heard the verse through the voices of my teachers.
At first, it might sound discouraging — like your efforts don’t matter. (Why the heck should you try, if there’s no guarantee on the other end?)
But what it’s really saying is: your responsibility is to the tending, not the harvest.
What matters most?
The practice. And the showing up.
Because (sad trombone) healing isn’t linear. And growth doesn’t follow a five-step plan. (No matter how many folks try to sell you that idea.)
Resilience is built not in the outcome, but in the ongoing willingness to begin again.
So what if you let yourself show up with heart, and let go of needing it to look a certain way?
True freedom comes when we learn to act without attachment, trusting that what is meant for us will unfold in its right time.
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Let the Turning Hold You
As we take the turn of the year toward the holiday season, into the darkest days of winter, and onward into the unknown, let’s remember:
The {r}evolution comes not from perfection, but from practice.
This month, here's my wish for you:
May your weeks ahead be filled with peace amidst the chaos.
May each step bring new wisdom (and not too many scars).
May we each return to ourselves gently.
Again and again.
Until next time.
P.S. Last call for helping me shape what comes next for Resourcing the Revolution (at least in this form).
If you missed the last couple of emails — or haven’t had a chance yet — I’m gathering a few quick reflections through a short, anonymous feedback form (for just a little longer).
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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