"If everything around seems dark, look again, you may be the light" (RUMI).

I'm writing on Winter's Eve to remind you that your light matters.

The darkness and sorrow within my life is the reason I can hold authentic joy, peace and playfulness.

Lebanese-American poet and philosopher Kahlil Gibran suggests "the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."

May you trust the pain and discomfort in your life, and shine your light as it circles around.

In 2016 I was in the audience of Oprah's Super Soul Sessions when India.Arie sang her beautiful song "I Am Light."

It's my last day on the East Coast and I thought you might enjoy snippets of my adventures. I fly home today to meet my new car and teach my last round of Wise Circles for 2023, at home near my piano (heart).

Autumn has been wonderful. Full of vibrant colour, celebrations and meaningful work with awesome people along the Hudson River in New York and Massachusetts.

I did not know the magnitude of Yosemite National Park. I had only been once and spent a single night in Yosemite Valley with all the people and activity.

I recently stayed seven nights secluded on the edge of the National Park in Foresta with a close friend. As I integrate, at home, in my zen-den, I recorded a podcast episode for you.

Jude and I hiked and cooked and gazed at stars. I listened to creeks, waterfalls and rivers and early mornings with owls. We followed the wind between lakes and drove to the top of Tiago Road at nearly10,000 feet above sea level. We rode our bikes and found wisdom and joy in the rhythm of mountain life.

I’m home from Summer on the East Coast and whole-heartedly embracing my Second Summer.

What's that you say?

Second Summer?!?!

You get two summers Alexander Blue Feather?

Yes, that's what I've invented for myself.

September and October in Southern California are traditionally warm and beautiful, with some of our hottest days of the year. Also tourists have returned to their nests (no offense).

Second Summer reminds me Winter is at least four months away, and invites me to picnic, play and cultivate Summer-type activities in September and October.

I'm obsessed with native meadows and have been for years.

Last week I returned to one of my favorites.

She's still young and only in her second growing season.

The Dene Slope is a vibrant native meadow that features a trail with rustic seating and stunning views, in Central Park (The City).

I'm dancing with Krista Tippett's words in a sort of pre-summer spiritual reverie.

"Muscular hope."

What imaginative leap are you willing to catch and grow in the spirit of muscular hope?

From a New York Times magazine interview, on July 5, 2022.

"I talk about hope being a muscle.

It’s not wishful thinking, and it’s not idealism. It’s not even a belief that everything will turn out okay. It’s an imaginative leap, which is what I’ve seen in people like John Lewis and Jane Goodall. These are people who said: 'I refuse to accept that the world has to be this way. I am going to throw my life and my pragmatism and my intelligence at this insistence that it could be different and put that into practice.'

That’s a muscular hope.

So, to your question, I don’t always feel robustly hopeful. Depression is something I’ve struggled with. I’ve found the world an unbearable place for months at a time in the last two years. But at the same time I don’t feel like there’s a place in my work for my despair" (Krista Tippett).

Do these words resonate with you?

Remember, just as a flower dawns, you too, when you make your debut this Spring (or next year if you're still wintering) are a "ravishing system of aliveness -- a kind of silent symphony of interconnected resilience" (Maria Papova).

My Spring watercolour gallery show is coming soon to my website.

Email subscribers, that's you, will get first dibs to purchase my rainwater paintings.

The entry point to celebrate, and help Mother Earth, often overwhelms our our ability to make the connection.

What if we gently allow Her to enchant us in small ways daily?

Upon finishing Katherine May's new book 'Enchantment' today I notice a favorable invitation:

“We don’t preserve our natural landscapes by turning them into a museum. We heal these rifts by inviting back gentleness into our relationship with the earth, by allowing meaning to take hold again. We should encourage enchantment to bolt like a weed. It is, after all, native here. The stones, and the dried-out heather, and the sound of the sea, and the moon above our heads have all been storing it like a battery, waiting for its current to be found again.”

May you find meaning and time with Mother Earth this season.

The road to Joshua Tree is in full yellow bloom!

A few years back I thought it would be magical to catch raindrops and use them with my watercolours.

Little did I know my friend would envy my poppy-painting-prototype and ask about it regularly.

She's not the only one to snatch a painting entirely paired with Southern California rainwater.

You'll get first access to my rainwater paintings when they debut in my spring gallery show.

I'm in love with them and hope you are too!

OMG! We just hit 10,000 downloads with Viral Mindfulness the Podcast. Thanks for letting me into your hearts and ears (heads).⁣

The Western Mind — we are addicted to spring and summer, all things SUN.⁣

Adyashanti teaches the roots of wisdom and insight are forged in the withering and return of Winter.⁣

⁣Before we JUMP into Spring... Welcome to Winter’s Edge, a (seasonal) limited series with Viral Mindfulness the Podcast.⁣

I have some insight and ideas about PRACTICE.⁣

Now is the perfect time to get connected to my podcast.⁣

Last week I stack an exciting creative project at the top of my to-do list: Draw one piece of advice for Wendy Mac's Grown Up Table (GUT)!

"She's going to collect the finished pieces in a digital PDF and call it our GUT Manifesto!"

I smile and imagine.

"If I get my assignment in early I'll have a better chance of making the cut."

I want to be a part of this collaboration.

I have been podcasting from Winter's Edge about strengthening our spiritual muscles to face the painful parts of life. Instead of running, avoiding, numbing, indulging, exaggerating, lying, hiding, shutting down, acting out, spinning off, or blowing up, we can train ourselves to sit with difficulty instead. The advice I'm giving is crystal clear.

My paintings are heckling at me since I returned from New York.

"Mister Blue," they whine, "we're sad and lonely."

I tilt my head as feelings sting and rise: "How could they?"

"We need space -- a change of scenery!"

After all I've given you! I brought you into this world. I hold my tongue, practice, listen and tuck my tears behind my glasses.

"We are ready to experience the world."

Sniffle, sniff, sniff...

It feels a little like Harvey Rose telling me a couple weeks ago:

"I need space Uncle Blue."

"I'm not talking to you."

"Don't look at me."

"I'm growing up Uncle Blue."

Please don't grow up Harvey Rose, stay our baby girl forever! This is where I loooooove to demonstrate how we wrapped her up, super tight, in her blanket, arms and all -- like a burrito.

"Uncle Blue (she giggles and screams) I need to grow up."

It's quiet. I honor the love, connection and changing seasons.

She suddenly gasps with joy and invites me into her mind: "Uncle Blue I'm going to be 5 on November 5... this year."

My spiritual teacher, Adyashanti, has returned from a year sabbatical. Receiving his first email felt relevant and deeply familiar, like returning home. I thought you'd like to savor his words.

I have six minutes before my online writing retreat starts. Hot water near boiling point and I am ready to "begin again." My healing is in the return and pen to paper feels like home. During my morning practice I re-read these words and thought they might be of service to you. The questions are particularly poignant. "We started to recover when we let ourselves believe in the part of us that’s still there beneath all those layers we’ve collected and built—the pure, radiant, courageous heart where we find our potential for awakening.”

Harvey and I continue to share a rhythm of play, make believe, imagination, costume changes, dance parties and art. This visit birthed a new invitation from Harvey. One which mirrored the vulnerable work I'm doing to embrace the feminine aspects of my body, gender and being. I’ve always felt like I was never quite right or not enough of a "real man." I know this is internalized toxic masculinity, and believe it's time gender becomes more expansive and inclusive.

My favorite baristas and alchemists of flavor (I think they're dating) have been brewing simple syrups. They nailed it, so I thought, and then I found a better latte layered with fresh nutmeg at NEAT coffee, tucked perfectly in a quaint Costa Mesa neighborhood.

I thought you might enjoy a glimpse of what's been renting space in my mind the past couple of weeks.

I look with pencil, pen and paints. Drawing slows me down and invites me to pay closer attention. Sometimes I draw with an expectation of what I "think" I'm seeing. I wonder how I make judgments of people in my life based off what I "think" I'm seeing? "The moment I stopped looking for the story I expected to see, an entirely new and richer truth was revealed" (Wendy MacNaughton).

I've been thinking about the beauty and power of habits which form over time, and many years. There's something organic, even wise, drawing from your practice, like you would water from a well, regularly, each season, and year-after-year.

I la la la la la l LOVE stationary, office, and art supplies. For my birthday I took myself to one of my favorite local stationary shops in Santa Ana and bought $137 worth of supplies. Here's the thing, I bought some extra with you in mind.