Meet Lovable Urchin George (1985): From Stage Lights to Candle Light in Winter’s Stillness

In this reflective holiday episode, Alexander shares a cherished memory from 1985 as a seventh-grader in Salt Lake City, Utah. He recalls performing in a regional production of Scrooge, The Musical, playing several roles, including George, the lovable street urchin. This experience, filled with camaraderie and creativity, left a lasting impression—especially a poignant interaction with a kind, artistic gay man who gifted him a hand-painted Christmas card.

Alexander transitions to the present, sharing how winter solstice and the holiday season are shaping his emotions and spiritual journey. He reflects on missing time with Harvey, adapting to family gatherings, and navigating feelings of vulnerability and sadness. Inspired by Katharine May’s “Incantation for Solstice Eve,” he emphasizes the importance of rest, stillness, and embracing the rhythm of winter.

In a metaphor of trees shedding their last leaves, Alexander finds clarity in letting go of expectations and honoring his internal season of winter. He reminds listeners that New Year’s resolutions don’t have to start on January 1st and celebrates the power of candlelight, music, and silence to sustain light in the darkest days.

This episode blends nostalgia, mindfulness, and heartfelt honesty, encouraging listeners to embrace their own cycles of rest and renewal.

Key Points and Takeaways:

1. Personal Memory of Joyful Creativity (1985):

   • In 7th grade, the user performed in a professional production of Scrooge: The Musical in Salt Lake City.

   • Played multiple roles, including George, the street urchin who helps Scrooge retrieve the Christmas turkey.

   • Found inspiration and joy in the experience, particularly through interactions with castmates, including a kind, creative queer man who gifted a hand-painted Christmas card.

2. Winter 2024 Reflections:

   • Acknowledges the bittersweet feelings of solitude, longing, and gratitude during the holiday season.

   • Misses Harvey, their goddess daughter, who is away for Christmas.

   • Feels a sense of grounding and reflection in a home decorated with lights, cozy textures, music, and watercolors.

3. Inner Work During Solstice:

   • Draws inspiration from Katherine May's incantation for solstice, embracing rest, slowness, and the seasonal rhythms of winter.

   • Recognizes the "sun resting" as a metaphor for personal deceleration and self-care during this time.

   • Aligns personal “new year” with spring, embracing winter as a time for vulnerability and letting go, much like a tree shedding its leaves.

4. Mindfulness and Emotional Resilience:

   • Reads Pema Chödrön's When Things Fall Apart and reflects on metaphors for staying present with challenging emotions:

     • The bubble touched by a feather: Approaching difficult feelings with gentle awareness without trying to fix or escape them.

   • Practices allowing sadness and other complex feelings to coexist with gratitude, creativity, and connection.

5. Navigating Relationships and Identity:

   • Expresses vulnerability about reconnecting with family members who hold different political beliefs.

   • Balances the desire for connection with the challenge of being a queer individual in these interactions.

6. Mantras for the Season:

   • May I allow the sun to rest.

   • May I allow time to fall still.

   • Embraces the idea of "keeping the light alive" through creative practices like music, candles, and introspection during winter’s darkness.

TRANSCRIPT

Deck the halls if you're celebrating Christmas and if you're getting ready for Hanukkah. Oh, I'll be joining this year. I wanna take you all the way back. 1985, winter, November, December 1985. I was a little 7th grader living in Salt Lake City, Utah.

I was living up on a hill, actually, a mountain above Salt Lake City, right below Ensign Peak. And I lived with my mom and my dad and my 4 siblings. And in November, probably October, actually, of 1985, I auditioned to be in a professional musical. Well, it was a regional theater in Salt Lake City. They were going to do their annual Scrooge, the musical.

And I auditioned and made it into the musical, and I had several parts, including George. George. The little street urch in George, the one where Scrooge wakes up Christmas morning and says, Hey. Hey. Hey.

Hey. Boy. Boy. Yes? What's that, sir?

What day is it? Why, it's Christmas Day, of course. And then he invites me in, and he's had his awakening, Scrooge, and tells me to go get the turkey, and I'm like, you mean the one off as big as May? And we had to talk in like the Cockney, you know, the British Cockney because we were street urchins. I landed a street urchin ensemble piece and then also I got to be one of the young dancers, with the Fizzywig, if you know that story of the party on Christmas day and Christmas present with the Fizzy Wigs.

So I loved it so much. I was so excited. And we would rehearse, and there were 10 of us kids, and we had a hard time focusing. I don't think I did. I loved it so much, but there were a lot of us kids and we had to perform this song where we tease Scrooge in this the street and we say, Father Christmas, Father Christmas, He's the meanest man in the old world and the old world and he knows it.

Oh, look, there's that lovable Father Christmas. I think that was my line. And we like pester him and steal his hat and did this whole little dance number around him and our director at the time. This beautiful woman in her fifties, Pat Davis, she adored me. She threatened us that if we didn't focus and put it together, that she would cancel this number from the musical.

So we put it together and we made it work. The cool part about this Christmas time. So I probably performed for maybe 4 weeks through, you know, right up through the week of Christmas. I got to perform with a lot of older actors in the eighties. And there was this one particular gay man, I'm sure of it.

He was making these painted Christmas cards for people. And I wanted 1 and he didn't give me one. And so I I guess I just told him I wanted 1. So eventually towards the end of the run, I received this hand painted Christmas card, and I still have it. Not sure where it is.

I saw it recently. I was looking to find it to see if I could take a picture and use it for the podcast cover, thumbnail of this episode, but I think you'll have to do with another picture, which will be lovely to look at. So I was dressed up as a street urchin and interacting with this beautiful gay man, and I knew of his presence. I often think about him because it was 1985 and I'm like, I wonder if he was someone who made it out of the AIDS crisis. You know, I was so young, 7th grade, and just so kind of not really sure yet.

My sexual energy didn't start popping with puberty until 11th grade. I was a late bloomer. I knew I was really attracted to men, but I just didn't have a strong, like, sexual component to it until 14 years old. So anyway, to that beautiful queer human who gifted me an original painting Christmas holiday card and said the nicest words, I still have it wherever you are. And final note on the production of Scrooge, I was one of 3 names mentioned in the Deseret News.

Maybe it was the Salt Lake City Tribune, one of the newspapers. There were 2. They gave the review of the production, and I got named David Alexander Smith's lovable Urchin George. That's Urchin George, the one that got the turkey. I was so thrilled to be named.

I was enjoyable to watch. Anyway, I wanted you to know this beautiful memory because I'm gonna share with you how I'm feeling here in winter 2024, as we look down into 2025, next week. Welcome back to the podcast. Welcome to Viral Mindfulness, the podcast. I'm Alexander Smith, cashmere lover, watercolor artist, pianist, social worker, and mindfulness teacher encouraging gentle steps along the spiritual path.

It's Monday, December 23rd, in real time, 2024. How was the weekend? How was your solstice? It's winter. And I wanted to share with you some beautiful words that I found on Friday as we moved into solstice eve and then into Saturday, which was winter solstice.

And Katharine May, author of the famous, notorious, well known, maybe Wintering is the name of the book. She also has 2 other books, one before which I haven't read and the one after was called enchantment, which is really great too. She shared an incantation for solstice eve that just speaks to my soul. So I want to read it to you. Catherine May, an incantation for solstice eve.

The year crawls toward its end. We wake in darkness. The solstice is not a single moment. Solstit equals the Sun stops. The Sun reaches its furthest point and rests there until New Year.

In this long solstice, we do the sun's work while it rests. We keep it alive in fire and candlelight, in song and silence. In the dark of mid winter, we make the light. Time slows to treacle. We are taught our lesson of deceleration, of contemplation, of contact with life's still heartbeat.

Life above ground hangs in suspension. In subterranean darkness, we tend to our roots. The year dies softly as it sleeps. We cradle its rebirth. May we allow the sun to rest.

May we allow time to fall still. May we discover what flourishes in the quiet margins of the year. In the last episode, I talked a little bit about the at home retreat. I am 23 days into it. It's been a rough one and it's interesting that I'm even categorizing it or qualifying it.

Yet, I'm a human and I put all kinds of labels. Oh, this is successful. Oh, I'm feeling connected. I'm feeling spiritual. I have felt so restless.

That's really the word for weeks. And this week, I sat down to read in my book. I have many books I'm reading, but I always have something that's very specific for my spiritual life. And in fact, a reminder for you, that's what I'm doing with these 31 days of December. I have found that if I consecrate a certain amount of days or weeks or time each year to my spiritual life.

Put it at the top of the list. It's so helpful. And it's been a minute since I've really done this for myself. So I have the space. I'm here for the holidays at home.

I'm gonna meet up with a bunch of my family, my siblings, my nieces and nephews, my great nieces and nephews. And I get to sleep at home and drive down and see him at the beach and different houses along the coast here in Southern California. It's going to be lovely and I also really am gonna miss seeing Harvey, my little goddess daughter. I've spent the last 3 Christmases in their home with Jay and Kenny and Harvey, and they're on the go this year and spending time with extended family in Tennessee. And I kept pretending like I wasn't sad or that I was okay.

And again, I reminded myself that I am a human. How forgetful am I? Astonishing the forgetfulness of that I am that you are, you're human too. Are you a human? So, to Pema Chodron, I have been reading When Things Fall Apart Hard Advice for Difficult Times.

I'm rereading it. It's been a couple decades since this book was one of the first big Buddhist teaching books that cracked me open back in 20 years ago, 21 years ago. So she was talking about 6 kinds of loneliness, and this is in chapter 9 if you have the book. I would recommend read the chapter. However, part of what I bumped into was really cool because it's the metaphor that actually is why I have the name Alexander Bluefeather.

I did a podcast episode about how can a feather touch a bubble without popping it in a couple years ago. You can search for it if you're interested in. Talked about the metaphor, and I finally found the source, and it's here in this book. That's where I first was exposed to the idea that maybe I can relate to my thoughts as they come and go as if here's she writes it, Pema, as if touching a bubble with a feather. This straightforward discipline prepares us to stop struggling and discover a fresh unbiased state of being.

And in that, she talks about the middle way is that fresh place. So when it's tough going, like right now, it's been tough going retreat. Right? And I've been denying my my sadness. She says, when we feel lonely, when we feel hopeless, when you feel blue, I'll have a blue Christmas without her.

We want, what we wanna do is move left or right. Do something, fix it, move left as opposed to staying right here. So then, if I stay right here, can I touch the bubble, the story line? Oh, I'm not spending Christmas with Arby. Can I touch it with my awareness and presence and not move left or right or try to escape from the feelings that are negative or hard or sad or overwhelming and just touch the bubble with a feather?

And, of course, touching a bubble with a feather, doesn't it pop the feather? Well, not when I read this, not in my mind. It was such gentle awareness, such natural awareness that you're touching the bubble. I'm touching that sadness and it's not popping. It's just acknowledging it with so much kindness and compassion.

So in this metaphor, I also realized this week that I wasn't acknowledging my sadness. I also want to acknowledge all of the things happening in relationship to each other. The beauty of being home, the beauty of being in my space all decorated, and cozy, and cashmere, and chocolate, and watercolors, and my piano. I love sitting down at my piano, and playing carols, and music, and Christmas music and non Christmas music too. And I realized that as I was entering into the solstice this week, that I felt like I was a tree and I was holding on to several leaves.

There were only a few little leaves left, foliage, and those leaves were me not acknowledging how much I will miss seeing Harvey and how curious I am and excited to be home and to also connect with my family. We're all here together. It's been a few years where we've all been traveling as separate parts and doing different things post pandemic. Remember the pandemic? Oh my gosh.

It's crazy how much time's gone by. And here I am also trying to accept my at home spiritual retreat as it is. Why do I think that it has to feel great all the time? Why can't the restlessness, the distraction, the work of it actually be an opening to awakening? But what I caught myself doing was that I was was I was resisting.

Here are the words from Pema Chodron, just as it is. Just as it is. All of it right now, just as it is. And there was such a relief for me to just also realize that New Year's is not coming for me on January 1st. I don't have to be up and ready to go on January 1st with a new course and 25 new watercolor paintings to sell, and 14 wise circles to teach, and my new offering which is gonna be called the Art of Silence which is gonna be a weekend at home retreat for you, guided by me in community for the beginning of the retreat, the introduction before the retreat starts, and then the ending time together.

It's gonna be awesome with other soul siblings, and I'm not there yet. And it's winter. My new year's is spring. So like winter just got here. And I realized that I set this, I made this decision for myself because it was causing a lot of stress for me.

I am in rhythm with these, this nature, Although Southern California doesn't have snow and bare trees and and frozen winter tundra, I get that inside emotionally, I consistently am hitting this winter. And so the leaves dropped, and I finally surrendered to the emotional, the inner landscape of winter for me. And it is snow, and it is cold, and I am bare, and I am vulnerable, and I'm naked. You know, another part for me being naked and vulnerable is I'm meeting up with family that I haven't really spent time with since the election in a post election world, and I'm I'm pretty sure a lot of my family members voted for Donald Trump. And, you know, that doesn't it's hard for me as a queer human, as a gender expansive queer human.

And I also want to be connected to them because they are who they are, and I don't want to disconnect. And it's just hard for me, in addition to a lot of other things that I'm not gonna get into in the podcast episode. So I hope you enjoy these beautiful words by Katherine May, and I wanted to just share a couple of the phrases that really have helped me. So final metaphor with the tree, as the trees drop and I'm bare, I have space and time to just be here. And that spring will come, but not right now, not for me.

And those are the words of Katharine May that really stood out for me is so often I feel this internal pressure that at the solstice, the sun is the furthest and then it's going to start coming, which is true, back. And the days will start to increase, but I don't feel that way inside until spring. I feel like it's still really wintery and hard. And so she says in this incantation for winter is what I'm changing it to. It's my incantation, blues incantation for winter.

The solstice is not a single moment. The sun stops. The sun reaches its furthest point, and it rests there until New Year. Well, you all know my New Year's not till March 20 second, 21st, 22nd, 23rd. Yours might be January 1st.

But even still, do you have some time to rest right now? And in the long solstice, we do the sun's work while it rests. We keep it alive in fire and candlelight, in song and silence. And for me, I'm gonna keep my lights up until spring. I have lights on a little tree.

I'll take the Christmas decorations down, but keep the lights on. Keep it alive in fire with candles for me. I don't have a fireplace in my apartment home. Candlelight in song. You better believe I'm playing music and singing at the piano, and silence.

In the dark of mid winter, we make the light. So that's what I'm working on. I love it. And then the mantras at the end of this incantation, may I allow the sun to rest. And that works so well for me because I am a freaking Leo.

I am a sun sign. And it means that 9 months out of the year, this girl is on fire, you know? May we allow time to fall still. And I think that was another part of the leaves dropping for me, was to stop and be still. I don't have to produce, I don't have to make more money, everything is scheduled for the next few months that are already things that have been, that I've been teaching and offerings, including my Y circles, yes, they're coming.

I will be starting the 3rd week or 4th week of January. If you're interested, just you'll see enrollment open here on the podcast, also at my website. And the final mantra, intention, or an aspiration that closes Katharine May's beautiful words. May we, and I'm just gonna speak for myself, may I discover what flourishes in the quiet margins of the year. So, I hope to be here sooner rather than later to podcast you, but where I'm headed is to the quiet margins of the year, to be at home having a silent retreat for 3 or 4 or 5 or 6 or 7 days, which means I won't be talking to you here.

So know that that's the space where I'm working, the space where I'm sitting and standing. And I know that there are buds on these bare branches without foliage, without color, But the buds, I don't know what's there. I know it's going to bloom and blossom at some point, not right now. So, my job is just to maybe be open to the mystery of spring. The new fresh spring that will maybe tickle, tickle and awaken me in 2025.

So I adore you, and I wish you a beautiful next few hours. And I am going to record a guided meditation right now. So that will be the next track here. I wanted to just do a sort of winter tree meditation with these metaphors and some of the words of Katherine May. So that's what you will find next on the podcast.

And if I surprise you with an episode or 2, yay, so be that. And if I don't, just as it is. You know where I'm at. I'm making the light. I adore you, and I thank you for your presence, and I'll see you soon.