For quite a while, I have been struggling in my mind around the whole idea of sharing The Principles with others, thinking of possible ways to do it. Which language? Which form? What kind of audience?
The company I work for has a participation program. All employees have a chance (or an obligation?) to contribute to the company beyond their official position. On paper, it sounds great. In reality, however, it mostly comes down to selecting from a predefined list of roles targeted at identified business interests/needs. Theoretically, there is also a possibility to pitch a new role. But this part is completely up to the employee. I failed my initial attempt as my integration period ended. I’ve got to have a pitch. I still do not have one.
Many “old-school” practitioners speak to this issue. At the beginning, they had little to talk about, and no eloquent way to do it. “Things came with the practice”, they say. By having conversations with people, by attempting — and failing — to speak to the Truth of The Principles, they slowly began to get a grasp on the process, they found their way around.
But who would give me these chances to talk and fail? Hm, a better question: where and when would I dare to start talking, so I can obtain the practice?..
Two questions, two completely different views of reality.
The first one comes from the educational system as I experienced it: you sign up for a program and the school / the university do their best to teach you the most important things there are to learn about each subject.
The second is at the root of the personal development field: take the responsibility for your life.
Anyway, I have now realized that the main reason why I have no pitch and no possibilities to talk about the principles is that I have never actually taken the time to sit down and quietly reflect on what I have to share. Too little time, too much fear and shame.
The situation reminds me of the metaphor of the magic cupboard that I heard from Michael Neill:
Imagine you have a magical cupboard. When you hungry, you can open the door, and perfect food for you is waiting in there. Any time, no exceptions.
The catch is that we are so used to “preparing things in advance” and “making sure everything is OK” that we are extremely tempted to check in the cupboard beforehand. That is, when we are not hungry at all. And — oh horror! — it is empty. So we start worrying. And we check it again. And again. And again.
But then, as we get hungry, we open the cupboard, and the food is waiting for us.
It seems that it would take deep trust to avoid looking in the cupboard when we do not need food. To avoid searching answers for questions that do not matter in the moment. However, in fact, it is not as much about blind trust as it about recognition. The more we notice the experience of finding the perfect food in the cupboard in the precise moments when we are hungry, the more are we able relax into the trust. When we see that the answers come when we need them, we can avoid checking up on the Universe in the times we do not actually need anything.
So… maybe all there is to do now is to get in the game. It is not possible to know how the game will play out if I keep staying outside the stadium, afraid to enter the arena. I can make up a lot of things, but the only moment I will truly ever know how I will play is the moment I am playing.