On initiation, cultivation, power and humility.
In the egocentric model often presented within much of New Age spirituality’s industrial complex, the universe is framed as being here to serve the self.
Meaning: if I can affirm what I want, transform my subconscious limiting beliefs, and vision board my way to my ideal lifestyle — then I’ve achieved what I came here to achieve.
Whereas the soul-centric model says something very different:
I am here to serve the universe.
This is not a position of weakness, but of humility.
It is an act of submission — a deep listening.
A way of being in relationship with a greater whole.
We’ve been indoctrinated with beliefs that position man as separate from, or superior to, nature — a biblical inheritance that frames humanity as having dominion over the Earth rather than in relationship with it.
From a more indigenous perspective, the understanding is very different: we are no better than, and never apart from.
We exist in relationship to.
Many people in the coaching and manifestation world claim that if you can just reprogram your subconscious beliefs, you can have anything you want.
But this is a New Age, affirmation-based fallacy — an attempt to make the force of the universe submit to our selfish desires.
A true initiate does not feed the ego’s hunger for promise, satisfaction, dominance, or control.
Yes, it’s true that we are powerful beings — but often, the greatest power we can access is the power to surrender.
To submit to something greater than ourselves.
That includes accepting outcomes that are not what we prefer, that are beyond our control.
Rather than being in a jiu-jitsu match with life, we can instead be in song with life — as the etymology of the word universe implies.
We are all part of one song.
But when too many people compete to play the lead solo, each insisting on their own tune and rhythm — disconnected from the greater orchestration of the cosmos — what we create is not music, but cacophony.
To come back into harmony, one of the great methods is silence.
Stillness.
Listening.
A great musician isn’t the one who fills every empty space with the most notes possible.
A great musician is skilled at holding back, at placing sound in the right pocket of time.
He doesn’t plan every next move — he responds, improvises, feels.
He plays with what is already beautiful, what already holds structure.
Sometimes with subtlety. Sometimes with force.
He is playing with, not playing over.
He’s not in competition with the greater song — he’s in communion with it.
Now, this isn’t to assert that submission means passivity — or that we’re not in a dynamic interplay with the antagonistic forces of life.
Just as we must push against gravity to stand upright, we are called to meet life with strength, structure, and responsiveness.
Our role isn’t to collapse into a lump of wet-noodle softness, but to cultivate ourselves — to develop the capacities that allow us to stay humble and embodied.
Cultivation, as a practice, isn’t about winning.
It’s about refinement.
In the same way a musician builds their chops through drills, scales, and phrasing — cultivating timing and feel — we engage in practices that develop our awareness, discipline, and responsiveness.
Not for status, but for service.
Initiation opens the door to seeing where we are called to take our seat.
Practice is what allows us to play our part when the time comes.
The heroic myth of masculinity — particularly in modern patriarchal culture — positions every man as needing to lead, to conquer, to dominate.
It glorifies the individual in competition with the whole and elevates personal conquest as the highest achievement.
But if you’re in a men’s program or a coaching container that’s all about inflating the self — building you up to feel special — that is not a true initiation.
A true initiation will humble you.
It will test you.
It will strip you down — not to break you, but to attune you.
To help you listen for your time and your place.
This doesn’t mean you won’t have a voice or a moment.
But it’s not about conquering all moments.
It’s not about building an empire.
It’s about asking:
How can I create art with?
How can I create beauty for?
How can I lead in service to?
It is a dedication — the bowing of the head, the stepping back, the pause, the space-making, the attention that moves beyond self.
It’s the shift from “How can I get mine?” to “How can I give to what’s already unfolding?”
That grasping, controlling, competitive drive to survive is ancient, primal — and while there’s nothing inherently wrong with it, it’s also the root of what we now see on the world stage.
This is how governments, corporations, and bureaucracies create wars, hoard power, and exploit wealth for personal gain.
Some might call this evil.
I call it a misunderstanding of the right use of power.
Because bowing your head and remaining humble is not a lack of power — it is power.
It is the empowerment that allows something larger than the self to move through us, to propel us, to act as us.
It’s the notes played in the perfect moment, with the perfect silence between — the vibrato, the sustain, the energetic transmission of heart and soul — that remind us:
Something beyond us is moving through us.
That — right there — is our greatest work.
As men.
And as humans.