A Conversation

Throughout life we all meet complexity, change, confusion, catastrophe.

Your practised way of life is not up to meeting this moment.

You feel unmoored. At sea.

But what is happening? What do you do? Do you do anything?

The world is full of answers — courses, coaches, supplements, religions, ideologies, workbooks. But how can you find the answer if you can’t hear the question?

At complex moments, questions are rare. Delicate.

Let’s sit together and listen gently.

Let’s hear what’s being asked.


Some people have an answer — one they don’t want to admit or cannot face. I tell it. We face it.

Some people are near an answer but can’t reach it. I help draw it across the threshold and into being.

Some answers are new things. They need both a moulder and a midwife — lifted from the deep and drawn into the light. They need a net. They need your hands, at least.

Sometimes the answer is found on a journey, or at the end of one. I can help you set off. I can meet you on the way. I might be who you meet on return.


I am the strange old man who lives deep in the woods. The one people come to find at the edge of things — the place they know they need to go to. They search their heart. But the heart is not clear. Clutched, clouded, clamped down like a car parked where it shouldn’t be.

I am driven to get at the bottom of things. It’s how I’m made. A lifetime of digging reveals a core truth — every answer is held up by dozens of assumptions, givens, axioms, priors. Answers are temporary moments of stillness in a constantly dynamic reality. We are always in motion — though we may not sense it.

So I am drawn to frameworks that map patterns I see again and again. If nothing is fixed, I need maps that keep working no matter where I go.

I’ve spent my life reading, thinking, talking, and a little writing. People often know me as someone who can make other people’s ideas easy to understand. I dreamed of eventually finding or inventing powerful ideas of my own. To be an author — not a mere communicator.

I have realised that the most significant thing I have authored is the life I am living. The most crucial things I have learned come from foolish risks, difficult people, terrible mistakes. I stand next to the sign that warns you not to get too close to the bonfire because of this burn on my hand.

I’ve spent thirty years in rooms where people are trying to make

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