You may remember A.A.Milne's story about Winnie the Pooh, Piglet, and Rabbit getting lost in the Hundred Acre Wood. Under Rabbit's bossy, officious guidance, the three go around and around until they're thoroughly lost and terrified of lurking Heffalumps. Eventually, a disgusted Rabbit leaves Pooh and Piglet and goes to find the way home. He never returns. After a while, Pooh turns to Piglet:
"Come on, Piglet, let's go home."
"But we're lost," said Piglet.
"Yes," said Pooh, "but there are twelve pots of honey in my cupboard at home, and they are calling to my tummy. I couldn't hear them before, because Rabbit would talk."
This is what happens to someone who settles into the threshold of Square One, stops fighting the process, and accepts the strange formlessness of the situation. The chattering, Rabbit-like social self gets so frustrated and disoriented that it finally wanders away. Then something else comes through: a silent sweetness that resonates deep in your essential self, your pots of honey calling to your tummy.
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