The Courage to Let Go of What I Had Prepared

Yesterday was our monthly continuing workshop.

It is open to people who have completed the three-part foundation course.

I began offering the foundation course in December 2020.

The monthly continuing workshop followed in August 2021.

Before I knew it, almost five years had passed.

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Yesterday, I had planned to teach a breathing practice.

I had shared a YouTube video with everyone in advance and prepared an explanation of how to use the method.

But once the workshop began, I realized that we did not need it.

The participants had grown more than I had expected.

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The breathing practice was intended to release physical tension and help people enter a quieter state of consciousness.

But everyone was already entering that state naturally, without using the technique.

The shift into an altered state of consciousness was happening more easily than before.

There was no reason to perform the breathing practice simply because I had planned it.

I decided not to do it.

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One of the participants asked,

“Are we not doing the breathing practice today?”

It was a reasonable question.

After all, I had sent them the video in advance.

“I had planned to do it. But everyone entered that state naturally, so I decided it was not necessary today.”

That was my answer.

When something we prepared goes unused, it can feel as though the time spent preparing it was wasted.

But the purpose of the workshop is not to get through everything I prepared.

It is to do what the people in the room need.

If they do not need something, we do not do it.

Yesterday, that choice felt more natural.

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I have also had the opposite experience.

At the previous workshop, in preparation for my August 22 dialogue with Professor Naoya Fujiwara, we explored the question,

“What is God?”

Can something like God be expressed as an equation?

I spent a great deal of time thinking about the question and preparing the material.

It became a carefully constructed presentation.

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But judging by the participants’ reactions, I could hardly say that it was well received.

Now I understand why.

At least for me, God is not something that can be understood through explanation alone.

Looking at an equation does not make us experience God.

If there is something we call God, it is something we encounter through experience.

An equation may become a map.

But the map is not the experience.

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One participant asked,

“Is there any meaning in turning it into an equation?”

It was a fair question.

To be honest, I do not believe it is meaningful for everyone.

But it was a question I wanted to explore.

Tango holds great meaning for me.

For someone else, it may hold none at all.

In the same way, some people may need to think through equations.

Others may have no need for them.

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Is it meaningful?

Is it meaningless?

The answer is not determined by the subject alone.

It depends on who approaches it, what question they carry, and how they relate to it.

Perhaps it is not enough to ask,

“Does this have meaning?”

We may also need to ask,

“For whom does it have meaning?”

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At the previous workshop, I tried to deliver everything I had prepared.

Yesterday, I let go of what I had prepared.

The difference was significant.

I have things I want to teach.

But the participants have things they want to understand now.

Those are not always the same.

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This does not mean that preparation is unnecessary.

Because I prepare, I can also change direction when the moment requires it.

What matters is not becoming attached to what I prepared.

I prepare in order to use it.

But if it is no longer needed, I let it go.

It sounds simple.

In practice, it takes a little courage.

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Teaching through dialogue suits me better.

I listen to the people in the room.

I receive their questions.

If necessary, I change what I had planned.

Rather than giving them answers, I think alongside them.

I would like to approach workshops, classes, and talks in this way.

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My experience of learning foreign languages and tango may also have shaped the way I teach.

I found it difficult to stay with teachers who imposed only their own methods.

The teachers who listened to my thoughts.

The teachers who noticed what I did not understand.

The teachers who searched for words that suited the person in front of them.

Those were the teachers I could continue learning from.

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The members of the group have gradually changed over the years.

Even so, around ten people continue to participate regularly.

Because of them, both my practice and the philosophy behind it have continued to evolve.

The fact that the breathing practice was no longer necessary was a sign of their growth.

The fact that I could decide not to teach it was also a sign that I had changed.

For five years, I have been teaching these students.

But I have learned just as much from them.

The courage to let go of what I had prepared is one of those lessons.