The space principle
Why transformation happens in the spaces between
Sunset. The light faded over mountains. Time to enter the grave.
I lowered myself into the hole I'd dug hours before. Earth walls rose around me. Above, a rectangle of darkening sky. I pulled the blanket over my body and lay still.
This was the heart of the vision quest. Twelve hours in darkness. Alone with myself. No food. No distraction. No escape from whatever arose.
The first hour, physical discomfort dominated. The hard earth beneath me. The cooling air. The strange sense of being partially buried.
The second hour, mental chatter intensified. Analysis. Questions. Doubts about whether this made sense. Plans for what I'd do when it was over.
Then came the headache. Intense. Splitting pain that started the moment I entered the grave and would last until I emerged at dawn. No explanation. No remedy. Just presence with the pain.
As night deepened, something shifted. Not because I did anything. Because I stopped doing. Stopped trying to control the experience. Stopped narrating it. Simply allowed it to be what it was.
In that surrender, I discovered the space principle: The most powerful transformation happens in the spaces between—between words, between actions, between identities.
Our fear of space
Most of us fill every available space. With words. With activity. With distraction. We're uncomfortable with silence, with emptiness, with the void of not knowing.
But transformation lives in these spaces—in the gaps between what has been and what will be, between who we've been and who we're becoming.
This is true in conversation, where the most important moments often arise not from what's said but from the silence that follows.
It's true in decision-making, where the wisest choices emerge not from constant analysis but from moments of quiet receptivity.
It's true in creativity, where breakthrough ideas appear not during effort but in the spaces between effort.
It's true in leadership, where the most profound impact often comes not from what you do but from the quality of presence you bring to spaces where nothing needs to be done.
The revelation of space
Lying in the grave, I had nowhere to go. Nothing to achieve. No one to impress. Just hour after hour of darkness. Of silence broken only by night sounds—insects, distant coyotes, the occasional rustle of something moving nearby.
At first, this space felt like deprivation. Like something was missing that should be there. Gradually, I realized the space itself was the point. Not what filled it. The emptiness wasn't absence but presence of a different kind.
In that presence, I noticed subtler dimensions of experience. The rhythm of my breath. The sensations of my body against earth. The quality of darkness, which wasn't uniform but textured, alive.
Most importantly, I noticed the spaces between thoughts. The gaps where one thought ended and another hadn't yet begun. These gaps had always been there, but the business of daily life had made them invisible.
Now, in the enforced stillness of the grave, these spaces expanded. Became more accessible. Revealed themselves as doorways to a different quality of awareness—one not driven by thinking or doing but by simple being.
Beyond doing to allowing
The space principle challenges how we approach change. We typically focus on what to add, modify, or remove. We see transformation as something to accomplish through action.
But the deepest shifts happen not through doing but through allowing—through creating space where new awareness can emerge naturally.
This isn't passive. Creating and holding space requires a particular quality of presence—an alert receptivity that neither grasps nor rejects what arises.
In the grave, this presence didn't come easily. Fear arose—primal fear of being buried, of darkness, of what might approach in the night. Part of me wanted to climb out, to end the discomfort, to return to the familiar.
When these fears intensified, the elder's instructions came back to me: "Breathe into your heart. Don't fight what arises. Don't cling to it either. Just be with what is."
This simple practice—breathing into the heart, being with what is—created internal space around the fear. Not to make it go away, but to allow it to be present without defining the entire experience.
In that space, fear remained but changed its character. From something to escape to something to include. From threat to teacher.
A different relationship with difficulty
This approach to fear—creating space around it rather than either indulging or suppressing it—embodies the space principle in action.
Most leaders try to eliminate fear and uncertainty. They see these experiences as obstacles to overcome through strategies, plans, and solutions. What they miss is the wisdom and possibility that lives within these very experiences when approached with spacious awareness.
The leader who creates space around fear doesn't become fearless. They develop a different relationship with fear—one that allows its energy and information to serve rather than control.
The same is true for all challenging emotions and experiences. Anger. Confusion. Disappointment. Conflict. When met with spacious awareness rather than immediate reaction, each becomes a potential doorway to new insight and capacity.
This doesn't mean we seek these difficulties. It means we meet them differently when they inevitably arise. Not by filling the space with solutions but by creating more space through presence.
Presence with what is
As the night deepened, my headache intensified. No position brought relief. No breath practice eased it. The pain demanded attention, refused to be relegated to background.
In my usual life, I would have taken medication. Tried to fix the problem. Here in the grave, that wasn't an option. I had to be with the pain exactly as it was.
Gradually, I noticed something. The pain itself wasn't changing, but my relationship to it was. By creating space around it—not identifying with it, not resisting it, just witnessing it with spacious awareness—the suffering associated with the pain began to dissolve.
The headache remained physically present, but it no longer dominated my experience. It became just one element in a much wider field of awareness that included stars appearing through branches, night air on my face, the earth holding my body.
This shift—from being consumed by experience to holding it in wider awareness—is at the heart of the space principle. The circumstances don't need to change for transformation to occur. Only our relationship to them needs to shift.
The emergence of insight
Around midnight, something unexpected happened. In the space created by hours of silence and stillness, insights began to emerge. Not as dramatic revelations. As quiet knowings that rose from a deeper place than thinking.
I saw patterns in my life with new clarity. Recognized what was complete and what was emerging. Understood relationships and challenges from perspectives that hadn't been available before.
These insights weren't the product of analysis or problem-solving. They emerged spontaneously in the space created by sustained presence. They arose not because I was looking for them but because I had stopped looking for anything at all.
This is another dimension of the space principle: The most valuable insights often emerge not from seeking but from creating conditions where they can arise unbidden.
In leadership, this means balancing action with reflection. In relationships, it means listening beyond words to what wants to be expressed. In creativity, it means alternating focused effort with open receptivity.
In all domains, it means recognizing that space itself is fertile ground, not empty void. That silence contains possibility that noise often drowns out. That the gaps between our certainties often hold more wisdom than the certainties themselves.
The spacious response
As dawn approached, birds began to call. First one, then many. The eastern sky lightened imperceptibly. My night in the grave was ending.
The headache remained intense as ever. The physical discomfort hadn't diminished. Yet something fundamental had shifted through those hours of spacious presence.
I had discovered that transformation doesn't always come through dramatic change or breakthrough. Sometimes it comes through simply creating and holding space—space where what's essential can emerge naturally from beneath what's accumulated.
This understanding would change everything about how I approached both my own development and my work with others. Not seeking to force transformation but to create conditions where it could emerge. Not filling every space with action or words but allowing some spaces to remain empty, receptive, pregnant with possibility.
What makes this approach so powerful is that it doesn't depend on special conditions. It doesn't require a vision quest or ceremonial grave. It requires only the willingness to create and hold space—in conversations, in decisions, in challenges, in everyday moments.
The grave simply made this principle visible by removing the distractions and activities that usually fill our awareness. But the spaces between have always been there, waiting to be noticed and engaged.
This week's practice: Creating fertile space
If the space principle resonates with you, here are practices to engage with it directly:
1. Start with silence
Begin each day with a period of silence—even five minutes. Not filling the space with planning or problem-solving. Simply being present with what is. Notice how this small space affects what follows.
2. Extend your listening
In conversations, practice extending the space after someone finishes speaking. Count to five silently before responding. Notice what emerges in this space that might otherwise remain unspoken.
3. Create space around difficulty
When challenging emotions or situations arise, practice creating internal space around them. Not to make them go away but to change your relationship with them. Breathe into your heart. Notice the experience without becoming it.
4. Allow empty time
Schedule periods with no specific purpose—not for productivity, entertainment, or even deliberate rest. Just empty time where nothing needs to happen. Notice your resistance to this practice and what emerges when you move through it.
Outstanding in your field
Next week, we'll explore the field principle—how we exist within interconnected fields of relationship that shape everything, and how expanding awareness beyond the separate self creates new possibilities.
Until then, I invite you to experiment with creating and holding space—to notice the fertile emptiness that exists between your words, your actions, your certainties, and to discover what might emerge when you stop filling every moment with doing.
Remember: Space isn't empty. It's where the most important elements of transformation often gestate and emerge. Not through your effort but through your willingness to be present without filling every moment with doing.
If this perspective resonates with you, consider sharing with others who might benefit. Next week's newsletter will explore the field principle—how we exist within interconnected fields of relationship that shape everything that happens.