Some years back I did something that was pretty out there for me: I attended a spoon bending class. Well, actually it was a fork bending class, because forks are a bit more challenging, but it was the same idea.
A friend of mine and I were planning a trip to Sedona where we would be attending a retreat, and the spoon bending class was being offered by the retreat leader the evening before it was to begin. My friend had taken the class before and was interested in doing it again, and she asked if I’d like to go with her. It was a bit out of my comfort zone, but it sounded intriguing, so I said yes.
We gathered in the room that evening, about 30 of us, and when the class began, the teacher, Gene, assured us that before the evening was done each of us would succeed in bending at least one of the forks he would give us. He then named the thought we were all thinking to ourselves: “I’m going to be the only person here who won’t be able to do this.” We all laughed. It’s like he was reading our minds.
He then told us that he would be teaching us several different fork-bending techniques he had developed, and some would work better for us than others. He also explained that we would be bending the forks with our hands, not like in the movie The Matrix where the utensil just droops on its own.
Before he introduced each method, Gene had us pick up one of the forks he had given us to see if we could bend it without doing anything first. He wanted us to feel how solid and unyielding the metal was. It was true; I couldn’t bend the fork no matter how hard I tried.
He then led us through about a dozen different methods, most of which I don’t remember but they were all things we did with our minds. As we practiced each method, I noticed how Gene was sitting quietly in the front of the room, unobtrusively bending his fork into pretzel shapes as though it were Play Doh in his hands.
As for me, I tried method after method and nothing worked. Meanwhile, one by one, the other people in the class began yelping with astonishment as their fork started to yield in their hands. I wondered if I was going to be the singular exception to Gene’s promise that we would all succeed, and I started feeling like the kid who would have to be moved to the remedial class.
That is until Gene introduced a technique where all we did was connect with the fork from our heart. When I did, I felt the metal begin to give way in my hands.
It was so simple, and it showed me beyond any doubt that a heart connection is much more than an emotional feel-good experience. It is a powerful means of transformation.
But that wasn’t the only thing the class taught me. Another thing I discovered was that even the slightest trace of the energy of forcing or trying to coerce the fork to do my bidding kept the metal rigidly unyielding.
However, when I entered into a place of yielding within myself, when I let myself abide in the energy of yin, of joining, of allowing, making absolutely no demands, that’s when things could begin to change.
In this present age on Earth, a new kind of world wants to emerge, and what I have come to see so clearly is that the New will not arise from the ways of the past, out of effort, control, and force. It will arise from the energy of Love.
This turn toward Love is the fork in our planet’s road that each of us will come to sooner or later. And each time any of us chooses it, we are helping that new world take shape, a world that depicts and enacts the ways of Love.