The Protocol
Printed and sent before day one. Everything to do, in order, with the reasons underneath and the tricks that make it work.
The Maze · 60 days · $4,000
The stories you carry about yourself stop being facts and become sentences — with an author, a date and a reason.
Something is not working
Or nothing is wrong at all
Everyone has a story about who they are. Very few people have ever read it.
I am the one who carries it. I do not need much. I am not the sort of person who asks. If I stop, it all stops.
You did not decide these. Most were installed before you were fifteen, and everything since has been built on top of them.
Some sentences survive the examination and you keep them knowingly, which is a different thing from being run by them.
The rest come off, and you find out how much of the weight was theirs and not yours.
Four hours a week. And a willingness to write down a belief about yourself you would defend in an argument tomorrow, then spend two weeks looking for evidence against it.
This is the bounded version. There is a further one and it is not sold at all — it exists inside the year with me, where someone is on the phone while it happens.
Printed and sent before day one. Everything to do, in order, with the reasons underneath and the tricks that make it work.
A bound logbook, one numbered page for each day, written in by hand.
One written instruction each morning. Three lines. They get shorter as you get better.
You write your closing record. I read it myself and answer with one page in my handwriting, posted to you.
Everything else here can be entered wherever you actually are. This one cannot, because I have no way of knowing what you have already done unless you tell me properly, and almost nobody judges that accurately about themselves.
So there are two applications. Everyone writes the first. If I see the ground for this one in what you have written, I send you the second. You cannot ask for the second one. Receiving it is the answer to the first.
If you have read this and you are certain it is yours, say so and say why. Being certain is the commonest single reason I say no.
No calls. No voice notes. No group. You will not meet me.
And nothing here is written for you personally. This protocol was finished before I knew your name, which is why it costs a fraction of the year with me. It is a fraction of it: the part that fits on paper.
Paid in full. If you later want the whole year, this comes off it. You hold one at a time, so a second is not bought — you move up and this comes off. The year alone →
If this is not the one