The First Hour
Seven letters, one each morning. The phone, the water, the light, the coffee. It works before you have paid me anything, which is the point.
Programs
Six programs you walk on your own, entered wherever you actually are. Or twelve months with me. They cover the same six places a man gets stuck, and they are not two prices for one thing.
Seven letters, one each morning. The phone, the water, the light, the coffee. It works before you have paid me anything, which is the point.
The first hour only, for ninety days, run alone. No application and nothing read by me. Where most men should start.
The book. Six years in a basement, the crisis before them, and which of it was necessary. No exercises. One chapter free.
$19,000 · 360 days
Six programs, each entered on its own. Capacity, Choice, Clarity, Honesty, the Maze, Independence. They are numbered because that is the order things usually come apart in, but yours may not have, so you start where you actually are.
Each one is a printed protocol, a bound logbook and one written instruction every morning. At the end of each you write a closing record, I read it myself, and I write you one page back by hand. That page opens the next step.
No calls. Nothing written for you personally. You choose the door; I read your application and say if you chose the wrong one.
$100,000 · twelve months · six places
One hour with me every week for fifty-two weeks, a two-hour session every month, daily messages, and two full days in the same room.
Nothing is printed in advance. The protocol is written from where you actually are and rewritten as you change. Two of the twelve months have no plan at all until we reach them.
Six people at a time. A place opens when someone finishes. It ends at month twelve and there is no second year.
The six steps are what I can write down. The Year is what I cannot.
The six places are the same in both. What differs is not the map. It is that a printed programme cannot look at you.
In the steps, everything is decided before I know your name. That is honest and it works, because the order is right and most of what goes wrong goes wrong for the same reasons in most men. It will take you a long way and it costs a fraction of the year, because it is a fraction of the year — the part that fits on paper.
The rest does not fit on paper. Half of the year cannot be written in advance because it depends on who you have become by month eight, and I do not know that yet. The tests only work if you have not read about them. Months nine and ten have no plan at all — what we do there is decided by what you turned into. Month eleven goes wherever it goes, and I will not sell that to a man with nobody on the phone.
So they are not two sizes of the same thing. The steps are the road, printed. The Year is a man who has walked it, standing next to you, throwing the printed version away every time your ground does not match it.
Seven mornings costs nothing and tells you more about whether this is for you than anything I could write here.