- The Container's Newsletter
- Posts
- Circling's Art of Change
Circling's Art of Change
How to take a transformational voyage with the practice.

Ulysses and the Sirens (1891) by John William Waterhouse
People hear about the massive psychological and spiritual breakthroughs in Circling. They see the people changed by the practice. And then they come, they sit, they drop-in, they notice, they follow curiosity.
And they wonder, “Is this all it is?”
They aren’t sure how to use Circling as a vehicle to deep transformation. And yet, it is one of the best vessels to take out into the open waters of inner exploration.
There’s a reason people miss this all-too important fact.
It seems we spend a lot of time talking about what happens in the Circle, but we don’t spend enough time talking about what happens after the Circle. And it is in the integration that some of the richest treasure is uncovered.
To show you what that can look like, come with me to a recent Circle. In it, a man described himself as an introvert. It caught my attention, but only in passing. Yet this single statement would open up a multi-day odyssey inside myself.
As my mind continued to linger in the hours after, I realized what came through his mouth was meant for me and my work.
[Side note: It’s always for us, isn’t it?]
I started to really bring that claim of introversion into the magic of the Circle, where our matter of fact “I am an introvert” takes new shape. It becomes something along the lines of, “I have a story that I’m an introvert.”
The change may seem subtle. But if we take on that shift in perspective, it can make all the difference. And it calls us to a process that unfolds long after we stand up and leave the Circling event.
If we pay attention to this process, we see the framework for how all kinds of content that comes up in a Circle fuels rapid spiritual growth and personal development. This is key: the Circle gives us material that can be used for this process—but it’s up to us to use that material.
Below, we’ll look at an example. Hopefully, it will make our own practices more seaworthy.

A Tale from the Decameron (1916) by John William Waterhouse
Tell Me the Story of Who I Am
Is “being an introvert” an experience? Is it actually in the room with you?
No.
It’s a story that helps frame a group of memories—memories of moments that were, at a certain point, the present one.
What were these present moment experiences? Was one…
the blood burning in your cheeks as you stepped into the crowded kitchen at your first college party and how you stared into the sticky linoleum floor;
the tingling in your ears as you found yourself in the shade of a tree, the leaves casting shadows on the pages of a heartbreaking poem;
the warm blanket of calm that pulled itself over your nervous system as you returned home after a busy workday?
Introversion isn’t any of these things listed above.
Introversion is a story about why you experience things like this, and it’s a story you often experience things like this, and it’s a story that you will continue to experience things like this.
If it’s a story, surely it isn’t “just” a story. It can be a powerful tool of self-knowledge and self-disclosure. And yet, if it is a story, there could be alternative ones.
If we think up a few alternatives, what might we do next? How might we choose to build our reality? After all, stories are the way we create our lives out of the ocean of experience and potential that reaches out to the horizon at every moment.
What happens when we take the next step?
What happens when we claim full responsibility for reality itself and choose the meaning of our experience?
What happens when we tell the story of ourselves, instead of having it told to us?
Even if we choose the story of introversion, we are now wielding it, rather than being fated to it. We are in power. What’s more, we are in relation with reality itself.

The Lady of Shalott (1888) by John William Waterhouse
Where Did I Go in the Telling?
Something rises in the Circle—this slight confusion and confrontation around introversion—and in the rising, we are fed new contemplations. Those contemplations could take us anywhere. And when we let them take us wherever they might go, profound change is not only possible but inevitable.
It is work that isn’t always done in the Circle, but it is in the Circle that we open a portal for this content to step into our world and take up residence in us.
The stuff of contemplation may not originate in yourself, but somewhere in the field, something happens that triggers this kind of process. And in the dim, quiet work of turning things over in your mind and heart, change begins.
Change can come soft as first snow. It can clench and crack its way through us like ice. Yet no matter how it happens, it’s inevitable when we sit in the field with others and simply listen to what arises.
Today, it may be a call to adventure that leads us out of a self-definition of introversion into some more creative dance with our memories, bodies, and the energy of others. Tomorrow? Who knows.
Whatever comes, we will welcome and follow and listen as always. The Circle trains us in these skills. But it’s up to us to take them up and use them when we hear that next call.
It can begin with the lightest rap at the door. It can begin with anger, annoyance, boredom. It can begin with an erotic fire, with a laugh, with disgust. There are so many voices it can use to say Hello.
And will we know to answer?

The Annunciation (1914) by John William Waterhouse
Learn How to Say Hello
Come open a portal with us at our next in-person Circling event. Check out the details below or go to our MeetUp page.
Just a heads up, we’ve made major changes to the format, so we really recommend joining us at 5 PM.
When: | Saturday, Jan 31 |
Where: | Charlottesville Center for the Arts (aka Ballet School) @ 2409 Ivy Road |
Watch the Latest Episode of The Container
Angelo DiLullo talks about the process of awakening and a unique form of circling created for men incarcerated at New Folsom Prison.