Casa Amorata

For years I held private, in-person immersions.

Then I closed the doors.

It is time again.

I am writing a book. It is my labour of love. Once or twice a year, I put the manuscript aside and give one week, entirely, to one man.

From Monday to Sunday, you live with me: my world, my home, my table, the people I know, and the whole of my attention.

Seven days in Bucharest. Just you and me.

Each day will progressively remove one of your refuges — intellectualisation, rehearsed charm, control, fear of embarrassment, fear of desire, dependence on outcome — until by the end you have proved to yourself, more than once, that you can walk into uncertainty and remain entirely yourself.

What is false, borrowed, rehearsed or protective will be stripped away. From what remains, we build a man whose inner life and outer bearing are no longer at odds.

You will not be allowed to sit there admiring the philosophy. You will live, for seven days, entirely inside it.

There is nowhere to retreat into theory.

You will be weighed in the balance.

I will not explain further. Either something in this is already familiar to you, or it is not.