Last week, I was sitting at my favorite restaurant—Tasting Counter—and, as I watched the chef plate each dish with shock and awe, I started to think about why that matters so much. Why is plating so important? Or the architecture of a restaurant? Or the lighting? And music?
Is it pretentious? Is it an unnecessary added expense that raises the menu prices? I mean—it doesn’t make the food taste any better. Or does it?
It brought up this idea of mood for me. How artists and filmmakers use lighting and colors and tone and tempo to create an experience. And it’s only through that experience that you can fully receive what’s being given to you.
Sure, someone can read you the script or tell you what it’s about. But you can’t quite receive the story in the same way without the mood.
It’s why we spend time setting the energetic space before any Content Call in our work, and then start the work with a 10-minute meditation, followed by specific colors, archetypal images, and sacred geometry all throughout the teachings.
Could I teach without all of that? Sure. But people wouldn’t be able to receive the work as fully.
Because mood is the portal through which we alter reality. We set the stage a new, different experience. No matter how busy or crazy life is feeling, when we enter into the Sacred Circle, we help create a mood that allows you to drop all of it and surrender to the work fully—even for just an hour.
Mood is how an artist constructs the container—the portal—to allow their participants to fully interact with the essence inside.
It transmits us to another reality. Like the filmmaker who can send us to space. Or the novelist who can make us suspend disbelief for a moment. Or the dance who can draw us in to a world of magic and mystery.
Each artist is creating a portal for us to access some kind of magic. We are altering our consciousness. Leaving everyday reality. And having an experience we couldn’t otherwise have.
When I’m sitting at Tasting Counter, it’s that very mood—through design and lighting and music and plating—that allows me to close my eyes and fully commune with the food. It’s the art that allows me to have a different, heightened experience than I could have otherwise.
We’re intensely conscious of mood in my work. Of the way we structure and create safe spaces in the group. So that things can be said there that could never be said elsewhere. Stories of sexual trauma spoken for the first time. Vulnerable confessions about money. About physical abuse. About shame and trauma.
Laughter and tears. Dance parties. Jokes. Safety.
We create calls that are incredibly intellectually challenging and yet somehow are felt more than they’re understood. Through the use of visuals and archetypal images, through relatable stories and emotional questions—it brings forth a mood that is—quite frankly—necessary to engage with the work.
I’ve long called my work art. Because it is. And that lens has helped me to see and connect with it in a different way than I possibly could a “business.”
But I see my clients’ work and colleagues’ work just as much as art. In fact, all work can be—and is—art. All work needs to be conscious of the small details that create mood. Of the ways in which we’re creating containers to transport our participants to another place.
Isn’t that why fancy furniture stores offer bottled waters? Why wedding dress shops have scheduled appointments and bottles of champagne? Why open houses offer cheese and wine?
They’re creating a mood—an experience—which allows you to alter your consciousness and deepen into the experience. For a moment, to fully surrender to what is in front of you.
I mean, I have a different experience with a gorgeous painting in a well-lit and well-curated museum than I do when it’s on the floor in a messy home. The painting is still the same, but the mood and experience is totally different.
I’ve been thinking a lot this week about the way I create mood and experience in all of my containers—on my calls, on this blog, in the decoration of my home, even in my marriage.
How does the way I create allow others to experience it more deeply—or not?
How are you creating mood in the containers of your life?