Probably the number one thing people ask me is: How can I learn spoon bending? And can I really do it? Seriously?
Taking things backwards (always more interesting, don’t you think?) the answer is yes you too can spoon-bend. I’ve taught hundreds, no thousands of people to do it and trust me when I say that 85% to 95% of them succeed their very first try.
Spoon bending is for (almost) everyone
There are a few people who do not succeed, however. In my experience, these fall into three key categories:
- Those who are extremely elderly and very low in life energy. These folks barely have enough life energy to keep themselves going and don’t seem able to muster enough to make their spoons or forks soften.
- Those who are ill with chronic diseases they’re actively fighting, or simply ill. This does not include people who are managing a chronic disease. I’ve taught people with ALS and with cancer, for example. However, if you’re acutely ill with anything, your attention and focus is going to be on healing yourself, not on bending forks and spoons to uselessness. Wait till you’re feeling better to try.
- Those whose minds are so closed they refuse to actually try to bend it–or who convince themselves they’re trying when they’re actively blocking themselves from success. This does not mean you can’t be skeptical–I’ve had a lot of skeptics in my workshops. It does mean you have to set that skepticism aside and genuinely try to follow the instructions.
How to fail at spoon bending
In terms of the third category, a story about one workshop participant will explain what I mean. I did a workshop with one person who verbally said she desperately wanted to succeed at spoon bending. Yet, she was a scientist and was very skeptical. (Not a problem, usually; I’ve taught lots of skeptical scientists to do this, including several others in the very same workshop as this lady.) So we started the spoon bending thing and she was doing very well till we got to the part where the spoon (or fork in this case) was supposed to soften. As instructed, she held it between her hands, the fingers of one hand holding the tines, the fingers of the other holding the end of the handle. And she was focusing and concentrating and (presumably) running energy through that fork. Every so often I’d ask her to gently see if she could bend it. And I’d see her grasp tighten and her arms would tense and she’d shake her head and say no, no way.
So I gave her a boost. Most people who have trouble initially, aren’t running enough energy through the fork, so I placed my two hands about an inch on the outside of hers as she held the fork horizontally. And I ran some energy through it too. Then I asked her to see if it was softening again. Once again, her grip tightened, her arms tensed…and nope…no movement.
We repeated this a couple times, with no positive result. Finally I asked if I could just test the fork. I picked it up…and it was as soft as butter! A three-year-old could have twisted that sucker into a pretzel. The fact is, she’d succeeded brilliantly. But when I handed it back to her and asked her to try to bend it, again her grip tightened, her arms tensed, and she claimed she couldn’t bend it even a little.
This is a clear case of her being so convinced that she couldn’t that she faked herself out. Her mind convinced her that she was trying to bend the fork when actually, she was working hard to keep it in its original state.
In other words, she was divided. Part of her genuinely wanted to succeed. The other, stronger, part of her, however, was desperately trying to make sure she didn’t. The only time I’ve seen this particular effect is in scientists who are worried about what success may mean to their worldviews.
Over the coming days, I’ll share the secrets to spoon-bending with you, so keep coming back. It’s not hard. Really. But do not blame me if you mess up your best cutlery fiddling around with this!
If you’re going to be bending your spoons and forks, at least bend them responsibly!