Part 1: The Good Was Already There
Part 2: The Coherence Was Already There
Part 3: The Blueprint Was Already There
Part 4: When Divine Love Takes Social Form
Part 5: When Love Becomes Social Architecture
Part 6: When Love Becomes People Power
PART SIX — When Love Becomes People Power
From Whole Community to a Parallel Polis
Years later, in Sri Lanka, I found myself sitting with the president of a Sarvodaya Community Bank. Nearly half the town participated in the local Sarvodaya Society. They had spent years building relationships, serving one another, creating livelihoods, meeting community needs, and developing a parallel social reality of their own.
I asked him what seemed to me an obvious question. “Do you run candidates for local office?”
“We don’t need to,” he replied.
His answer stayed with me. I had assumed that if people wanted to change their society, eventually they would have to turn toward politics. But Sarvodaya had moved in another direction. They began with people’s spiritual lives, with service, relationships, and the needs of the village. As those capacities grew, people became increasingly able to shape their common life together.
The banker’s answer reflected something I had already heard from Dr. Ari. He had long questioned the party-political system itself, which he believed fostered division, hatred, fear, and ignorance.
In its place, he envisioned a more consensual, participatory, and decentralized politics growing from below. His aim was not to capture political power first, but to awaken people and strengthen their capacity to shape their own communities.
The culture had begun to change before the politics did. As people built relationships, met needs, shared responsibility, and learned to act together, they became increasingly capable of governing more of their common life themselves. Political power becomes the fruit of that transformation rather than its starting point. In Sarvodaya, this was understood as Grama Swaraj, village self-rule.
Something similar had been happening in Northern Nevada, although I had not thought of it as political. Farmers found restaurants. Businesses shared resources and connections. Churches served beyond their walls. Neighbors helped neighbors. Networks that had once existed separately began finding one another and forming a larger web of relationship. We had not looked to government to make any of this happen.
People were becoming capable of doing together what none of them could do alone.
Václav Havel helped me understand what I was seeing. He had written about independent structures emerging not from political theory, but “from below, because life compelled them to.”
A Parallel Polis is not simply designed or legislated into existence. It is practiced into being.
In Czechoslovakia, that practice took form through a grassroots social infrastructure linking independent spaces for education, culture, publishing, religious life, economic activity, and civic life. In Sri Lanka, communities built roads, livelihoods, farms, and community banks, eventually connecting millions of people across thousands of communities.
In Northern Nevada, what we were building was nowhere near as developed, but the beginnings were there: a relational network architecture through which people across the community were forming new connections, building trust, and learning to act together.
But a harder question remained:
Could this kind of power from below become strong enough to contend with the forces now shaping so much of our common life?
The Power of Connecting the Good
So much political and economic power is now concentrated in enormous systems far beyond the reach of any local community: political parties, large corporations, global finance, technology, and media. Their reach extends deep into everyday life, shaping our attention, perceptions, desires, and choices, often in ways that pull us away from what we actually need. I came to think of these interlocking systems as the Everything Industrial Complex.
But how could we respond to power like this?
Looking back at my earlier activism, I can see how deeply my own thinking was shaped by the belief that Western civilization was intrinsically bad. Within movements that viewed civilization that way, transformation naturally meant resisting it, tearing it down, or building a separate alternative to replace it.
But organizing ourselves around what we opposed carried another consequence I had not fully understood: it deepened our separation from the people whose lives were already intertwined with our own. We found others who saw the world as we did and organized either to resist the larger society or to build alternatives apart from it. The more alienated we became from the whole, the more natural it felt to find belonging among those who shared our diagnosis of what was wrong.
For decades, enormous amounts of money and human energy had gone into political struggle, electing the right people, defeating the other side, and resisting what we believed was wrong. Even outside party politics, many of our movements were organized around resisting the systems and institutions we wanted to change. Yet the deeper transformation so many of us hoped for remained elusive.
I came to see the contradiction in trying to create a new society while pouring so much of our energy, almost with a religious devotion, into fighting the old one.
Paul had written, “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” What would it mean to take those words seriously, not only by resisting what was wrong, but by giving more of our energy to building what was good, and to connecting the good already alive among us?
I no longer wanted to destroy the West or escape from it. I wanted to heal and transform it. Western civilization had given us extraordinary medicine, technology, knowledge, mobility, and material abundance. I wanted to preserve those gifts while recovering something our culture had weakened: our capacity to care for one another and take greater responsibility for the life we share.
This made me look differently at the movements I had been part of. I had spent years in progressive movements working with people committed to justice, equality, peace, and human dignity. Later I encountered regenerative, spiritual, economic, and other movements seeking a different future. There was much that was beautiful in all of them.
But I began to see a pattern. We saw something wrong with the existing society. We developed a different vision of what it could become. We found others who shared that vision. Then we built relationships, communities, and institutions together. I knew this pattern because I had lived it myself.
We were remarkably good at finding one another. We were much less successful at building relationships across the boundaries that separated us from people who did not already see the world as we did.
The worldview had changed. The organizing pattern had not.
I saw how deeply the Culture of Separation had shaped even the ways we tried to overcome it. When I looked again at the history of Charter 77, one thing stood out.
The people who came together in Czechoslovakia did not share a worldview. Christians stood alongside secular intellectuals, democrats, reform Communists, artists, and people from the cultural underground. They did not first resolve their differences before acting together.
What if that was not incidental to their power? What if it was one of the sources of their power?
The Power of the Whole
And suddenly I thought again about the conventional farmer in Northern Nevada.
“I’m already doing it,” he had told me.
I had understood that moment as a lesson about belonging. I could see its deeper political significance. He already belonged. We did not need to convert him, recruit him, or make him part of our movement.
We needed him as part of the whole.
The farmer did not have to become regenerative before we could work together. A conservative did not have to become progressive. A secular neighbor did not have to become Christian. We could take responsibility for the life we shared without first having to agree on how we understood the world.
Writing this essay had brought me back again and again to the same discovery: the community itself was the container. Now I could see the political consequence of that insight. A movement usually begins with a part, with people who share a particular understanding of the world, and then tries to grow that part until it can transform the whole.
But what if we began with the whole?
Not because everyone would agree. Not because everyone would participate. But because the people whose lives are already intertwined are the source of the community’s collective capacity.
And this was what we had been building toward in Northern Nevada. Relationships formed. Trust grew. Networks emerged. New economic relationships took shape. Resources and opportunities began to circulate. As those networks became more connected through a Network Commons, people became increasingly able to meet needs and solve problems together.
I had seen each of these things separately. What I had not yet seen was what they could become. As people took greater responsibility for the life of their community, they began governing more of their common life together.
This made me look differently at the Parallel Polis. People could gather around a shared vision and begin building another social reality together. But if they remained one part of society competing with other parts for influence and power, they could still reproduce the logic of a Culture of Separation.
I saw another possibility. What if we did not have to build from the part toward the whole?
What if the whole community itself were the starting point?
That means beginning with the relationships that already exist among us. We do not have to share a worldview before we can act together, because our lives are already intertwined. The work is to strengthen those relationships until they become a greater capacity for shared action.
The people themselves, whose lives are already intertwined, are the source of that power.
For years, however, I had looked upward at the enormous concentration of power in government, corporations, finance, technology, and media. I came to see this less as a conspiracy than as a recurring tendency within large systems. Institutions develop interests of their own, protect those interests, and seek greater influence. Over time, power becomes increasingly concentrated at the top.
Today, power has become more concentrated at the top while people at the grassroots have become more divided from one another.
A Whole-Community Parallel Polis
This brought me back to Charter 77.
Imagine if those dissidents had organized around a narrower vision of what society should become, an ecological society, for example. However worthy that vision might have been, they could more easily have been portrayed as one sector of society advancing its own cause. Their concerns could have been treated as a special interest rather than as part of a broader struggle involving society as a whole.
As a community builder, I had watched a similar pattern unfold over the last forty years. What began as a broad concern for the environment became increasingly identified with one sector of society. Environmentalism gave way to sustainability, and sustainability became an established field of organizations, government programs, corporate departments, consultants, and professionals.
More recently, I have watched regeneration begin moving down a similar path. The ideas evolved. But we kept placing them within the same organizing pattern.
This was another consequence of the Culture of Separation. We separated ourselves into movements and then tried to accumulate enough influence to change the larger system. But in doing so, we were still operating within the system’s own logic: separate groups competing for access, influence, resources, and power.
And when movements entered the systems they hoped to change, those systems could begin reshaping the movements in return.
The system became much better at absorbing sustainability than sustainability became at transforming the system.
Charter 77 followed a radically different path. Christians stood beside secular intellectuals, democrats, reform Communists, artists, and people from the cultural underground. Because they came from very different parts of society, they were harder to reduce to a single sector pursuing its own interests. They were standing together across the boundaries that normally kept them apart.
And suddenly I saw the connection to power. We had become accustomed to organizing ourselves into separate groups, each competing for enough power to advance its own vision. But that competition also kept us divided. Perhaps our collective power did not come from competing more effectively, but from learning to act together.
Perhaps the answer was not another movement strong enough to compete with the others. It was to reconnect the people who had been divided into competing parts and build bridges between the islands.
The farmer, the restaurant owner, the pastor, the businessperson, the neighbor, and the community organizer do not have to become the same. They only have to learn to act together where their lives already intersect. That is how relationship becomes collective power.
Movements can build communities around their own visions of a better world. But they can still remain separate parts of the very society they hope to transform.
A Whole-Community Parallel Polis can give people power social form. Not because everyone participates in everything or agrees about everything. They never will. But no ideological, spiritual, economic, or cultural faction can stand in for the people as a whole. The people whose lives are already intertwined form the larger political body.
There can be no people power without the people themselves, across the whole community.
And parallel does not mean separate. Independence from the dominant system and separation from one’s fellow citizens are not the same thing. A community can recover more of its own capacities while remaining part of the larger society, drawing upon what is good within it while becoming less dependent on systems that have gradually absorbed more of its common life.
I think again about the Sarvodaya banker. “We don’t need to.” I understand his answer differently now. He was not telling me that politics did not matter. He was telling me that politics did not have to come first.
They began with people. With Love and spiritual life. With Virtue and service. With relationships. With the needs of their community. With people learning to take responsibility for one another. From those relationships grew economic and social capacity. And from that capacity grew the ability to shape more of their common life together.
Something political emerged without beginning in politics.
And what emerged was this: Love has political consequences without politics being the starting point.
The Ancient Blueprint Was Already There
And now I could see a larger Pattern running through everything I had experienced. We tend to approach social change from the opposite direction, looking first to politics, institutions, economic systems, movements, and new worldviews to create the society we desire.
But everything I had experienced pointed in another direction. Love becomes Virtue. Virtue shapes relationship. Relationship makes service, trust, cooperation, shared responsibility, and growing networks possible. From there, economic, social, and political capacity can grow.
Political and economic systems matter, but they are not where transformation begins. They are shaped by what lies beneath them: culture, relationship, values, habits, and ultimately the inner orientation of human beings toward a reality larger than themselves. That deeper orientation was not only something I had come to believe intellectually. I had experienced it inwardly.
What I had first encountered inwardly as an objective Transcendent reality, I can now see echoed in history.
Looking back, I could see this same Pattern across the people and movements that had shaped my journey: Jesus, Gandhi, Ari and Sarvodaya, Dr. Tusi, Havel and Benda. Their religions, cultures, languages, and circumstances were profoundly different.
Yet they arrived at remarkably similar ways of building common life from the ground up.
In their own ways, they aligned their lives and communities with what I have come to understand as an objective sacred order, and from that alignment emerged a recognizable relational architecture, one I would later understand through the idea of the Parallel Polis. Each gave social form to that deeper Transcendent orientation through relationship, service, and community.
I was discovering that same possibility in San Diego and Reno. As I tried to live from the deeper reality I had encountered and let it shape how we related, served, and built community together, another kind of common life began to emerge. I came to understand that this Pattern is not confined to extraordinary people or historical movements. It is something any of us can begin to live together in the communities where we already are.
The expressions were different. The underlying Pattern was the same. This was the Pattern I had come to call the Ancient Blueprint.
Remembering the Whole
But giving the Pattern a name did not mean I could always see it. The underlying wholeness I had experienced could still disappear from view. I came to think of the Ancient Blueprint not simply as something I had discovered, but as something I was continually learning to remember. I still have to remember it every day.
I have come to understand why.
The deeper reality has not disappeared. But the culture around me continually pulls my attention outward—toward the visible world of roles, identities, institutions, pressures, and divisions—and away from the inner life and the Transcendent ground beneath it.
I have spent much of my life trying to reconcile two realities: the deeper reality I experienced as a child, in which life was held together in Love, and a culture that has taught us to live as though we were separate from one another, separate from the sacred, and disconnected from the deeper Transcendent reality beneath our lives.
Over time, I came to see that this contradiction was not only personal. It reflected something much larger in the culture around me. We have learned to build much of our private and public life from the rational mind alone, as though we could understand ourselves, organize society, and even imagine alternative futures without reference to the deepest reality within and beyond us.
That was the contradiction that had broken my heart as a child. I had experienced a reality in which life was deeply connected and held within Love, then returned to a world that taught me to live as though we were separate. Only much later did I understand that this Culture of Separation had not only shaped the institutions around me. It had shaped the way I saw the world—and shaped me too.
And this helped me understand something that had puzzled me for years. Our efforts to heal the fragmentation around us so often reproduce the very fragmentation we are trying to overcome, because the Culture of Separation has shaped not only our institutions, but the ways we imagine and pursue change itself.
The Culture of Separation does not merely divide us.
It shapes the way we perceive reality itself, so that the world appears to us as a collection of separate parts. It is almost impossible to recognize this while we are inside it, because the pattern itself is invisible.
And without realizing it, we carry that same logic into how we organize communities.
This is the hardest discovery of my life to share, because I understand that I am asking you to question something fundamental about the way we have learned to experience reality itself.
But once we know what to look for, we can begin to recognize the pattern in our churches, movements, organizations, political communities, networks, and worldviews. We organize around the part of the world we can see most clearly. We find people who agree with us, build coherence around our shared vision, and invite others to join us.
Without realizing it, we begin treating our own vision as the model others should follow.
But transformation does not work that way. No matter how much good our work carries, connecting more like-minded people does not heal the fragmentation between us. We cannot heal a Culture of Separation through the same logic of separation.
We have it backwards. We try to build the whole from our separate parts. But no part can become the whole. Every part already belongs to something larger.
The whole is already there; what is fragmented are the relationships that hold it together.
The whole community is not the destination. It is where we begin.
That changes what belonging means. We do not have to become like one another or share the same worldview to belong to one another and act together. Our belonging is deeper than agreement because we already belong to something larger than any of our separate worldviews.
And through this, I began to understand my experience of Divine Love more deeply.
That Love is already there, available to all of us, deeper than the divisions we create between us. Even when we cannot see it, it holds us within a deeper unity without requiring us to become the same.
I understand more deeply now what St. Paul means when he writes of Christ, “He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”
We do not have to understand or name that deeper reality in exactly the same way. But we do have to learn to live from it together. Our work is to learn how to give that Love social form in the communities where we already live.
And this changes how I understand my own work. I no longer see my task as creating a model or movement for others to adopt. To do that would reproduce the very pattern of Separation I have spent so much of my life trying to overcome.
The Ancient Blueprint does not belong to Symbiotic Culture or to anyone else. Symbiotic Culture is simply one way of naming and giving contemporary form to something far older and larger.
My invitation is not to adopt my model, but to recognize this Pattern where it is already alive—in your own life and in the people and communities around you—and help give it social form where you live.
Because a living Pattern is not replicated. It is translated.
The Quiet Revolution is Already Underway
And that brings me back to the farmer who started this story. “I’m already doing it,” he told me.
At the time, I interpreted his words as resistance. I was trying to connect the pieces, while he seemed perfectly content with what he was already doing. Years later, I think I finally understand what I could not see then.
He was already doing it. So was the pastor, the activist, the business owner, the regenerative practitioner, the Christian, the network weaver, the entrepreneur, the neighborhood organizer, and the person working to transform consciousness. The good I was trying to bring together was already alive in countless people, communities, movements, cultures, and traditions.
And so was I.
Each of us carries a piece of the good. The mistake is believing our piece is the whole.
My piece is not the whole.
Each piece carries something real and necessary. The farmer has his farm, the pastor his congregation, the activist his cause, the entrepreneur her business to build. The problem is not that we carry different pieces.
The problem comes when we begin to treat our piece as the answer for everyone else.
That is one of the ways the Culture of Separation reproduces itself even within our efforts to overcome it. We gather around an expression of the good, strengthen it, and then try to grow it, believing that if enough people joined us, our piece could transform the whole. The regenerative activist, New Economy advocate, political organizer, or faith or spiritual movement may each come to imagine that their vision could become the basis of a new society.
Forty years of on-the-ground community work have brought me to a deeply personal realization: if my piece is not the whole, then I have to relate differently to the people carrying the other pieces.
From that realization comes a radical inversion of how we create a better society.
It begins by seeing the work we are already doing as one vital part of a larger whole, rather than as something we have to abandon. We can remain deeply rooted in the traditions, convictions, relationships, and callings that give our lives meaning. The farmer can keep restoring the soil, the activist seeking justice, the artist creating, and the person of faith living deeply from their tradition.
What changes is how we understand our work’s place in the whole, and how we bring our piece into relationship with the other pieces.
Once I stop treating my piece as the whole, I stop seeing those who do not share my worldview primarily as people I need to change, persuade, recruit, compete with, defeat, awaken, or convert.
They may be carrying something the whole community needs, something I cannot see from where I stand but can learn to recognize, value, and care about.
Instead of asking, How do I get them to join “my thing”? I can begin asking: What good are they already carrying? What needs or possibilities can they see that I cannot? What might become possible when what each of us carries is brought into relationship in service to the whole community?
The inversion is simple but demanding: we stop asking others to join us and begin showing up for them. We bring our piece into relationship with theirs, listen for the good they are already carrying, and look for ways to serve what is already trying to emerge among us.
My encounter with the farmer gave me a deep lesson: we need one another to see more of the whole. I needed to see the good he was already carrying, and he needed to see how his piece connected to something larger.
Our work is not to make all those pieces the same or gather them beneath a single worldview, movement, or name. It is to recognize what is already among us and build the relationships that allow those pieces to find one another and contribute to the whole.
To do that, we have to cross the boundaries that keep us apart.
And that does not mean erasing our differences. A church can reach beyond its own walls into the wider community. A regenerative farmer can build a relationship with a conventional one. People with very different politics, beliefs, and ways of life can begin building relationships around the life they already share.
And we do not have to agree before we begin.
My experience has taught me that belonging must come before agreement. Shared needs, such as food, children, livelihoods, health, and care for one another, give us common ground because they reach beneath the issues and positions that divide us.
These Common Needs are not another worldview we must adopt. They are places where different worlds can meet and begin taking responsibility for the life they already hold in common.
New Wine Into New Wineskins
But coming together is only the beginning. Connection by itself is not enough. We carry our assumptions, prejudices, wounds, and habits of Separation into the relationships, systems, and structures we create.
That is why Love has to become something we actually live between us.
This is what I mean by Love as Structure: not merely a feeling, a private morality, or a personal virtue, but a reality embodied in how we live with one another: how we listen, serve, disagree, keep our word, practice courage and respect, and seek mutual benefit.
Love, Integrity, Courage, Service, and Respect are not merely good behaviors. They are ways Divine Love becomes embodied in how we live and relate to one another.
And because Love takes form in how we live with one another, we do not have to wait for large institutions or systems to begin transforming the life we share.
We can begin where we are, with the people and places already around us.
And that is the beautiful simplicity of it: a few people can begin by meeting in a small circle, not to create another organization, but to deepen relationships, practice the Virtues, and ask how what each person carries might serve the larger community.
I realize how unlikely this may sound, but this is how something universal can take local form. This is what I saw happen: people gathering in circles, building networks of relationship, uniting around a shared purpose of Love, practicing relational principles and Virtues, and acting around Common Needs. I came to call this pattern Symbiotic Culture DNA.
But practicing this Pattern does not require your organization or community to become Symbiotic Culture. A church remains a church. A business remains a business. A neighborhood group or government agency remains what it is. The Pattern can take a different form in each of them. You can begin living it within the communities you already belong to, while others do the same within theirs.
In practice, a circle can begin within an existing church, business, neighborhood group, nonprofit, or other organization, much as an organization might host an AA group, bringing together people who already know and trust one another. It can remain rooted in that community while also becoming part of something larger.
The circle becomes a place of practice, a place to listen more deeply, live the Virtues, build trust, and learn another way of being together.
As trust deepens within a circle, the Pattern can move outward. A few people can reach beyond their circle to churches, movements, businesses, neighborhoods, and other parts of the community. Those relationships can become bridges between worlds that have remained separate.
When those bridges multiply, circles become mediating networks that connect otherwise separated parts of the community.
They are not formal organizations. Each remains rooted where it began while forming relationships with others across boundaries. Their purpose is not to promote themselves, but to help the larger community become more connected and capable of acting together.
Seen this way, Jesus’ image of new wine and new wineskins points to two radically opposing ways of organizing our common life: the patterns of Separation that sustain the empires of this world, or the relational architecture through which the Kingdom of Heaven can begin to take social form among us.
The old wineskin is made up of the organizing frameworks that keep us enclosed within our separate worlds and disconnected from one another.
The new wineskin is a relational architecture that reconnects the separated parts of the community and allows them to become part of a larger whole.
And the new wine is Divine Love flowing through those relationships until it begins to take social form in the life of the whole community.
An Unnamed Eruption of Spirit
As those relationships grow, the good that was once fragmented begins circulating through the whole community. Trust, gifts, resources, opportunities, and capacities begin moving through relationships that had previously remained disconnected.
People meet needs together, circulate resources, create new economic relationships, solve problems, and take greater responsibility for the life they share. As that capacity grows, the community becomes increasingly able to shape its common life together. The Parallel Polis emerges from the relationships, networks, and capacities people are building among themselves.
The form this takes will be different in every community. One place may begin with food, children, or livelihoods; another with housing, health, land, spiritual life, or some other Common Need. Some communities may speak explicitly of God and Divine Love, while others may understand what is happening through different language and traditions.
None of them need to call it Symbiotic Culture. A living Pattern is not a program to be copied. It takes form through the culture, history, needs, gifts, and relationships of a particular place.
The Ancient Blueprint precedes every name we give it and is larger than any of them. It can take forms none of us can fully determine in advance.
If the Pattern does not belong to any one of us, then our task is not to bring others into our version of it. The inversion we have already seen now becomes a way of living: we stop asking others to join us and instead begin showing up for them.
And showing up for them does not mean abandoning our piece of the puzzle. We bring it with us. But instead of making it the organizing center for everyone else, we bring what we carry into relationship with what others already carry. We listen for what matters to them. We serve where we can.
We participate in their good rather than only asking them to participate in ours. Then something can emerge between us that none of us could create alone.
And this is how Divine Love, embodied in relationships, begins taking social form without becoming a single movement.
Through Virtue and relationship, that Love grows into community life, economic and civic capacity, and eventually the capacity for people to govern more of their common life together.
Imagine this happening not in one community, but in tens of thousands of communities across the world: a bottom-up eruption of Spirit taking different forms in different places while carrying the same ancient Pattern.
This brings me back to the vision that has stayed with me since 1990, long before I had language for the Ancient Blueprint. I saw the hearts of humanity reaching upward, and the Heart of Jesus Christ pouring down Love into the world, flowing from person to person and from community to community.
Only much later did I begin to understand what that vision might mean socially: people gathering where they live, building relationships across their differences, and creating the relational structures through which Divine Love can take social form in the world.
And that leaves me with a larger question: what might happen if Divine Love took social form everywhere, not as a single movement or system, but in forms native to different people and places, until it reached even the battlefields of our world?
Such an eruption would remain unnamed. Not because nothing would be happening, but because no single movement could contain it or claim it.
A church might recognize the Kingdom. A regenerative farmer might see healthier soil and a stronger community. Neighbors might simply call it neighbors helping neighbors. Others might give it no spiritual name at all.
No one needs to name it, own it, or possess the whole in order to participate. No movement needs to contain it. Each part can remain fully itself while becoming more deeply related to the whole.
The good is already here.
The deeper coherence is already here.
The Blueprint is already here.
The Kingdom is already here, among us.
Divine Love is not meant to remain only within us. It is meant to move through us, between us, and among us until it takes social form in the life we build together.
The great call of the Age is to give that Love social form together.
Read the whole series:
Why Coherence Must Precede Our Strategies for Social Change
Part 1: The Good Was Already There
Part 2: The Coherence Was Already There
Part 3: The Blueprint Was Already There
Part 4: When Divine Love Takes Social Form
Part 5: When Love Becomes Social Architecture
Part 6: When Love Becomes People Power
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