A Serene Sunday Practice
Not For Convenience But With Intent
The decision to offer the Practice of Peace exclusively on Sundays is not one of convenience but of intent.
Sunday occupies a distinct psychological and cultural space — a hinge between the work that has been done and the work still waiting to be done.
By dedicating this day to stillness, Geoffrey aligns the practice with its natural rhythm of pause and renewal, inviting a man to enter an unhurried, intimate encounter with himself.
A Day Apart from the Noise
The weekday mind is a composition of deadlines and demands. To attempt deep, inward work in that state is to swim against the current of productivity.
By holding the practice on Sunday, Geoffrey creates a deliberate interval already softened by cultural permission to rest. For many, it is a day of family, quiet, or faith — a space where urgency relaxes its grip.
Arriving at Geoffrey’s home in the Blue Mountains on this day signals something profound: this is not another appointment to keep, but a sanctuary to enter. It marks the practice as an act of reverence rather than obligation.
Geoffrey sets aside the hours between 10am and 4pm any Sunday but there are no clocks in the room, no countdown, and no rush to depart.
Peace begins where hurry ends
Sunday is not simply a convenient day for the Practice of Peace; it is the ideal one. It completes the week, book-ending action with reflection.
In choosing this day, Geoffrey ensures that the practice becomes more than a session — it becomes a ritual.
Each visit is a return: from motion to stillness, from noise to quiet, from the world’s demands to one’s own unguarded presence.
This is the true meaning of this practice — not a doctrine of worship, but a rhythm of renewal.
My weekdays are about what I do to live. My Sunday practice is about remembering who I am. Coming into the mountains on a Sunday resets my entire rhythm for the week ahead.
