For years, I thought I knew exactly what Threshold was.

Adamus has called it “the last thing any human does before Realization,” and in 2015, after more than a decade immersed in Crimson Circle materials, it seemed like the inevitable next step. I had listened to hundreds of channels, edited countless transcripts, and absorbed enough conversations that I was sure I knew what was waiting.

Then, at the Threshold workshop in Canada, Adamus called us up to the front one at a time and asked a simple question: “Why are you here?”

Without hesitation I answered, “I’m here to step over my threshold, whatever it takes.” 

He smiled. “Unfortunately, you’re not going to.” 

A few uneasy chuckles rippled through the room as my eyes filled with tears. In the space of about five seconds, it felt like reality collapsed. Everything I thought was true disappeared. Feeling embarrassed, disappointed, even angry, I almost walked out. Now I see that moment was a turning point.

Now Threshold is offered online, and one of the first things Adamus says is that this isn’t another spiritual method. It’s not a set of steps or techniques that finally helps you gain enlightenment. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Threshold isn’t something you accomplish. It’s something you can only allow – which isn’t so easy after the tremendous determination it took to get to this point. 

That’s the paradox of Threshold: after lifetimes of searching, learning, healing, and trying to become worthy of realization, the final step is discovering there is no step left to take. All that passion and persistence brought you here. But it can’t take you where you’re going.

Intellectually, it makes perfect sense. But what I didn’t yet understand was that my certainty about Threshold had become one of the biggest things I had to release. 

Like many of us, I imagined it as a finish line, or at least as a goal completed. Work hard enough, heal enough, meditate enough, learn enough – and eventually you arrive at enlightenment. I wasn’t chasing success in the ordinary sense; I was chasing a spiritual milestone. I mean, despite Adamus’ constant reminders to get out of our heads, I still have a good mind – and it loves milestones! Give it maps, definitions, instructions, and targets, and it’ll cheerfully say, “I’ve got this!” Threshold helpfully demolishes every one of those comforts.

Eventually I began to understand Adamus’ metaphor of the dragon. Even though he speaks of its ferocity, the dragon isn’t there to punish us. Its original meaning is simply clarity. It never attacks who we truly are; it exposes everything we’ve mistaken ourselves to be. 

The dragon isn’t interested in your accomplishments or your failures. It has no opinion about whether you feel good enough, spiritual enough, disciplined enough, or worthy enough. It simply illuminates everything that isn’t you – especially the layers of guilt, shame, and identity that the human can never release through effort alone. 

Perhaps that’s what makes Threshold unlike other workshops. You don’t attend to acquire another insight, heal another wound, or become a better version of yourself. You invite a clarity so uncompromising that everything you’ve identified with can finally be seen for what it is. And in this, what feels like being stripped bare turns out to be an extraordinary act of compassion.

Looking back, my biggest obstacle wasn’t fear. It was certainty. I was certain that I knew what Threshold was, what crossing it would look like, and what Adamus meant when he talked about realization. Ironically, all that certainty would have prevented me from receiving the gift that was being offered. So, despite the anguish, Threshold had already begun, and the dragon was already doing its work. 

During the class, Adamus tells the story of Margo, whose long spiritual journey mirrors so many of our own. She does everything right, learns every lesson, and still finds herself stuck. Only when forgiveness is finally accepted does everything change. Not because she achieves something new, but because she stops trying to earn what was always there.

Since that Threshold moment years ago, it’s been quite a journey. I haven’t crossed some invisible finish line, my mind still insists on trying to understand everything, and my human still finds comfort in knowing what to expect. But I’ve relaxed a lot, and in those inevitable human moments when everything crumbles around me, I’ve learned to receive the forgiveness that completely changes everything. 

Like workshops that bring the deepest transformations, Threshold is difficult to describe. Not because it’s secret, but because the mind tries to turn it into another goal, another achievement, another finish line to chase. And that’s the one thing it will never be.

Looking back, I smile at the woman who was absolutely determined to step over her threshold, come hell or high water. She arrived sincere, committed, absolutely certain she knew what Threshold was – and experienced something else entirely.

I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.