We often assume it’s the topic, the personalities involved, or the context. But beneath all of that lies something more subtle: culture — the invisible code we bring into every exchange.

At the heart of every human gathering — professional or personal, strategic or spiritual — lies one shared act: conversation. This piece explores how we might cultivate a culture of dialogue that honors presence, inquiry, and mutual understanding across all contexts and personal backgrounds.

This article explores how we can move beyond transactional talk into meaningful dialogue — especially in group settings.

Drawing from personal experience and years of hosting deep, inquiry-based conversations, I share five key themes for cultivating richer, more connected communication:

• Diversity & Inclusion — beyond identity, toward true presence
• Listening — as an embodied, spiritual act
• Pacing — learning to trust uncertainty and slow down
• Inner Dynamics — belonging, power, and the hidden forces in group spaces
• Silence — not as absence, but as a co-participant in dialogue

Whether you’re a facilitator, team lead, or simply someone who values honest conversation, this is an invitation to rethink how we gather, speak, and listen — together.

Introduction

One of my greatest joys in life is hanging out with other people to explore, inquire and investigate. It also happens to be one of the things I try my best to avoid. How can the same thing be a gateway to both hell and heaven? Is it the lack of adequate structure? The momentary condition of the people involved? The context in which the gathering occurs? Or perhaps it’s that we — individually and collectively — do not actually know what we want, even though we seem convinced, or try to convince ourselves and others, of a certain narrative.

These questions, and others of a similar nature, are valid and deserve attention. The challenge, however, is that if we inquire into these meta-questions during a gathering, we often risk not giving the intended topic the focus it deserves. Many believe it’s a waste of time to explore such reflections when the group is meant to discuss a specific theme.

And while it may sometimes be appropriate to move on or even exit the group, I believe that doing so too quickly can mean missing a golden opportunity: the chance to build stronger relationships, form new dynamics — potentially even universal ones — and gain insight into human nature and ourselves on a deeper level. What initially appears to be a failure may, in fact, be a moment of transformation, simply because things didn’t follow the pre-set goal I had in mind. And let’s be honest, that’s an individual issue long before it ever becomes a collective one.

To ground ourselves — myself before anyone else — we need to acknowledge a few realities:

• We have limited resources: time, money, and communication capacity.
• Some contexts don’t allow space for wandering. Certain decisions need to be made swiftly, or else suffering and loss may follow — think deadlines, crises, health emergencies, and mortality.
• We often carry ulterior or hidden commitments, both individually and collectively — consciously or unconsciously — that limit what can emerge in the moment.

Given these constraints, I understand — and sometimes comply — when people choose to move forward without addressing deeper, nuanced difficulties. However, I believe these difficulties exist precisely because such considerations are not part of our mental radar. We don’t systematically account for them. We treat them as separate from the task at hand, rather than part of it.

Is it possible to dive into technical content while also tending to the nuanced aspects of our relationships and communication? I believe it is. This is why I’m such a fan of dialogue. That doesn’t mean I’m against discussions, debates, brainstorming, or therapeutic circles. These formats all have their place. But dialogue — true dialogue — offers something distinct, while it has room for these formats to manifest, it is not defined by them. It creates space for what’s happening, not what should be happening. It invites wonder and wandering. It allows for what is alive in the moment to lead.

Of course, this formlessness has its drawbacks. It can become cluttered or feel directionless. Participants may feel stuck or lose faith in the process — and in each other.

So here, I aim to present five key angles or themes that could help us have more successful dialogues — and meetings in general — whatever that means. With that in mind, what follows are not more than general, insightful suggestions. As with the nature of dialogue itself, each one is its own thing.

If you’re familiar with my approach — what I call Holistic Dialogue — you’ll know I resist rigid structures or pre-conceived ideas that control interaction. I believe such frameworks often lead to compliance rather than inquiry. Holistic Dialogue, as I define it, is not for everyone. It can be intense — more than some are ready or willing to handle. But that doesn’t mean we can’t learn from it and integrate its essence into everyday life and practice.

Diversity & Inclusion: Beyond Representation

When one thinks of diversity, gender or ethnicity often come to mind. Yes — but they are far from the only dimensions to consider when engaging in group dialogue:

• Gender
• Age
• Economic background and status
• Ethnic background
• Emotional state (not critical, but relevant)
• Expertise (field and depth)

This isn’t just about representation — which is limited anyway. One cannot possibly represent everyone or every facet of life, no matter how many people are included. But we can remain aware of those limitations and strive to compose groups with grounded variety, welcoming as many unique perspectives as possible into any given theme.

Representation alone can feel shallow, as it tends to rely on fixed identity markers — race, class, background. However, the presence of individuals whose access to life and society differs from our own often shifts the way we see things. Their presence — when truly received — has the potential to reshape the space entirely. Not because of what they say, or what they know, but simply through the quality of attention given to and from them. That mutual attentiveness cultivates a fresh awareness that can’t be accessed through intellectual understanding alone.

In that sense, a diverse composition of people — truly engaged and present — offers us a clearer, less imagined, view of reality.

As the group matures and relationships deepen, smaller and more focused dialogue circles can form to go into niche topics. This doesn’t mean becoming less diverse, but rather approaching each context case-by-case, ideally with openness and without resentment from those not included in every subset.

Now, I’d like to highlight a particular axis from the list above: expertise — in both field and depth. I rarely see this addressed in social or professional spaces. While we often benefit from the input of experts, in dialogue it tends to do more harm than good.

It disrupts the process. The space shifts from open inquiry to something more like a classroom — led by a solo teacher, or worse, a clique of “experts.” These individuals are often so identified with their field or framework that little room is left for anything new — or anyone else. This kills the openness that dialogue requires.

There is, of course, space for sharing expertise, but it must be held lightly. Dialogue is alive. Its shape is continually emerging. When we speak from knowledge alone, we lock the process into a fixed direction. It becomes a lecture. Or a debate. Or a negotiation. Dialogue disappears.

Instead of emergence, we get repetition. Instead of newness, reinforcement. The space becomes centered around those with the most confident voice, not necessarily the most attuned perception.

People may argue about what dialogue is, but it is certainly not about transmitting knowledge. It’s about discovery, wander, inquiry. Knowledge and experience support this — but when they dominate, the process loses depth and possibility.

Ask yourself:

• Am I being inclusive, or am I subtly centering the space around my views?
• Am I responding to what’s alive now, or projecting what I already know?
• Am I open to seeing differently — or am I protecting an identity?

Listening: If You Know What to Say, You’re Probably Not Listening

I have gone through a great deal of suffering due to the lack of proper listening — whatever that truly means. Whether I was the one listening or the one being listened to, I learned the hard way — and still do — the significance of this primal capacity that most of us take for granted.

I do not believe that techniques or methods improve listening. In fact, I suspect they often make it worse. Just like an audio signal being over-processed: it might sound cleaner, but so much nuance gets lost in the process. What remains is less alive. So here, I prefer the word tuning in rather than listening — because the act goes far beyond the ears.

Many confuse hearing with listening. One is the function of the ears, the other is the processing of the received and generated information. A music teacher of mine once said, “One does not listen with their ears alone, but with their whole body.” It may sound like a cliché, but it rings true. Hearing something often invokes sensations — aren’t those part of what happened? And if I respond, wouldn’t those sensations shape my response, whether I acknowledge them or not?

In discussions or debates, those other happenings are usually ignored. Worse, they may be seen as a weakness — something that weakens your position. But in a dialogue, like in life, they are part of the whole. Perhaps not to dominate the space, but definitely not to be dismissed.

So what is being asked here is to include the non-verbal, aka spiritual, experiences, not just the verbal ones. What kind of effect would that have? A therapeutic one? Possibly — but not only.

The issue of meaning, purpose, and inclusion isn’t solely an intellectual concern. It’s also emotional, even spiritual. In fact, the intellect — especially as overdeveloped as it is in the Western world — can overshadow and block deeper realization. So yes, mind the intellectual — but do not forget the emotional and spiritual.

Wouldn’t it make sense, then, to engage with meaning and purpose from the very beginning of an interaction, not only as an afterthought? For all this, and more, we need a deeper kind of listening.

I’ve also observed that genuine listening is almost always impaired when someone is taken over by their agitation. Being aware of one’s emotional and physical state during a dialogue is essential. Especially when things get tense or complex. Awareness brings space. And that space makes a different kind of listening possible.

Here are two nuggets I’ve found helpful:

1. Give fewer examples and metaphors:
   I’ve learned that storytelling and metaphor — though powerful — can sometimes slow the conversation, consume too much energy, and leave people depleted. Having their dominance out of the way allows more room for uncertainty — mostly intellectual uncertainty — and that’s where deeper listening can emerge. The unexpected enters when the habitual gets out of the way.
2. Not everyone needs to speak, but everyone must listen:
   Often, group settings pressure everyone to share something out loud. While the intention is inclusion, it can miss the essence of what participation really is. Clarifying from the start that listening is enough can relieve pressure and prevent misunderstandings.

Space must exist for everyone to speak — but not everyone must use it. It’s not offensive if someone doesn’t share verbally — having verbal exchanges as a measure of success, whatever that means, breaks the integrity of the dialogue — Sometimes it’s more appropriate for one person to speak more, or for someone not to speak at all. Occasionally, a group may even go silent. And that’s natural. Compassion is vital here. And real compassion begins with listening — to oneself, and to others.

Pacing: How to Know When to Slow Down

Are we done with this nugget? Shall we include more people in this exchange? Did we skip an area where we should have dwelled more? The question of pacing — whether it is appropriate or not — remains a mystery to most of us. In dialogue, I would say it’s a mystery to all of us. Some individuals are more comfortable in uncertainty, and to them, this mystery might reveal itself sooner. But even then, what should one do with a truth that isn’t clear to others? Share it? Act on it? Lead others toward it? Or will that simply add confusion and disturb the group’s rhythm without real benefit?

These are open questions. Dialogue, ideally with the presence of a facilitator, must hold space for these uncertainties. If the spirit of dialogue — as described in this piece — is alive in the room, even if not in every participant, pacing often regulates itself. It might not even need to be voiced aloud but sensed within — by the individual and the group.

So what does the spirit of dialogue mean when it comes to pacing?

Dialogue is a space of wander and wonder driven by what is happening — not what should be happening.

Our lives and conversations are full of “shoulds” and “should-nots,” often imposed by our judgments and conditioned expectations. This leaves little room for presence. If we’re constantly interpreting things based on our past — on how they should go — we lose the ability to be with what is.

But isn’t the past also what’s happening now, one might ask? Possibly. But how much of that is a distraction from what is truly unfolding? This is not a question with a clear yes or no answer. What arises here is a quality of “reporting” rather than “intervening.”

We are not here to prove, fix, or seek anything in particular, beyond the shared intent to explore together. So any issue with pacing is likely first a personal matter before it becomes a collective one.

Here are two suggestions that might help:

1. Slow down when complexity arises:
   Whether the topic turns complex, or interpersonal tensions surface, slowing down becomes crucial. It creates space for reflection and deeper observation — not just of verbal expression, but of the non-verbal nuances that accompany it. Slowing down also increases the chance that the actual bigger picture and original thought — not just reactive opinion — can emerge.
2. Double-check that all are on board:
   Especially in larger groups, or during intense exchanges, it’s important to confirm whether the current phase of conversation has landed. Are we all still here? Did we leave someone behind? Are we about to leap too quickly into what follows? Checking in like this — whether internally or outerwardly — helps sober the group’s momentum and avoid collective intoxication by excitement, agreement, or even flow.
   Momentum is beautiful, but it can be blinding. The thrill of connection and shared insight can obscure what’s real and what’s being imagined. Sometimes, we might internally say, “Let nothing disturb this feeling,” and that very urge prevents us from truthfully seeing or saying what’s needed.
   These check-ins aren’t just the facilitator’s job. Anyone sensing the need can voice them. Neglecting this can lead to confusion, groupthink, or disconnection — not out of malice, though it might be, but from unchecked emotional momentum.

Inner Dynamics: Belonging & Unspoken Expectations

When entering a new space — let alone one like dialogue, which is meant to be always fresh — we often bring unconscious projections with us. We arrive not just with curiosity but with our own interpretations of what the space is, or should be. And no matter how inclusive that internal image might seem, it still carries a degree of exclusivity. These assumptions quietly shape the atmosphere.

Unspoken expectations can:

• Keep individuals silent, yet internally in judgment
• Create stagnation due to withheld participation
• Fragment the group into sub-groups with similar interpretations
• Create confusion when the group’s energy doesn’t align with an individual’s inner state
• Form unearned authority or power dynamics — not based on flow, but resonance or familiarity
• Lead to imagined truths about the group or dialogue, mistaken as factual

Total awareness of these dynamics isn’t realistic — but this writing isn’t about rules. It’s about perspectives and signals that can support greater resilience and presence.

Here are three key treatments:

1. Clarify intentions early — and as needed:
   This is often the role of the host or facilitator — the opening of the space — but anyone can support it. Early on, it’s helpful to speak honestly about the purpose of the gathering, what the dialogue space is intended to hold, and what it’s not. If conflicting interpretations arise, they can be aired before the dialogue begins. Sometimes, the dialogue is this very clarification — and that’s okay too.
2. Ask yourself: Why am I really here?
   This requires a level of honesty that can be uncomfortable. What do I want out of this space? Am I trying to control or avoid something? Even if my intention is to be open, am I clinging to that ideal in a way that makes the space rigid? Even open spaces can stagnate if we demand that they serve us a certain way.
3. Let patience be a response, not a virtue:
   True patience arises not from trying to be good, but from seeing complexity clearly. Dialogue requires this. Not because one person is right and another wrong, but because the depth of what connects us is often ambiguous, fragile, and hard to name. When we engage from that understanding, patience becomes not a tool — but a natural companion.

If patience and presence are cultivated, dialogue stops being a special, separate event. It becomes a way of being in shared space — integration would take place, where spiritual connection is no longer mystical or abstract but embodied and alive.

Silence: The Hidden Partner in Every Conversation

And finally, one of my favorite themes — or cornerstones — of being and gathering: silence. Much has been said about its value and its challenges, depending on context. And while there may be little new to say, silence is one of those spaces where fresh insight often emerges if we give it our full attention.

If asked, what is silence?, the typical mindset would reflect, analyze, try to formulate a response. Answers like the absence of sound or the space between musical notes capture aspects, but not the fullness, of what silence is. Even deeper responses — like inner stillness or John Cage’s resonant quote, “silence is non-intention” — while meaningful to me, remain just words. They may be embodied, but more often stay lodged in the banks of intellectual or spiritual knowledge.

To me, silence is not just an absence of sound or speech. It’s a space, an atmosphere, and at times, a kind of participant in the dialogue. It can be a decision, an action, or something more spontaneous and alive. But deep silence — the kind that transforms — is not something we can manufacture intentionally. Let me demonstrate:

Once, someone in the streets of Berlin was asked, “What is silence?” Rather than answering immediately, they paused. It felt as if they merged with the question itself. A minute or two passed before they finally said, “This.” They then gestured toward the dog barking in the alley, the tram passing in the distance, the birds above. In that moment, they lived the answer, and their presence was clear, calm, and fully attuned. That is the kind of silence I’m pointing to, or at least try to.

Silence is often culturally treated as a concept we try to define and enforce through minimal or focused observation. But what it actually is — and the potential it holds — is immeasurable. Anything can happen in it and from it. Yes, it can be a tool to calm the nerves, to allow others to speak, to give space for feelings to arise, to foster empathy and compassion. All of these are vital to the health of a meeting, especially a dialogue. Yet we are only starting here.

When does silence begin or end? Does it end with verbal expression or movement? Or can it continue even in animation? These questions — and many more — are open for contemplation, and I hope you’re curious enough to explore them.

To make a very long story short, here are a few angles to consider:

1. Imagine silence as a co-participant in the space:
   Think of silence not as the absence of speech, but as a subtle presence that joins the dialogue. It listens, absorbs, invites. It helps regulate the group’s energy and signals when something needs time to settle.
2. Allow silence between verbal exchanges:
   As noted earlier, we are not here merely to exchange information or ideas. Much of what we communicate is non-verbal — what some may call spiritual. This requires attention, presence, and subtle observation. I prefer the word silence over pause, because we are not merely pausing speech — we are processing, experiencing, sensing. Without space for silence between exchanges, we could remain in a mode of catching up, staying in the conversation intellectually, but not with our full bodies or with each other. We are not machines. We must remember that. We rarely know the best moment to speak, or whose voice is needed most for the group as a whole. We don’t always know how much room to give to the unknown — especially when what we intend to share is already familiar to us and not burning within. For these reasons and more, making room for silence after each expression can go a long way.
3. Allow for silence in your inner dialogue:
   The same applies inwardly. Creating space between thoughts — not as a technique, but simply to observe what they’re doing to us — helps us check their validity, feel their emotional weight, and process them physically. Without this, we remain in a loop of thought feeding thought, where meaning is eventually lost. This simple spaciousness can deepen our self-listening, making it more holistic — more inclusive of ourselves and others.
4. Value silent engagement:
   Just because someone isn’t speaking — or even moving — doesn’t mean they’re not deeply engaged. We should normalize awkward silences until they are no longer awkward. Presence doesn’t always need to be voiced.
5. Listen to your triggers and let silence hold them:
   In an open space, things will be said that trigger us. Silence offers the room to sense what’s moving within without immediately reacting. In this way, silence becomes not just a pause, but a practice of accountability. It teaches us to stay present with discomfort until it reveals something deeper.

In the end, silence isn’t just the backdrop to dialogue. It is dialogue — at its most refined, most potent, and most honest.