At last, the work commences. Hallelujah. Progress now seems assured. Until one day, after three years, five years, ten max, you hit a wall. The work takes you to that wall; that's what it's meant to do. The wall is your wound, your blind spot, your refusal to be whole because then life – your responsibility to spirit – to spiritual life – would be unbearable. It's then a matter of banging your head against that wall each day until one of you breaks. The worst thing you could do is give up because you feel you've reached a dead-end.