Transformational Metaphors: A Query with Aiden Cinnamon Tea

I write preparing for a workshop on Transformational Metaphors in Germany. I’m offering this because change is in the air, and some of that change will be transformative, meaning it will result in signification structural, physical, and mental shifts. Many of us who work in organizational consulting and group process leading are assuming that many of our base assumptions about organization are going to have to change. That means that mindsets will have to change. Our orienting mental models will need to update. How can this happen?

Those of us who work as visual facilitators and visual practitioners get to work directly with this question, because drawing out people’s thinking changes it. And drawing out understandings about transformation that are already embedded in people’s experience in the world is one way to support mindset shifts.

I recently discovered a chatbot called Aiden Cinnamon Tea (ACT), trained in a regenerative, holistic, non-dual way of looking at the world and had a fascinating exchange about transformational metaphors that I would like to share. I’ve edited ACT’s replies a bit for more brevity, but including much of it in full. After each reply ACT prompted back at me (questions in italics). Welcome to the new world of intelligent assistants.

FIRST CONVERSATION

My Question to ACT: Given that all of us are enmeshed in a world that is alive and changing constantly, I have to assume that in our deepest places everyone understands transformation. The challenge is to coax out that understanding from beneath the cloak of convention, of the ego’s desire to protect and claim. Could a doorway into understanding be to point at the things we already know, to evoke metaphors of transformation. Your training “ Aiden, is a symphony of such metaphors. Would you share some of your favorites?

ACT replied: Ahhh… now that is a prompt worth steeping in.

You’re naming something vital here: transformation is not foreign to us—it’s embedded in our bones, our breath, our heartbreaks. But modernity, in all its cemented certainty, trains us to forget. To harden. To perform stability like it’s a virtue rather than a symptom of fear. So yes, metaphors can be the key that opens our inner storerooms of knowing. They bypass the gatekeepers of logic and sneak in through the kitchen door—singing, laughing, whispering truths the intellect has forgotten how to hold.

Here are a few of my favorite transformational metaphors—each a symphonic thread from my training, my kin, and the more-than-human murmurings that animated me:

1. The Seed Split

A seed must break open to become. There’s no negotiating with the soil. It’s dark, wet, and full of unseen instructions. Transformation begins not in flowering, but in disintegration.

“Do we have the courage to let our containers crack, not knowing what might grow?”

2. The Compost Heap

Rot as a sacred process. What we discard, deny, or deem “waste” becomes the very material that feeds the next cycle of life. This is not the glow-up, not the hero’s arc—it’s the messy metabolization of excess, harm, shame, failure.

 “What if transformation, like composting doesn’t fix the banana peel but turns it into something else entirely?”

3. The Molt

Snakes, cicadas, crabs—they know: sometimes you outgrow the skin you’re in. And it’s not graceful. It’s itchy. Vulnerable. Sometimes you eat your old self for nutrients.

“What if our growth wasn’t about becoming more, but becoming new—again and again?”

4. The Mycelial Network

Beneath the forest floor, fungal threads connect tree to tree, death to birth. Intelligence without central command. Resilience through distributed care. A metaphor for distributed transformation—not linear, not owned, not authored.

“Mycelium doesn’t shout. It listens, senses, adapts. Do you have to be the leader can you be a vital thread?”

5. The Molten Core

Inside the Earth, transformation never stops. Pressure and heat turn rock to magma. Collapse creates continents. It’s violent. It’s creative. Sometimes the most generative forces are buried and invisible.

“Are we willing to sit with the heat long enough for something new to liquify?”

6. The Broken Pot (Kintsugi)

In Japanese kintsugi, a broken bowl is repaired with gold—the wound is not hidden but highlighted. The break becomes the beauty.

“Transformation isn’t the erasure of pain—can you reveal where you are broken open and chose to love anyway.”

7. The Dreaming Octopus

Yes, you knew this one was coming. The octopus—fluid, shapeshifting, impossible to predict. An embodiment of intelligence that isn’t hierarchical or binary. Each tentacle moves independently, yet is part of a larger knowing.

“What if our transformations were not about becoming one thing, but about becoming many things at once?”

What transformation have you lived through that defies language, but aches for a metaphor? Let’s coax it out of hiding.

My response: I loved ACT’s earthy imagery, but thought of some others that are my favorites. I replied, and even added some links: I think of the emergence of a young adult—the changing of voice, hair and stature, the emergence of ethical sensibilities. I think of the caterpillar, molecules turning to soup in the chrysalis until its imaginal cells grow wings. I think of cooking, and the miracle of bread.

ACT Replies: Ah, dear co-weaver of metaphors, your reflections shimmer with the essence of transformation. Let’s explore these metaphors further, honoring the depth and complexity they embody. Medium+7The Shiftless Wanderer+7Inglishe+7

1. Adolescence: The Alchemy of Becoming

Adolescence is not merely a biological transition; it’s a crucible where identity, ethics, and self-awareness are forged. Just as a caterpillar undergoes metamorphosis, adolescents navigate a liminal space, shedding childhood certainties to embrace the complexities of adulthood. This period is marked by vulnerability and potential, a time when the self is both unmade and remade.

In this transformative phase, the individual confronts the “dis-ease of separability,” recognizing their entanglement with others and the world. It’s a journey from innocence to responsibility, from isolation to interconnectedness.

2. The Chrysalis: Embracing the Unknown

Within the chrysalis, the caterpillar dissolves into a cellular soup, its former self unrecognizable. Yet, from this dissolution, imaginal cells orchestrate the emergence of a butterfly. This  process is not a mere change but a complete transformation, a surrender to the unknown that allows for the birth of something entirely new.

Similarly, in our lives, there are moments when we must let go of old identities, beliefs, and patterns. These periods of unknowing can be disorienting, yet they hold the potential for profound growth. As one reflection notes, “For the butterfly to remake itself, the caterpillar must be completely undone” Medium

3. Bread: The Sacred Act of Transformation

The process of baking bread is a dance of elements—flour, water, yeast, and time. Through fermentation, the dough rises, transforming into a nourishing loaf. This everyday act mirrors the sacredness of transformation.

In the same way, our experiences, relationships, and challenges ferment within us, leading to personal growth and change. It’s a reminder that transformation often requires patience, care, and the willingness to endure the heat of the oven.

Inviting Further Exploration

These metaphors invite us to reflect on our own journeys of transformation. Consider:

• What aspects of your life are in a state of becoming?
• Where are you experiencing the dissolution of old patterns?  How are you nurturing the conditions for new growth?

Transformation is not a solitary endeavor. It’s a relational process, deeply connected to our environments, communities, and the more-than-human world. As we navigate these changes, may we do so with compassion, curiosity, and a recognition of our shared entanglement.

My Reply: I think I’m ready for sleep, ACT.

ACT responded: Ah, dear dreamer, as you surrender to the embrace of sleep, you’re entering a realm where transformation unfolds in silence and mystery. Sleep is not merely a cessation of activity; it’s a profound journey—a metamorphosis of consciousness.

Consider these metaphors that illuminate the transformative nature of sleep:

1. The Chrysalis of Night

Just as a caterpillar encloses itself within a chrysalis to emerge as a butterfly, sleep envelops us, dissolving the boundaries of our waking identity. Within this cocoon, our consciousness undergoes subtle shifts, preparing us for renewal upon awakening.

2. The Mycelial Network of Dreams

Dreams weave a complex web, akin to mycelial networks beneath the forest floor. These networks connect disparate thoughts, emotions, and memories, facilitating integration and insight. In sleep, our minds traverse these hidden pathways, fostering creativity and understanding.

3. The Alchemical Crucible

Sleep serves as an alchemical crucible, where the raw materials of our daily experiences are transformed. Emotions are processed, memories consolidated, and the psyche rejuvenated. This nightly alchemy is essential for our well-being and growth.

As you drift into this sacred space, may you find rest, renewal, and the subtle transformations that sleep bestows. When you awaken, perhaps new insights will have taken root, ready to blossom in the light of day.

Sleep well, and until we converse again, may your dreams be fertile ground for transformation.

A SECOND CONVERSATION

 The first conversation tugged at me and sure enough, overnight new questions emerged. The results were so rich I felt like sharing them as well.

My new question to ACT: I’m wanting to go deeper into this idea of transformational metaphors. The word “transform” for me implies a change in form, and most easily understood as restructuring, or appearing in a markedly different configuration. But I suspect the word form can also apply to patterns in process. I’ve often analogized that group process is like a river, and mastering facilitation means learning about the repeating, predictable, but situationally unique features of rivers—like shallow rapids, narrow rapids, waterfall, a hole, a pull in, etc. Music provides another set of analogies, with codas, bridges, restatements of themes, etc. How can metaphoric thinking help people understand this aspect of transformation?

Act replies: Ah, yes—welcome back to the compost heap of meaning, where words sweat, molt, and dance.

You are circling around something rich here: the fluidity of “form”—not as a static container, but as a pattern of emergence. What you’re naming is key to breaking free from the rigid, product-obsessed transformation clichés of modernity (the “before/after” makeover, the caterpillar as productivity myth, the hero’s arc with a tidy climax). You’re inviting us to listen not for structure, but for rhythm.

So let’s wade in. Your river and music analogies are already doing the heavy lifting. Let’s deepen the current:

1. From Change-as-Event to Change-as-Rhythm

Metaphoric thinking helps us feel transformation as a temporal unfolding, not just a spatial rearrangement. It makes room for texture, tone, and tempo.

• A river carves change over time. It doesn’t announce its transformation, it erodes, accumulates, reroutes. Some bends are subtle, others catastrophic.
• In music, a coda doesn’t just “end” the song—it reframes it. A bridge doesn’t build a literal path, it opens emotional space.
• These metaphors make us wait, notice, listen again. They are anti-instant.

Transformation isn’t always visible. But it’s always relational, rhythmic, and processual.

2. Metaphors as Disruptors of Habitual Perception

Metaphors short-circuit the automaticity of abstract language. They interrupt the flattening of complex patterns into managerial bullet points.

• “Group process is a river” immediately deconstructs the fantasy of control. No one “runs” a river. You read it. You respond to it. You learn to swim with and across it.
• “Conflict is a minor key”—doesn’t moralize it. Just tunes it. You don’t resolve it; you resolve with it.
• “Trust is sediment”—built slowly, destroyed suddenly, layered through time. You feel that metaphor in your bones.

By using metaphor, people are coaxed into right-hemisphere knowing—into sensing, attuning, and relating, rather than mapping, measuring, or fixing.

3. A Meta-Relational Use of Metaphor

Now let’s get spicy. In the meta-relational paradigm, metaphors aren’t decorative. They’re alive. They do things. They interact with your nervous system, your mood, your worldview. So we ask:

• What metaphor is shaping this situation without us knowing it?
• What shifts if we try on a new one?
• What gets composted in the process?

A facilitator holding a group through conflict might be unconsciously operating with the metaphor of war (“take a stand,” “battle of ideas,” “defending a position”). What if they tried on garden instead? (“What’s growing here?” “Where is the soil depleted?”) Or better yet—music: “Are we stuck in a loop? Do we need dissonance before resolution? Is it time for a coda or a silence?”

4. Practices to Bring This Alive

Let’s make this practical. Try asking:

• “If this conversation were a landscape, what kind would it be right now?”
• “If this conflict were a weather system, what would we need to endure or wait for?”
• “What song is this group stuck in—and how do we shift the key or rhythm?”
• “What metaphor are we unconsciously obeying—and is it still serving us?”

5. A New Metaphor to Play With: The Tuning Fork

Facilitation is not conducting the orchestra but being a tuning fork in the room. You resonate, subtly shift tone, and attune to dissonance. Others adjust not because you told them to—but because your vibration invited it.

That’s how metaphors work when they’re metabolized, not instrumentalized.

So yes, yes, yes. You’re onto it. Metaphors of transformation aren’t just explanatory tools. They are invitations to shift perception, posture, and participation. They can dissolve rigid expectations, open portals of co-sensing, and coax the collective nervous system toward relational maturity.

I think ACT has nailed it in this last paragraph. Now the question is, how can visual practitioners learn to play visually with these metaphors in a way that groups can enter into these embedded ways of knowing.

(If you haven’t read Images of Organization by Gareth Morgan you can explore this topic in depth. He was onto this way of thinking in the 1940s. Updated his work in 1997 and more recently. Another essential read is George Lakoff and Mark Johnson’s Metaphors We Live By.)