Change or transformation can happen only when a man or woman is in ritual space. Entering, one first needs to step over a threshold, by some sort of ceremony; and second, the space itself needs to be "heated." A man or woman remains inside this heated space (as in Sufi ritual dance) for a relatively brief time, and then returns to ordinary consciousness, to one's own sloppiness or dullness. The Catholic church remembered ritual space in the Latin mass, but for Protestants it fell into oblivion. With exceptions, Protestantism has spread its ignorance of ritual space everywhere in the world. Living in an age that has lost the concept, we can easily make two mistakes: we provide no ritual space at all in our lives, and so remain "cool"; or we stay in it too long. Some fundamentalists insist on remaining for forty years in ritual space without an exit-no sloppy humanness allowed. If a person enters no ritual space he or she remains soft clay; if one stays too long, the human being ends up as a cracked pot, overbaked and blackened.
— Robert Bly
Bly's ceramic image is precise in a way the pottery metaphor usually isn't allowed to be. Clay needs heat, but heat with an exit. The transformation is conditional on return — on the sloppiness, the dullness, the ordinary human texture that the ritual's intensity makes temporarily unbearable. That return is not failure. It is the completion of the circuit.
What the passage refuses to say gently is this: the person who never leaves ritual space has found a way to make spiritual intensification serve the same function as never entering it. Both maneuvers protect against the ordinary. The forty-year fundamentalist and the man who stays perpetually cool share the same allergic structure — both are managing an encounter that would otherwise destabilize them. The heated space, held indefinitely, becomes a permanent climate rather than a threshold event. It stops being a passage and becomes a residence, which is to say it stops being ritual at all.
This is why transformation requires re-entry into what Bly calls sloppiness. Not as a concession to human limitation, but as the condition under which what happened in the heat can settle into the body and become actual. Without the cooling, the clay never sets. The change remains potential — vivid, electric, and weightless, never quite real.
Robert Bly·Iron John: A Book About Men·1990