There Can Be Only One - The Way of Phi in Practice -

How many fit in the tower?

Dear friends,

“There can be only one.” 

Do you remember that line from the 80s film Highlander? Christopher Lambert and Sean Connery as immortal warriors, locked in epic duels where ultimately only one survives.

This week, I realised that this tagline—however cinematic—perfectly captures a certain relational pattern I know all too well. It’s a dynamic I’ve seen in myself and others, and perhaps you’ll recognise it too.

The Highlander Game

 

In this pattern, only one person is allowed to feel, to be seen, to exist fully. The other is there to support, manage, placate—or disappear.

Imagine this:

 One person gets angry. The other reacts—maybe by calming, absorbing, apologising, shrinking, or even retaliating. Either way, the emotional spotlight stays on one protagonist. Sometimes there’s a tug-of-war for that role, where both struggle to be the one. But the game remains the same: 

There can be only one.

It’s a trap. A narcissistic loop. A solipsistic frame. And no one truly wins. Why? Because it leaves no space for the we. The energy stagnates. The connection contracts. Both people suffer.

From what I’ve experienced, this pattern arises when emotional overwhelm gets too intense. In that moment, one person unconsciously reaches for support—hoping that, if the other joins them, the load can be shared. And on a physical level, that makes sense. Carrying a sofa is easier with two. But on the emotional level? No one can feel your feelings for you...

The Three Paths

 

When this game is initiated, the other person has a few choices:

1. Succumb: They collapse into the supporting role, disappearing in the process.

2. Resist: They fight back, escalating the power struggle.

3. Withdraw: They walk away, either in frustration or quiet clarity.

There’s also a fourth path—more subtle, more advanced: 

To stay, hold space, and remain sovereign.

This requires real emotional maturity. It means being with the other, without losing oneself. It means recognising the intensity, without needing to eclipse or solve it. It means saying, “I’m here—and I’m not disappearing. But I also won’t disappear into you.”

 

The Way of Phi

 

Phi is not about dominance—it’s about dynamic balance. It teaches us how to hold the tension of opposites without collapsing into one side.

So what can we do, practically?

We learn to name the game.We learn to stay with our own feelings, without outsourcing them.We cultivate the capacity to be with another person’s emotional field, without getting consumed by it.

This is the real work of maturity—and intimacy.It’s not about winning or losing.It’s about becoming whole—together.

If these ideas stir anything in you—anything at all—I'd love to know. Just reply to the message. Let's learn together!

For extra inspiration, click here to listen to the song It Is Time.

With gratitude from the edge of insight,

Christopher