Some people think
that the relevance of Gurdjieff’s work is limited to his
era. This may be true when the method is interpreted
specifically and over-faithfully (because the method is
functional to the person who uses it), but it is not true
in terms of its aims.
Still today, in
the Third Millennium, and until the end of this age, there
will be men and women who will fight against the cage of
illusion, and spring out, like Lions. To all of you, their
poetry.
He who tries,
knows.
You’ll be present…..
You’ll be always present in your mind.
You’ll live this day’s timeless moment,
a day full of salt and sun.
Jump, agile, onto the carriage
without luggage, with empty hands,
visit your garden’s rooms
like the prince of a royal palace.
No longer sleeping and hungry for
mechanical movements,
you’ll feed on yourself.
As fruit is given.
Your carriage will have wings of light,
and you’ll be small and bare
like a child of this world…
Carla O.
Feeling
Breaking through vines,
running from suffering,
I followed you.
You showed me
Reason.
You are my compass -
guide me to a truer wish.
You are my remembering -
tame my wayward impulse.
You are an artist -
help me to work
with your likeness.
Show me your face,
give me your voice,
spirit
lost in childhood
often I looked for you
when you sat aloof and still.
I want to waken
in your embrace.
The sun moves
across the sky
and I am lost at sea
swimming
through blue depths;
cut by coral reef
to your clear
current of joy.
Frances Briggs
VIRTUE
To escape
the slavery,
I try to make my body follow my mind,
I try to let my mind follow my body,
I see the tension.
I look for an opening,
Reflections of stars on the surface of the waves,
Release me from this longing.
Release me from my predator.
How can I stay here,
halfway between staying and flying?
Virtue mine –
wayward and wild,
I do not know
the others’ way
or book of commandments.
I try to stay
to see
why you have lead me,
why I follow you,
Here… free.
Frances Briggs
IF YOU AR SEEKING
ME
If you are seeking
me, my home is no longer here.
It’s on the
fields and sands,
at the
starting-point, where those who make mistakes
have the courage
to pay,
and those who
have nothing to give are at least honest.
You must know, my
home is no longer here
Now I live where
those who are true are not called madmen,
where you don’t
drink to forget, where you stop and start right up again.
If you seek me in
my old home,
where I was
slowly dying, paying for mistakes that were not mine,
between walls
painted with falsehood
asking eyes that
never looking inside me
for fear of
saying I was right or wrong;
If you seek me in
the house of my old affections and values
where I was
blackmailed with apologies
and nothing more;
where guilt and
disgust ate into my heart and mind…
You must know
that you will not find me
for now I belong
to wind and summer
to a place where
what has been has been,
where there’s
nothing to sell or buy or steal.
If you seek me,
my home is no longer here.
I’m travelling
toward the mistral.
By a Friend on the Way
Read the poems from our Master’s diary
from
1989 to the present day.
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