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…
Breaking through vines,
running from suffering,
I followed you.
You showed me
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,
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
through blue depths;
cut by coral reef
to your clear
current of joy.
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
why you have lead me,
why I follow you,
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.