Gurdjieff International Review
The Old Man and the Children of the Age
by Pierre Schaeffer
I go on long journeys. I am away for months at a time. In Scandinavian hotels, and in Pacific towns, on floating airfields, in the middle of African market places or Aztec churches, I sit as I have been told to sit. I try to discover peace in myself, and, knowing only too well that it is useless to look for it in my head, I try humbly to find it in the tranquility of the body, through the relaxation of my muscles. I sometimes succeed, especially if I do the exercise daily.
But if I neglect it, even for a few days, on the grounds that my general condition doesnt require it, or that my journeys, professional duties, social responsibilities or legitimate pleasures excuse it, then I go adrift at once. Meanwhile, they continue their meetings in Paris, that distant metropolis. They go on obstinately with the same thing when you would think they would be far better employed in some proved branch of instruction, or in going to Church. They had made me promise to force myself to self-remember for a quarter of an hour every day. I dont often manage it.
[The complete text is available in the printed copy of this issue.]
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Featured: Fall 2000 Issue, Vol. IV (1)
Revision: October 1, 2000