All's Well That Pours Well

Gurdjieff group intensive work period in upstate NY. I joined the kitchen crew, preparing stir-fry for a gathering of 120.

I reconnected with three or four people not seen in 27 years. Warm encounters, sounds, breezes and smells opened my 'seven senses,' reminding of life's precious existence in the moment. I tried to stay grounded in physical work, moving two pianos, pulling nails out of old beams, and chopping sweet red peppers.

Before the meal was served, I was recruited to pour Armagnac into 120 thimble-sized ceramic cups and shotglasses. "Now be generous," said the work day manager. "Whoever poured the Armagnac yesterday gave us practically nothing. Today is Mr. Nyland's 32nd memorial; so make 'em doubles."

Using a little pitcher-spout, I poured and poured and poured. Simple repetitive motion, a tiny stray drop of sublime liquid falling once in a while on on the table cloth or even onto the wooden floor where we do the Movements. I started to sweat and get a little nervous when it seemed Armagnac would run out before reaching the end. But the last drops fell perfectly into the last shotglass, and thus was our Gurdjieff group stocked with more than the usual 'homeopathic dose' to make a proper toast after the meal.

This episode didn't sit well with a 'Senior Madam' of the group, who is beloved to me despite her occasional capacity to 'bend iron with a withering glance.' She accosted me after the meal and expressed displeasure. "We don't do SHOTS around here, you know!" I stood my ground, and she walked away with a shrug as if to say, "Ekh. . .it is what it is."

On break from the kitchen, I walked around the Barn and came upon a room full of sitting knitters knitting. What a nice atmosphere emanated from that room.

This is not a 'mum' group. There's breathing room for conversation in every corner. Talking with friends and colleagues provides an active setting for the work of observation and presence in the moment. Or failing that, you simply become identified and lose yourself in it. Quite like what happens out in the routine world.

But then, with reminders for Work pervading the atmosphere and pressing into your senses, there is a chance you can come back to yourself. . . right on the spot, or during a moment alone.

She flew 3,000 miles from Oregon for this.

I've met and heard the accounts of a few people who sat at Mr. Gurdjieff's table. Sometimes I wonder: how would it go if he would visit our Work days, and watch us shuffling about and talking and conducting business in his name.

No cause for reproach there. In the absence of avatars, you work sincerely with your mates, do the best you can, with an invisible angel on one shoulder and an invisible devil on the other, each whispering in your ear. Once in a while your attention shakes free, hearing echoes of a toast Mr. Nyland gave many years ago: "Drink to Gurdjieff. He helps us."