"Rather at the beginning of my work with him, while I was still amazed that Gurdjieff did not look for anything which constitutes the pleasures and strivings of all other men, he placed himself one day (when he was obviously tired) next to me after he returned from the café. We were on the terrace with the beautiful view of the garden at the Prieuré, where I was working on the translation of the first series of his writings. I asked him, ‘Why don’t you also work here with the view of the roses, the goldfish pond, and the trimmed rows of Sycamores, in such good air?’"He replied, ‘I always work in cafés, dance halls, and similar places where I see people, how they are; where I see those most drunk, most abnormal. Seeing them I can produce the impulse of love in me, and from that I write my books….’ "*
This aspect has always fascinated me. When I worked with Mrs. March during the 1980s, she taught us much about learning to be quiet, to make space for something higher to come into our experience. We often ate in silence, and worked at crafts in workshops where a quiet atmosphere of concentration was encouraged.
In years since then there has been much to explore about residing deep within oneself while at the same time being immersed in the noise of people, media, commerce, and the busy world.If I am close to myself and innerly working at times, externals sometimes shift from being distractions to reminders. It is a delicate process. For instance, once in a while, standing in a crowd, hearing the radio or even sitting in front of the TV serves up a tiny-pure stimulus to work on myself. It is the rare exception rather than the rule, but it happens...
If others in the Work or other traditions have explored along these lines, perhaps you can make a little noise about it here. ;-)
* The passage is quoted from an out of print book by Beth McCorkle titled "The Gurdjieff Years 1929 - 1949: Recollections by Louise March."
