Concentric Circles

Concentric Circles As I write this page, I've been in a school for exactly thirty years. I am sixty, so I've spent half my life outside a school, and half within one. I'm not talking about my interest in the Fourth Way, about following the teachings of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky and trying to remember myself, trying to divide my attention through exercises, and so on: that started long before, when I began greedily reading all the books I could find on the subject and putting those ideas into practice as I understood them. I'm talking about the moment when I accepted a truth—that I couldn't do it alone—and began to receive external help, which allowed me to “jump over my own knees,” to use Gurdjieff's expression. I can't imagine a different fate for myself, nor wish a better one. The perception I have of my life, as far as I can remember, is of a continuous search. Although I don't recall it, my mother tells me that when I was two years old a distinguished stranger gave me a compass, “because you will always be a sailor.” It felt like that. My magnetic center directed me. I was looking for something in the dark; something I had on the tip of my tongue but couldn't name, describe, define, or even conceive of. Yet many of my choices depended on the discrimination of the magnetic center: would this decision bring me closer to “that thing” that I couldn't even clarify in my own mind, or further away from it? I was circling around an unknown center, trying to move closer to it. Those early years were characterized by the widest and most confused circles: forgetting, becoming lost in labyrinths, getting back on track. Later, the navigation became increasingly focused. There would be months of relative success in my homemade self remembering exercises, and then each time I gained energy, I would lose it immediately, like a sieve. I felt psychologically on my knees and at last pulled out a phone number that I had kept in my wallet for years, thinking, “I don't know if I can trust these people, but I certainly can't walk the road alone.” Even after I joined the school, I remained wary; I just dipped one foot in. One 'I' had entered; thousands of others kept thinking the old way, acting the old way. But that gradually changed, because now I had outside help, something that would assist me in reaching my goal, despite my protesting and objecting and kicking and making ridiculous excuses. I have no words to express my gratitude.

Sergio Antonio, "A Question of Presence"