The moving center plays a big role in the energy leaks discussed during the March labor. It eliminates energy through unnecessary haste, unnecessary talk, internal humming, and many other superfluous movements, physical or abstract. Through such unintentional movement, it also sustains a psychological momentum that inhibits consciousness, because it is impossible to Be while submerged in a current of unconscious action. Therefore, the labor of June invites us to observe unconscious actions, eliminate those that are unnecessary, and find creative ways to perform those that are necessary more consciously.
The instinctive center is responsible for preserving our physical body, both on a day-to-day basis and on the scale of our lifetime. On a day-to-day basis, it ensures we eat, drink, breathe, rest, and so forth, to maintain our body’s proper functioning. On this scale, its activity can be observed by photographing ‘I’s of hunger, thirst, fatigue, vigor, etc. However, if these ‘I’s are not promptly appeased, they soon affect the rest of our psychology by generating moodiness, frustration, impatience, etc. These indirect consequences of our instinctive center are more subtle and difficult to observe. Subtlest of all is our instinctive center’s broader sense of preservation by monitoring our energy expenditure, calculating with whom it might be beneficial to associate, and in general, determining how to go about our lives from a survival point of view. Here, it readily encroaches upon the jurisdiction of all the other centers, prompting Ouspensky to conclude that the instinctive center is the “mind behind all the work of the organism, a mind quite different from the intellectual mind.”
“Generally speaking, we miss the opportunity of making small efforts,” says Peter Ouspensky. “We disregard them, do not consider them important enough, Yet we can increase our capacity for making efforts only by making these small efforts which we disregard.” By this token, the April labor invites us to expand the discipline we established during March, into other patches of time that comprise our day. These will be patches of unassuming moments, moments of routine, of transitioning from one chapter of our day into another, moments we might normally discard as unimportant. But the farmer’s acreage is limited and so is our time. We must prudently cultivate each corner of our being in order to change our level of being. “Events of trifling appearance are often pregnant with high importance,” said Sophocles; “The prudent man neglects no circumstance.”
Viewing our habits as energy leaks places them in a more impersonal light. I become irritable, not because I’m a bad person, but because I have too much unused energy. I harbor concerns, not because I’m an anxious person, but because I have too much unused energy. I indulge in daydreaming, not because I’m an impractical person, but because I have too much unused energy. To remember myself more — more frequently, for longer, and more deeply — these leaks will have to be plugged. And because I begin my day with replenished accumulators, they must especially be observed and plugged at the beginning of my day. If I conquer my morning, I’ll make a strong start and set a better standard for the rest of my day.
Last month, we reexamined our desire to awaken and labored to extract from it a practical aim. Student’s responses naturally revolved around repetitive psychological patterns that inhibited their awakening. Some formulated aims around fear, others around inner considering, and others around judgment. Since we normally think of aims as destinations to be reached, we might expect that within a year of work, the fearful would become courageous, the inner considering self-assured, and the judgmental compassionate. When we actually dig down into the roots of our psychology, however, we discover that our deeper psychological habits don’t easily bend. They cannot be changed without unintended consequences. If by some extreme effort the fearful forced themselves to curb fear, they’d not only become courageous but also obstinate and disrespectful. Their conquest of fear will have brought to life a new and equally problematic manifestation. Replacing one form of sleep with another cannot count as awakening. Therefore, the step that follows setting aims invites us to change the way we think of aims. Rather than eliminating the habits that inhibit our awakening, can we transform them into something useful? Can we use our psychology as kindling for the fire of consciousness?
“What do you want?”
“I want to know myself.”
“How does your self-ignorance manifest?”
“In many ways.”
Then start with one of these ways. An aim that stays too large remains impractical. One that begins too small is unemotional. If I’d like to stop talking unnecessarily then I must avoid a specific topic. If I’d like to become more sensitive to others then I must focus on a specific person. If I’d like to stop judging everyone then I must detect a specific trigger. The war on habit is waged through moment-to-moment battles. Win a single battle and gain an edge on the entire war. We advance in the pursuit of self-knowledge by dissipating the fog of vagueness from around why we sought to know ourselves in the first place, so that our aim stands crystal-clear in our minds as an inspiration and guide.
On January 1st this year, our community set an aim to superimpose its teaching onto the labors of the month. Having now completed this cycle, we see how a work grows when we add to it a little each day. I’d like to thank all who put their trust in this experiment, who persisted in applying the inner meaning of each labor, and whose personal verifications contributed to making this a living school. It feels like we’ve made a worthy contribution to the fourth way, which in itself is a cause for celebration. Let us raise a glass, then — like our December farmer — to standing on the shoulders of our predecessors, using their legacy to pave the fourth way into the twenty-first century.
The effectiveness of a new command is not immediate. Just like learning any new word, patient repetition lends it gradual weight. “A man thinks of what ‘being’ means,” says George Gurdjieff. “It is possible ‘to be’ in different ways. He wants ‘to be’ not merely in the sense of existence but in the sense of greatness of power. The words ‘to be’ acquire weight, a new meaning for him.” In this spirit, the third and last step of the November labor is to lend weight to our chosen commands, which can only be achieved by repeatedly and patiently applying them in the moment of trial. Repetition will gradually assign them their designated meaning.
It felt like this gathering made something possible. People who before were just voices and faces on the computer screen gained souls, and many words which before were only understood intellectually gained emotional meaning. But most importantly, I verified the higher state, the state of grace. In Orthodox Christianity they describe grace as something that is given from above. This Rome’s event made me open to receive it, to be inspired.
Grape juice is a poor yield of a vineyard and negativity is a poor yield of an emotional center. But wine-grapes aren’t harvested for grape juice and neither should we settle for the yield negativity. If we work with an end flavor in mind, then a challenging harvest needn’t necessarily portend a bad bottle. In September, we examined that harvest. In October, let us consider what it might mean to refine it into a profound elixir. Which emotions would accelerate our work if we could experience them more frequently, more durably, and more deeply?