Shoreline, sunrise: Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, June 7, 2014
I am still in the same morning filled with yesterday's echoes of my father's death. I woke up at 3:30 am and could not get back to sleep; so I found myself on the beach early, with the sun to meet me. A number of poems came to me this morning; although, as I told my wife, there are no great poets; only God, and attentive scribes.
As minds often wander after a great shock, so does mine; and I found myself contemplating my mother's piano, thinking of Mr. Gurdjieff's collaboration with Thomas de Hartmann, and the glorious music it produced. I know something of how this worked; Mr. Gurdjieff was capable of bringing the energy that made the work possible, but the energy—and the work, and the music itself—never belonged to either one of the men; all were of God. Later, people who don't understand this argued about whether Gurdjieff or de Hartmann wrote and "owned" the music; but no one owns God, although everyone is part of Him.
This is why we are given energy; and if we cultivate it, if we try to open it, it is never for ourselves, but only to put something good into the world. Else, why live? The energy of itself has no use; and to use it just to feel one's own goodness, or to exalt in one's own inner freedom, would be criminal indeed. No, it only comes so that we may have the power to do good; and by this I mean true good, not the accidentally cruel ersatz moralities of mortal men. The use, such as it is, is in relationship.
We do have this power; and if we share it, it is always with love.
It always brings love, too; for that is its essential property.
Never forget this as you work; as and if it comes, we are given such Grace only to share it for the benefit of others.