Saturday, November 22, 2014

The intuition of the body

The intuition of the body always leads me forward.

It's remarkable, really, how intuitive the body is. It knows within itself exactly what Being consists of, in the sense of knowing that it is, and not forgetting itself the way the mind constantly does.

Trusting in this intelligence through relationship always leads deeper into this question of who I am. As I write this, I'm staring out over the city of Shanghai from the 56th floor of the Le Meridien Hotel on People's Square; and yet I am not taken by what is outside, the great city, the air pollution, the rain; I am firmly here, in my body, in this room.

There is a fine vibration that encompasses everything within Being; and it provokes an investigation that does not have any words associated with it, even though I mention it here.

That investigation consists, perhaps appropriately enough, of nothing more than ?

?  is perhaps more than enough to indicate the intuition of the body itself. It is, after all, a symbol; and it indicates a state, rather than a fact or a thing of one kind or another. That is, in itself, it implies a movement and a direct action— forward into the unknown.

In the midst of this, I'm quite aware of the various cravings the body has; and although they are indulged or dismissed according to both desire and will, they seem, on the whole, less important than this inward journey which my intuition invites me to participate in.

 There aren't any specific descriptions of this in Gurdjieff's methodology; he does mention intuition in a few places, but one could hardly describe it as a chief feature of inner work, as presented by Ouspensky.  I rarely hear it spoken about; and yet more than 9/10 of my own work revolves around coming into relationship with this intuitive faculty. It isn't of the head; and this is precisely where its usefulness lies. The exact value of it is that it doesn't come from the books; and if one wants to measure the real weight and value of one's inner work, that is a good place to begin.

If a blind man wants to grope his way forward through the darkness that belongs to him, it is certain that he will use his hearing; but as things grow closer, nothing will substitute for the sense of touch, for that subtle vibration of contact and that direct intimacy that comes from the closest possible encounter with the environment.


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