James Killingsworth
I
grew up in a family with a pediatrician as my father. Just before their marriage, he bluntly told my mother, “My babies come first, you must take care of the children and the house.” I rarely saw my father, for he had surgery at seven a.m., office hours until five p.m., then house calls and finally hospital rounds. Usually, as a kid, I would curl myself up in his lap and doze off while he ate dinner around nine p.m. This was in the “wild west” days of medicine, before vaccines, antibiotics, and advanced surgical procedures. Many times, the only treatments were supportive, for back then doctors were also nurses. Every year, he suffered because he could not help scores of babies that died under his care from diseases like polio, measles, whooping cough, mumps, diphtheria, hepatitis and meningitis. Not infrequently, he would come home in tears after losing a child or baby. I was a witness to the stress that weighed heavily on this man who gave his life to those most vulnerable.
He had to depend upon his own knowledge and experience to act quickly and prudently. For upon his shoulders pressed the greatest burden of all; the welfare of young human beings of whom he was their only benefactor. He entered the ring in defense of those who could not fight for themselves. He came face to face with all the manifestations of Mahesh in Mother Nature’s arsenal and battled them with everything that he was and all that was available to him.[1]
My father shared in the victory of life and stood utterly alone and defeated in death and suffering. His great efforts were revealed in a diary of poems he composed over the years. “I am as one who fights because he fears a darker wound, a deeper agony than fronts me now. And even as I say goodbye, believe me, I say it through tears.” It was these words I chose to be inscribed upon his tombstone.
It was not until my third reading of Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, did I realize that much of what I observed in myself, was not mine at all, but that piece of him, acquired in me during my childhood. “The degree of being manifestation of their producers during the period they are attaining the age of responsible being.”[2]
Before leaving the life of my father, I must reveal why I considered him to be a “Remarkable Man” as described by Gurdjieff.
In addition to being a pediatrician for twenty-eight years, my father was in General Patton’s Third Army during World II. He was responsible for establishing Preventive Medicine for the troops moving up to replace those at the front. He was awarded several commendations from General Patton, and medals from the French government for helping restore the French healthcare system. He participated in five withering campaigns in Europe and was awarded five Battle Stars. I wrote a book about him.
“From my point of view, he can be called a remarkable man who stands out from those around him by the resourcefulness of his mind, and who knows how to be restrained in the manifestations which proceed from his nature, at the same time conducting himself justly and tolerantly toward the weakness of others.”
Although I rarely saw my father during the week, he loved to hunt and fish. We always had a camp to go to on the weekends and holidays. It was there that he relieved the stress from his professional life, and we spent our time together as a family. He made an agreement with a rice farmer in southeast Texas, to build a camp and hunt and fish on his two-thousand-acre rice farm. In return he took care of the farmer’s family with eleven children. As result of this agreement, I spent my formative years in paradise, for it had three huge lakes and three rice fields, bordered by a bayou, beyond which was an endless marsh until reaching the coast. The amount of wildlife there was indescribable. In the freshwater lakes were fish, amphibians and reptiles. On land and the interface of the water roamed all manner of rodents and predators. The skies were filled all types of songbirds, ducks, geese and the harriers that hunted them. In short, every day there was filled the adventure of experiencing Mother Nature’s unique beauty and diversity under the everchanging paradigm of sun, moon, stars and weather. It was here that I learned the greatest secret of the universe. Gurdjieff calls it the Trogoautoegocratic process.[3]
Being here was literally being under nature’s influences of sun, sky, wind, rain, mud and wildlife. Here you could see the big picture of how everything ate everything else in ceaseless cycles that were stable enough to remain so for some forty million years. Here was where you could find peace. Here you could find the secrets of living things. Here you could find death. Here you could find yourself. Life in between our times there was spent thinking and dreaming about the next time we would go back there. For the next ten years of my life, I would be shaped by my experiences there and it turned out that these would be food for the ‘coating’ of a higher being body. Thank you, my father, that this was so.[4]
Here was where, as a young boy, I was initiated, not only in the mystery of life but the mystery of death. By my own hand and by the observation of predation, hundreds of times I was in the presence of a living being when its life left its body. When It leaves, the senses retreat with it, the body relaxes, the restless tides of breath cease, the heart goes back to the “magnetic center” and the light in the eye, fades away, the heat of the body dissipates. You are left alone with the results. As one of my great mentors said to me, “you kill it, you tote it.”[5] This affected me deeply and aroused in me the fundamental question that all sentient beings must consider at some point. For me, it would be a driving force to fathom this ultimate consideration.
In addition to being a participant in the Trogoautoegocratic process, I, a young unspoiled human being was given “gifts” by his Endlessness, in the form of life changing experiences that went beyond perception, Episodes of the Heart. The most profound experience came when I was twelve years old. In the middle of the marsh, after a long day being exposed to Mother Nature, this happened twice. It would change my life forever.
The sun had traversed much of the sky as I walked in a long arc that would finally bring me to camp. As I stumbled along, I couldn’t get my mind off what happened ‘around the bend.’ Another hour found me on the last leg of my hunting sortie. I crossed a ditch that had been drained near a pump house used to pump water to and from the rice fields from Elm Bayou. I walked along it in the rice field stubble that led to our camp house in the distance. I was extremely tired from walking all day in the high marsh grass and black gumbo. It was the fertile mud from which rice grew in abundance. My throat was parched, for I had had nothing to drink since noon. My stomach ached with hunger, my pants were wet and muddy, and my wet socks were scrunched up in my rubber boots. My face and hands were raw from the bright sunlight and the dry north wind. Although sweating from exertion, the chill of the north wind found its way beneath my hunting clothes as the sun began to set. About a half mile from camp, I looked up and my breath was taken away. The hallucination returned.
There, lighted up by a great tunnel of light, was our camp house, white as snow, the tin roof gleaming, standing out in perfect relief against the dark blue sky, perched on the highest hill around. I began to see the curvature of the earth and beyond. Stunned by the rapturous beauty of the scene before me, the normal flow of energy out through my sense organs and my thought process, ceased.
Later in life, I consciously sought the return of this unusual state by all kinds of methods. One notable time, it returned on its own as I stood for the first time in front of the pyramid of Cheops, framed by the setting sun. I then realized that the pyramid was built for us, to induce this state over three thousand years into the future.
At the sight of the camp, my chest began to open up! In the area of my solar plexus, I began to receive perceptual understanding that was beyond anything I had ever experienced. It was as if the whole scene flooded through the opening in my chest, and I drank deeply. Staggering beneath the weight of this cascade of impressions, my sight slowly followed the beams of light as I turned toward their source. In that heightened state, there came upon my countenance something I shall never forget. There I came face to face with the source of all life, of all things, in the visual form of the setting sun. It brought me to my knees. Unable to withstand the onslaught of understanding, I began to cry openly with deep reverence as I was filled simultaneous joy and acknowledgement. My Father, though myself, The Father of all fathers revealed himself to me. Golden threads rippled from the deep orange orb, forming a great iridescent tunnel, the walls of which produced a solid shaft of light that bathed the rice field in a golden shower. Then, everything began to move as if it had become liquid. Rolling over, sliding by, replenishing itself, gathering and forming great waves and troughs, the golden threads merged into each other and were reborn. As if sucked into a great living maelstrom of totality, my senses could not keep up and began their journey inward, beyond all control. My consciousness followed, flowing toward complete annihilation. I lost control of everything. A salt doll disappeared into the ocean.”[6]
That afternoon left a profound impression on the rest of my life. I know now it was a gift. I know I cannot give it or explain it to anyone else. It showed me that there is something else, always and everywhere, beyond human perception. That something interpenetrates what we call Mother Nature. In late adolescence, I would develop an aim that would orient me to search for those who could help me understand the significance of that gift and would continue for the rest of my life. This search would eventually lead me to Gurdjieff, Mr. Nyland and the Institute for Religious Development in Warwick, NY.
Before leaving my father, although among many, was an episode that was to arouse compassion in me. I was to realize that this was a core aspect of my essence and that I even had a guide to help me with this. His name was Peta.
My dad was the doctor for Lufkin State School for Children. He took me to see the children one day. I remember walking into a large, auditorium type space, with several scores of beds lined up. In the beds lay physically disabled children with birth defects. All around us were attendants, tending to the children. All the children were minimally dressed and many wore diapers. Many were contorted into postures that were grotesque and immovable. Others were without appendages or malformed torsos. Some had never gotten out of a bed. Others could not speak but uttered cries and noises when we went by. For some reason, I touched and talked to many, without being ashamed or intimidated. All of them had life coming out of their eyes, through a passive body. This episode affected me very deeply, especially their eyes.
“Killingsworth, Walker, what in the hell are you doing,” yelled Coach Clarence (Buckshot) Underwood. I was seventeen and playing high school football. It was a hot, dusty afternoon practice in full pads. Bosco Walker and I were starting cornerbacks on the team and had just come from physics class, where the instructor showed us how to find the height to a distance object by arranging sticks in a triangular manner. Coach was torturing the offensive line by doing a five-on-one blocking drill. Bosco and I were in the back of the main group and had picked up some sticks and were trying to figure the height of the water tower in the distance. Suddenly, we turned around as the group parted and Buckshot Underwood, mad as hell, charged up to us. A protege of the famous coach Bear Bryant, known for toughness. He was a legend at Texas A&M University, when he took the team for spring training to the arid, west Texas town of Junction, Texas. Out of 111 players that went this camp, only thirty-five returned.
“Start running, I’ll teach you to pay attention!” he yelled. Our practice field was huge, a full quarter mile in diameter. We kept running until practice was over. We both had thrown up from the heat and exertion in full pads. After everyone else had gone in, we were breathing in gasps, heaving and slobbering. Our eyes were burnt from dust and sweat, almost swollen shut. My body was screaming with pain.
“Alright, down in stance for wind sprints. Go.” I lost count after around five or six 100-yard wind sprints. I could not get enough air, and each exhalation was accentuated by the gasps of a dying animal. Sometime after that, I left my body. Literally, I was above my body, looking down on this football player in pads, slogging along. As I began to separate, everything s-l-o-w-e-d d-o-w-n, then there was no time. The pain and torture of the body was gone. Looking down, I was unconcerned, an impartial observer. After several more sprints, coach warned us. “Now run into the locker room. If you stop, there will be more wind sprints!” The locker room was a quarter mile away. This separation from the body lasted until I got there. I took off my pads and laid on the locker room floor. An hour or so later the janitor came in and told me he was closing. During that time, there was difficulty in me coming back. “Extreme fatigue, illness, excitement puts one in a state of seeing the etheric body.”[7] This episode happened to me as a teenager, and it affected me very deeply.
As I look back, I am indebted to Coach Underwood for helping me find the limits of bodily endurance and the discovery of “another body” that was attached to it. In extreme circumstances, it could be separated by passing beyond the physical boundary of manifestations. This is the way of the Fakir.
A. R. Orage gave a lecture on Spiritualism and the etheric body in 1929.[8]Future episodes, although less stressful were no less impartial and simultaneous, were engendered by the Gurdjieff movements and martial art fighting and forms. Truly, the body is a tool for awakening.
The first time I met my wife and looked into her eyes, I knew we had been together before, we had lived in another time. There is no other way to say it. When we were at the Barn,[9] we went to a medium named June Burke. We waited six months to have a meeting, for she was in high demand. Many Barn people went to see her. When we met her, she was a rather rotund and jolly housewife with a distinct chuckle, in the middle of cooking dinner for her husband. When we sat down, we asked if we could make a tape recording and she said that was fine. She said she was just going to relax in her chair for a bit and then a male voice with an English accent would come out of her. His name was Julian. She said to ask him anything that we wished.
Although he predicted many things that would come true for us—about money, children and our spiritual path, an unexpected remarkable fact emerged. We had been together twice before, once in ancient Greece and Egypt. One of our children we had had before. He said we each had three spiritual guides that were helping us on our journey together, how to know when they are near, and certain natures that we brought with us from previous lives that would develop in this one. He gave us the reason we met again in this life.
One of my spiritual guides is an entity named Peta. Peta was physically disabled and had been abused, tortured and spat upon. Yet his great compassion never wavered toward his tormentors, and he suffered as though he was helped by a divine angelic force, a Cherubim or a Seraphin. Gurdjieff mentions these many times in Beelzebub’s Tales, especially in the Chapter on Purgatory. This compassion was to shape my professional life.
Many things about this meeting I cannot say, for they are too personal. But I understood that we were being helped, which explained many episodes in our life. This episode of my life, again was result of looking into the eyes of another human being. Now I always look to see what will come out to meet me. We still listen to that tape periodically, as an exercise in replaying our life together.
In 1975 I got my first job as a pharmacist at Memorial Hospital in Nacogdoches, Texas. It was a college town where my wife and I met and got married. We had been receiving tapes[10] for three years and had read Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson several times. Back then we had correspondence by letter with Brian and Roz Gitt at the Barn. We wanted to go to the Barn while Mr. Nyland was alive. But that same year he passed away. I can remember that day when we received a letter from the Barn advising us of that fact. Both of us stood outside of our small home in the middle of the piney woods and cried. We had lost our chance to be with this extraordinary man.
Meeting Mr. Nyland was the “end of the beginning.” He visited Dallas in 1973, I remember. He said that he heard that there was Life in Texas. Several score of us set up camp in the yard of his host. Mr. Nyland spoke many times to us. I remember as if it were yesterday the inner emptiness I experienced because of his presence. It was one of nullity that there was nothing inside of me of any worth. My associative process could not function. The last day I went into the house to go to the bathroom, I had to pass through the kitchen. Mr. Nyland was sitting quietly at the table. I said to him, “thank you for coming Mr. Nyland.” He smiled and said, “if you Work on yourself, perhaps I will come back someday.” A piece of him passed into me.
The reasoning we had for not going sooner came from Gurdjieff. He indicated that if a person could not support themselves in ordinary life, there was little chance to grow in spiritual life, which was a thousand times more difficult. So, I decided to finish Pharmacy School to establish a profession that would support us any where we would go.
While I was working at the hospital, I was reading On Death and Dying, by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. This affected me deeply, where people died almost every day. Code Blue over the loudspeaker meant someone was in cardio-respiratory distress. It was a small hospital, and I already went on ambulance runs and being a pilot, flew some of these bodies home to their place of rest. The doctors and nurses often allowed me to go to Code Blues with redundant medications used in such episodes. As Kubler-Ross indicated, many people, while they are dying left their body and found themselves on the ceiling of their room, watching the medical staff working on their body in cardio-respiratory resuscitation efforts. Since I was not directly involved, I would observe the state of the body and keep my attention on the ceiling, hoping to acknowledge to that person who was passing away that I saw them. After the episode was over and the patient was pronounced dead, I remained in the room for a bit longer and said good-bye to them.
One day, returning from a Code Blue, I noticed one of the janitors staring at me from around the corner. He had been watching me go and come from these episodes. I met him and we became great friends. His name was James, and his wife had the same name as mine. He invited us to dinner. They lived deep in the piney woods in a tented campsite with no electricity or running water. They had two beautiful children who had never watched television and were home schooled. We marveled that there we still people who lived a natural life and we wondered what would happen to them when they would have to rejoin humanity. A few days later, he came up to me in the hospital and solemnly gave me a wrapped package. He told me that what was in this package could help me with the questions I had about life.
In the package were two hard bound books that were brand new. They were The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, translated into English by Swami Nikhilananda and distributed by the Ramakrishna Vivekananda Center in New York in 1942. The contents of this book were the results of disciples that sat at his feet and wrote down everything Sri Ramakrishna said. Much of the time he spent in the state of Samadi, or “God intoxication.” Ramakrishna was unique in that he followed the way of Buddhism, Christianity and Islam. He said that they all led to the same place. His most famous saying was, “God alone is Real, all else illusory.” The second book was Vivekananda, The Yogas and Other Works. This book was hailed as the first bridge from eastern spiritual practice to the western world. Among many more were the exposition of the techniques of Jana-Yoga, Bhakti-Yoga, Karma-Yoga and Raja-Yoga.
James also indicated to me that I should also read the books from the great spiritual master, The Avatar, Meher Baba, God Speaks and The Wayfarers. I did read these books. Incidentally, God Speaks is a detailed account and unfolding of what Beelzebub calls the Trogoautoegocratic process. The Wayfarers is an account of Meher Baba’s wandering with disciples all over India. He would seek out people who were said to be God intoxicated, who were outwardly derelicts, who lived only from the charity of others. He would take them in, feed them, wash them and sit with them. It was to find out if they were indeed embedded in His Endlessness or just crazy. From then on, I began to consider the real plight of homeless people. I was swamped by spiritual literature.
Soon after this I became embroiled in the politics of the hospital, where the Chief of Staff of the hospital, the most trusted and adored doctor in town, and his wife, the most trusted Pediatrician in town were exposed to be addicted to narcotics. I was the whistle blower, shocked by the way they plundered the pharmacy’s injectable narcotics. As a result, the Texas Medical Board confiscated their medical licenses and their ability to prescribe controlled drugs. The nursing staff applauded my stand. But instead of being met with relief that they could no longer practice medicine in their addictive state, I was criticized and ostracized by the powerful medical staff and the hospital administrator who denied the situation. As a result, I looked long and hard at the hospital pharmacy and considered the political aspects of this profession. “What in the hell did I get into, in this practice of pharmacy?” This question led me to disenchantment with my job at the hospital and opened the door to our move to New York and the beginning of our life at the Barn.
I said to myself, “even though Mr. Nyland was not there, there must be crumbs that had fallen from his table. I was but a beggar and ready to find out what was left.” Little did I know then, those crumbs at the Barn were to become a huge meal, that, when we returned to the world, would take a lifetime to digest.
To understand the powerful effect of Gurdjieff’s teaching is to be involved in Work on oneself. For me being at the Barn was a life of total engagement in numerous activities. Working all day at Chardavogne Appliance Repair and Plumbing was a full day. Then I attended Work meetings nearly every night. On Sunday Workdays, many times a hundred members would participate in Gurdjieff music and Movements. On Saturday night we would attend Mr. Nyland’s music at Nishimura’s house. Everyone would listen to Mr. Nyland’s tapes of their own interest all through the week. Every day of the week was full of heightened activities and efforts not seen in ordinary life. There was a joke, because of the sheer number of experiences that one packed into each day, “A year at the Barn was like five years of ordinary life.” After six years there with one child and one on the way we decided to move back to Texas and practice Work on ourselves in ordinary life, the way Gurdjieff indicated, The Fourth Way.
When we left the Barn, Elaine Knight sent us Mr. Nyland’s tapes for forty years. We began with the earliest tapes possible, with an aim to serially listen to every single one. We owe Elaine a debt of great gratitude.
The participation in the Sacred Dances produced an incredible awakening in us. Along with unique music, they had an extraordinary effect on us. We simply called them Movements. We were intoxicated with them. After six months at the Barn, we were allowed to participate. We did them for six years. My wife was a natural at movements. Julian told us she had been a temple dancer in a past life. While I had to practice, practice and practice. When we left the Barn, our experience in movements developed into martial arts. Many other aspects of the teaching went with us, germinated, and grew from our efforts that found fertile ground.
After participation in these movements, there was created in me a state that I had experienced long before in my outdoor experiences. The shutting down of the associative processes and the uncovering of the base of consciousness, simply being aware. I found that the body, when the vibration rate was elevated to a certain rhythm, would shut down my thinking process and open a part of me that was inaccessible in ordinary life. Through movements, i found myself again! Movements was a “three centered” activity that created a harmony inside of oneself. As it was explained, there was a separation of the three centers, creating a state of harmony, instead of the chaos of ordinary life. When leaving movements, this state of heightened awareness was found in the eyes of fellow participants. I saw It again.
After leaving the Barn, we yearned for three centered activities and found the Eastern martial art, taekwondo (The Way of the Hand and Foot). We found that the practice of forms, or katas or poomse, created this same inner state of harmony and sparring or fighting elevated the vibration rate of the body and in so doing, shut down the associative process. The result was what Gurdjieff called simultaneity. Zen calls this state, no mind. Western sports calls this “the zone.”
In this state, the body is vibrating at an incredible rate, the feelings become a motivating force, and the mind opens up and becomes an observer and The Director. Everything s-l-o-w-s d-o-w-n as when you are out of the body, observing not only your opponent, but your body in a dance of technique. You can see the subjectivity in the eyes of your opponent, for they are asleep. It is a rare and beautiful state. Some call it freedom. But that is another story.
In 1979 there was an oil crisis caused by the Iranian Revolution and subsequent disruption to global oil supplies. Large lines formed at gas stations. The interest rate rose to 18%. The bottom fell out of new housing starts. Being a plumber, my work dried up, so I was forced to go back into pharmacy. I got a job at the Middletown Psychiatric Center. It was just before the first drug (Thorazine) was made available to treat mental health diseases and would allow many patients to live in the ordinary world again, obtain a job and have a family.
While working there I was initiated into witnessing what Beelzebub called “The Principle of Itoklanoz.” This principle was described as the actualization of the potential expenditure of energy in each of the three centers was based on a spring mechanism, like that of a mechanical watch. It was initiated at birth and unwound at a predetermined rate that could be hastened or retarded according to life circumstances and “Being-Partkdog-duty.” These mechanical springs were called “Bobbin-kandelnosts.”
“And so, owing to all I have just said, however your favorite may exist, whatever measures they may adopt and even if, as they say, they should ‘put-themselves-in-a-glass-case,’ as soon as the Bobbin-kandel-nosts crystallized in their brains are used up, one or another of their brains immediately ceases to function.
The difference between mechanical watches and your contemporary favorites is only that there is one spring, while your favorites have three of these independent Bobbin-kandelnosts. And these independent Bobbin-kandelnosts in all the three independent ‘localizations’ in three-brained beings, have the following names:
The first: the Bobbin-kandelnost of the ‘thinking center.’
The second: the Bobbin-kandelnost of the ‘feeling center.’
The third: the Bobbin-kandelnost of the ‘moving center.’
Even that fact, which I recently often repeated, namely, that process of the sacred Rascooarno is actualized for those favorites of yours in thirds—or, as they themselves would say, they begin to ‘die in parts’—proceeds also from the fact that, arising and being formed only according to the principle of Itoklanoz and existing non-harmoniously, they disproportionately use up the contents, namely, their Bobbin-kandelnosts of these three separate independent brains, and hence it is that such a horrible ‘dying’ as is not proper to three-brained beings frequently occurs in them. During my stay here among them, I personally very often constated their ‘dying-by-thirds.’[11]
In this place, inaccessible to most humans, like the physically disabled children, who go through life as though everything is “roses, roses,” there exists this part of humanity, that no one wants to see. Yet, to simulate that sacred manifestation called compassion, an extension of that Most Sacred Conscience, one should be forced to observe, in order to open themselves up to the necessity of the duty to Work on themselves.
While at the Middletown Psychiatric Center, I observed this law of Itoklanoz, human beings which had nothing functioning above their throat. There was nothing resembling that particle of his Endlessness, exiting from their eyes. They were simply inert lumps of flesh. These were scary, for although “something” came out of their eyes, it was a blank stare, like that of the eyes of a shark. These people were capable of any action without any remorse of conscience. These were the sociopaths that could commit abuse toward another being and care or feel no remorse for their actions. People for them are just objects.
This episode affected me very deeply and stimulated the need in me to act, during my professional life, to empathize and if I could, help acknowledge and relieve the suffering of those who were in the near terminal or terminal phase of the law of Itoklanoz. This would require in me an effort to raise my level of being in their presence.
I have been a pharmacist for fifty-one years and a student of Gurdjieff for forty-nine of them. In many situations, like a professional setting, it is difficult to Work on myself. Yet, that is where I live the bulk of my life. Is it possible to insert into this setting an exercise that will bring me closer to many tenets of Gurdjieff’s teaching, remain in the moment and acknowledge that particle of His Endlessness in the human form in front of me?
Always strive to see the need,
that is present in every situation.
Then respond to that need,
not too much nor too little,
but exactly what is required.
This is the exercise that I created for myself. Now let us find out how to use it. I am in the pharmacy, and a patient comes in for counseling. It can be in an office, or more frequently, a counseling area found in any pharmacy. I have a white coat on with my name tag, but no tie, with slacks and a nice shirt, bouncing around on my tennis stomps. I am the sun sign Cancer, an introverted home body, but over the years I have built quite a façade to protect my feelings. Competition Martial Art has given me the confidence to face anything.
But I am here to help. This willingness to help has come from compassion. This extension of Sacred Conscience was activated in me by being in the presence of the aged, the physically disabled, the tortured, the sick and those who can see that their life is near the end. These conditions of humanity have presented themselves to me frequently. How can I not lose myself completely when I am in counsel? How can I retain something of myself and yet respond to the need of that person in front of me? How can something real pass between us? How can a “little I” exist? How can I see beyond the form that particle of His Endlessness present in all things?
I am called to the Counsel Office. The words pull me from the busy thoughts of the day, the concentration on the technical aspects of a pharmacist and the necessity of absolute accuracy.
I take a deep breath, I am. As I walk to the counsel area, I notice I have a body and it walks. As it walks, a sense of my body existing begins to manifest. The body is tense from filling prescriptions, and this has gone over into a feeling state that is always present in this type of work, reflecting the type of energy in this place. Gurdjieff indicated, “every type of work requires its own quality and quantity of effort.” As I stand at the door to the counsel office, I stop, I drain, I find myself there, I take another deep breath, I am. I open the door.
There is a senior man in front of me. Immediately I offer my hand and say, “Hi, my name is Jim. May I help you?” As I take his hand I try to notice; is his hand shake strong, is it rough or delicate, is it warm or cold? If he does not respond with his name, I ask it of him. I say it inside and try to associate it with someone I already know. I have a hard time remembering names. Long ago I learned that the most important word in anyone’s life is the sound of their own name. Their name is like a door, beyond which lies the life of another human being. When I speak, I always begin with his name. Immediately we are engaged in a dialog. He knows that I care.
He comes to me today because he has a condition that is being treated by a doctor. He is taking several medications and has many questions that the doctor has not explained. He feels ill. I try to see the need which brought him to me. Most people come to me with a need that they do not have the words to express. It is up to me to find that need by careful questioning, to be certain what I am responding to. The common mistake of medical practice is the righting reflex. Essentially, this reflex is, “you have the symptom, I have the cure.”
After considering his pharmaceutical needs, I am intentionally quiet. As in music, the spaces between the notes carry great meaning. I gather myself again. I sense where my clothes cover the body. Where there is none I sense the air on my exposed skin. I take a controlled breath, I am. I am close to his need. I try to respond to it by acknowledging the need out loud. Then I present options to consider. Most medical conditions involve a nutritional aspect. As Gurdjieff indicated, “always strive to combine the necessary and the useful.” Allowing a patient to consider options to their need is a powerful force, empowering them with the ability to choose their own path, instead of blindly following my righting reflex. Also in my response is a positive impression of the options put forth. The power of the mind is such that, if a person thinks it will be of benefit, it will be, and they will confidently follow that course.
As our conversation proceeds, I take in his posture. Eighty percent of personality is non-verbal. Posture gives clues to the patient’s receptivity. He faces me straight on, his hand gestures accentuate his speech, the legs are slightly splayed, and he makes eye contact with me most of the time. This shows me that he is open. In trying to formulate, he looks up and to the right. This means he is bringing a picture into his mind. I have studied postures, they are important. If a person crosses their arms, legs or both; they are not listening to anything you say. If they cover their privates with their hands or turn to the side and look at you with one eye forward, they do not trust you. If they support their chin with their hand or fist, they are bored. If they cup their chin with their hand or the forefinger is placed against the cheek, they are thinking of a come-back. Looking up and to the left, he is trying to remember. There is much more. Posture is worthy of great study.
Already I am retaining something of myself, holding something back, there is more of a sense of the weight of the body on the chair, and on my feet. I am sitting here having a dialog with this man. During the associative exchange, my eyes are mainly looking at his face, especially his mouth forming the words. I intensify the sense of myself existing by looking into his eyes, where that particle of His Endlessness directly exits his body. I acknowledge this, ‘I’ acknowledges this. The “stuff” in him is the same as the “stuff” in me. I remember a verse of the Upanishads, “In lightning, and in the light of an eye, that light is Him, when he shines, everything begins to shine, everything in the world reflects His Light.”
Fixed on his eyes, I hear the tone of his voice, not his words. The tone of his voice reveals his essence, where he is coming from. Miraculously, something new takes place.
The more and more you seek the spirit of a thing,
the more and more the Spirit of the thing,
will reveal Itself to you.[12]
Something passes between us. I cannot tell you what it is, but it flows, from me to him and him to me. Perhaps a piece of me goes into him and I receive a piece of him. If I can retain this state, with little association with words, it continues to flow.
He who sees all creatures in himself,
Himself in all creatures,
knows no sorrow.
How can the wise man,
seeing the unity of life,
be deluded or sorrowful.[13]
I wake up. Our essences are connected. Our relationship will never be the same. We will never be superficial when we meet again. His voice changes, he hangs his head. He tells me that his wife has stage four cancer. He is the sole caregiver. He feels that he is not giving her the care she needs. Because of the stress, his heart condition has worsened during the past year, watching her suffer, watching her deteriorate, his wife of sixty years. He looks into a future without her, feeling he is not worthy.
I hear him, his honesty brings to me the fact that something similar will happen to me soon. I will have to face what he faces now. A piece of me flows into him. A piece of him flows into me. Now, the real need is clear. How do I respond? I receive a little bit of now. The Truth emerges; there is only one need.
I understood that It lives, in everything that lives. It is the duty of a human being to seek out this Truth and see It in all creatures. But even though there can be gifts, one must see It in oneself, to be able to see It in others. This is a purpose that every human being shares, and every human being must constantly seek, until he breathes no more.[14]
Remember, this is an exercise in being. Gurdjieff indicated, “Every type of work, requires its own quality and quantity of effort.” Perfection lies not in the goal, but in the practice.
Establish your presence before the meeting. Set the mood and tone of the meeting. Smile, make eye contact, offer you hand, identify yourself, ask how you can help. Ask them to sit and offer them water. Find out their name and use it often. Courtesy is the foundation of relationships. Your patients are your house guests. Realize that every stage of human life has its own values, children, teenagers, young adults, middle aged and seniors. Respond accordingly.
Comment on their appearance. For men, the color of their shirt, boots, hat or the strength of their handshake. For women, (be careful) comment on their jewelry, rings, necklaces or wrist bracelets. It has usually been given to them by their husband or mother, and it means a lot to them. When counseling a women with children, say ‘hi’ to them, find out their names, and ask mom if they can have a sugar free lollypop.
After preliminaries, note their body language, it is an extension of their unconscious. Careful questioning will expose their need. Never comeback with your own associations immediately. Pause, respond in a thoughtful, open-ended way. Allow them to express themselves fully. Have a sense of yourself, hold something back, engage their eyes and listen to the tone of their voice, not their associative process. Many times, something will begin to flow between you. You are acknowledging the life of another human being in a more objective way.
James Killingsworth is a retired Pharmacist, 5th Dan Taekwondo practitioner, and author. He has been a member of Mr. Nyland’s groups since 1972. He currently resides in Bryan, Texas with his wife, Sherry.
[1] James Killingsworth, The Ole Man: Episodes of Heart, The Pediatrician, p. 110.
[2] G. I. Gurdjieff, Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, The Principle of Itoklanoz, p. 438.
[3] Ibid, The Relative Understanding of Time, p. 120.
[4] The Ole Man: Episodes of the Heart, Skeet Kole’s Rice Farm, pp. 56-57.
[5] Ibid, Mitch Holden, p. 264.
[6] Ibid, The Ditch, pp. 188-191.
[7] A. R. Orage, Gurdjieff’s Emissary in New York, p. 193.
[8] Ibid. pp. 192-194, 201, 269, 346, 466.
[9] Chardavogne Barn, the location of Mr. Nyland’s primary group in Warwick, NY.
[10] Recordings of Mr. Nyland’s meetings.
[11] Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, The Fruits of Former Civilizations, p. 439-448.
[12] Miyamoto Musashi , The Book of Five Rings.
[13] Isha Upanishad
[14] The Ole Man; Episodes of the Heart
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