Eventually, if one lives within organic and cosmological sensation for long enough, and it becomes permanent enough, it establishes itself as the primary interpretive mechanism for most of one’s experience at its foundation.
Lee, this is an important essay. Thank you for bringing this subject to my sensitive awareness. I would add that walking in the woods on bumpy or rocky paths is much more body friendly than perambulating city streets.
Thanks Lee. Where does Gurdjieff say that it is the organ kundabuffer that caused human beings to derive pleasure from doing the same thing over and over again. I was not aware of that explicitly being one of the aspects of kundabuffer.
The monastery steps teach this lesson as well. Their stones are worn crooked by centuries of wandering feet and they whisper more wisdom to the soles than any polished marble ever could. The hand, the foot, the breath, each one thirsts for life’s irregular textures, not the dead perfection we so often mistake for progress. May we all lean into the knotted grain of the world a little more.
Lee, this is an important essay. Thank you for bringing this subject to my sensitive awareness. I would add that walking in the woods on bumpy or rocky paths is much more body friendly than perambulating city streets.
Thanks Lee, I had not made the connection in those terms.
Thanks Lee. Where does Gurdjieff say that it is the organ kundabuffer that caused human beings to derive pleasure from doing the same thing over and over again. I was not aware of that explicitly being one of the aspects of kundabuffer.
Chapter 10: “ "So, my boy, in view of this, the Most High Commission decided, among
other things, to implant provisionally in the common presence of the three-
brained beings there a special organ with properties that, first, would make
them perceive reality 'upside down' and, second, would cause every repeated
impression from the outside to crystallize in them data that engender factors
for evoking sensations of 'pleasure' and 'enjoyment.“
The monastery steps teach this lesson as well. Their stones are worn crooked by centuries of wandering feet and they whisper more wisdom to the soles than any polished marble ever could. The hand, the foot, the breath, each one thirsts for life’s irregular textures, not the dead perfection we so often mistake for progress. May we all lean into the knotted grain of the world a little more.
Virgin Monk Boy