The Orientalist

[Alexander]

I have been working on a piece of short fiction, which ended up integrating a lot of the things I learned from Jhanananda. It is based on the life of Sándor Csoma de Kőrös https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C3%A1ndor_K%C5%91r%C3%B6si_Csoma, a scholar-adventurer from the early 19th century. The founder of Tibetology, and a scholar of religions, Csoma traversed most of Asia on foot before reaching India, where he gained a job working for the British Raj. He died in Darjeeling in 1842, and never actually visited Tibet in person, but I have fictionalized a story of his trek there for the purposes of the story. Keep in mind in reading this I do not have an editor, so the story probably has a lot of imperfections. But, the story explores a lot of things that are of interest to this forum. Mostly in the second part, which consists of the Yogi's teachings for Csoma.

PART I

Outside, the lama played a mountain flute. The calm notes painted, it seemed, a portrait in music of the landscape around him. The valley which shielded the small castellan house was fringed by jagged, white-capped peaks, purple forests, and low-hanging mists which added water to an otherwise cloudless sky. Every morning like this one, dawning colors drew over the horizon like French pastels, and an orange sun brought floral odors to the valley, which issued through it and flooded the land with delight.

Inside, Sándor Csoma sat cross-legged in a small stone room, the makeshift library of the scholar. Furnished with only a stove and several unsorted piles of books, its austerity did not seem to bother the European, who proceeded to make a cheap Tibetan tea for himself. Often, he would sit in this stone room—which was always either very hot or very cold—and page through the molded texts he had recovered from monastic libraries. For some time he had been working on several translations of religious books, for which he had received a modest subsidy from the Raj. Remarkably, the European working on these texts was not an Englishman, but an oddity: a Hungarian. Csoma had traversed all of Central Asia to arrive in Tibet.

In 1818, Csoma’s wife had died, ending a happy but short marriage. It was this event which would lead Csoma onto the life mission which would occupy the rest of his days. An indelible mark was left on the heart of the young scholar, and over time the mystique of the East became his only refuge. With time Csoma came to view the death of his wife as an intervention of Destiny: a mournful and macabre shock that nevertheless pushed him onto his lonesome pilgrimage.

To distract himself for a short time after his wife’s death, Csoma had kept a correspondence with a bearded Count István, an aristocrat from the Székelyföld who existed on the vanguard of European nationalism and intellectualism. The Count had told the scholar about his own journeys to Venice, Istanbul, and Marrakech; of mythologized viziers, sultans, and dervishes; and of his recoveries of raven-marked tomes and other treasures. These correspondences with István only served to increase Csoma’s enthusiasm for the East.

Busying himself by writing articles on ethnology, language and religion, Csoma gradually tied most of his interests together. Indeed, he was never someone who could compartmentalize anything; and, when he learned that the great progenitor of Yoga, Patanjali, was also a grammarian, he became convinced that he must go at once to learn from the sages of Asia.

In 1820, Sándor left the Székelyföld—the most eastern province of what at that time was the Austrian Empire—and began his long journey into the unknown. But, since Csoma did not come from an ennobled family, it was no surprise that by the time he had reached Sofia in Bulgaria, he was already exhausted of half of his savings. By the time Csoma reached Istanbul, he had become like a traveling lama, entirely reliant on the kindnesses of others.

From Istanbul, Csoma found a captain who sailed him to Alexandria; and in Egypt he was again able to find someone, a caravanner, who took him to Aleppo and Damascus. Eventually, passing through Baghdad, Csoma reached Teheran at the end of 1821. Here, he met other Europeans—two Frenchmen—who were fascinated by the errant scholar and his journey. The Frenchmen expressed a great amount of sympathy for Csoma, and gave him a subsidy with which he was able to make the rest of his journey in comfort.

When Csoma crossed the last lonely desert of Persia, he followed the path of the Aryans down to the Indus, where he could smell the fringe of spice that marked his entry into India. It was then that Csoma came to realize the transformation he had experienced as a result of his journey. He could not put it into words then, but so many of the potentialities which he had possessed in Europe had come into actuality as a result of his trek. At any rate, Csoma’s change allowed him appreciate his new home, veritably.

***

After spending a year in India, Csoma was discovered by an agent of the British Raj. Recognizing the value of a man skilled in a great many languages, the agent proceeded to hire Csoma, asking him to dedicate all of his efforts to Tibet, which at that time was still an unknown land.

So, Csoma traveled north through the Raj to Srinagar, and there met a lama who would guide him to the Himalayas, and to the mountain kingdom. Indeed, the Tibetan found Csoma to be as exotic as the Frenchmen in Teheran did. Only the Tibetan was fascinated not with stories of Asia, but with stories of Napoleon and Waterloo, the Kaiser and the city of Vienna, and the university with its great halls at Göttingen.

When Csoma and the Tibetan left Srinagar, they collected a party which would travel with them into Tibet. Along the way they met one last European, an English clerk who was stationed at a lonely outpost in the Karakorum Pass. Leaving him, the adventurers moved into the mountains, passing through Kashmir and eventually transitioning from a world that was “on the fringes” to a world that was entirely Other.

The last human the adventurers met was a caravanner, a Sikh, who traded with them before heading westward toward Ladakh. As Csoma said goodbye to the Sikh and his daughter, he realized that what he had traded was his last human contact for air. The world he was in now was constituted entirely of the sky. Before him, freezing winds blew visibly through canyons; and all about Csoma and his caravan was a horrible, terrible, and liberating openness.

It was in this landscape that Csoma came across a valley which was unlike any other. Csoma saw it from the foothills, and thought that the valley had an almost religious quality to it. As he and the caravan descended into the basin, it seemed to possess Csoma with an ancient and impassible silence. Csoma imagined Alexander himself seeing those same bladelike peaks around him, and thinking that he had found a place that scraped the heavens.

In the valley there was a single abandoned property—a castellan house. When Csoma entered the house he found that it was an abandoned ashram. The otherwise barren walls of the house were adorned in rare places with Tibetan plaques. These portrayed wrathful and blissful gods; while others portrayed mountain strongholds, walled temple-cities, and narrow rivers which flowed through rocky lands.

It was at this place that Csoma met the most unique person of his life: the Tibetan Yogi. At first their relationship was austere. Csoma was surprised to find a man living in that isolated place, and at first thought the Yogi was an impoverished nobody, someone subsiding off of a land that was not his. With time, however, Csoma came to understand the Yogi as a highly educated man. And, during Csoma’s long stay there in the winter of 1823, the two developed what would turn into a didactic relationship. During Csoma’s subsequent visits to the Yogi—while working on translations for the Raj—the Yogi would go on to teach Csoma everything he knew.

[Alexander]

PART II

“I will teach you how to master the mind,” said the Yogi. “But first, I will teach you how to rule the body. This is because to rule the body is the master the mind. But, before I teach you how to rule the body, I will teach you how to build the immaterial body. This is because to build the immaterial body is to rule the body is to master the mind.

“Let us say we have a man,” began the Yogi. “To most, he is unremarkable, perhaps even a foolish man. But he is different from others because he knows something. What he knows he cannot explain, but it is a kind of deep dissatisfaction, a displeasure, in reference to himself and the world. The man resolves, in time, to seek an escape. A way out from his suffering and the world.

“The first tool the man develops, as a result of his aim, is the faculty called in Sanskrit ‘viveka’ or discrimination. The man develops this faculty and applies it, like a filter, to all of his experiences. He begins to sort everything into two categories: into either what conforms with reality, or what conforms with unreality.

“When a man has exercised this faculty of ‘discrimination’ for an extended period, he begins to develop what is called ‘right view.’ It is possible for a man to have ‘right views’ about some things and ‘wrong views’ about other things; but, in time, if the man persists then he may be said to have accumulated a number of ‘right views’ and it becomes possible for the man to turn inward, and to begin to apply his ‘discrimination’ to himself.

“When a man does this, he may come to the realization that he has few powers over himself—that external circumstances rule strongly over his inner world, and, also, over his external actions.

“An ordinary man, in fact, has no power in regard to himself. And this is because of one thing: he has no immaterial body. That is, he lacks that part of himself to which everything else is supposed to be subordinate: his thoughts, emotions, and desires. The man cannot control the direction his thoughts flow in, the emotions which occupy him, or the desires which he has. When external events impact him, he can only react to them.

“Eventually, assuming the man can in some way explain this situation to himself, he can set as a goal the development of the immaterial body—or, in other words, that part of himself which is able to rule over all the others.

“I will give you two exercises which will facilitate the development of the immaterial body. And, as the immaterial body is built, rule over the body and mastery over the mind will be established.

“The exercises I will teach you will be those practiced by the fakirs of southern India. My giving these exercises to you will assume that you have, at present, at least an imperfectly formed immaterial body, which you will be building and refining. These exercises will also assume that you have within yourself many ‘right ideas,’ which will allow you to practice these exercises rightly.

“Now, here will be the first exercise. It is one with gaze. Find a comfortable place, and fix your eyes upon a given object—then, keep your eyes fixed on that object.

“That is it; that is the exercise. Keep your gaze fixed for a minute. If your gaze shifts before the minute is through, you must begin again. On later attempts add more time: for additional minutes, then up to an hour.

“While this exercise may sound very simple, its difficulty will become apparent once it is attempted. You will find that your eyes have a mind of their own—and, indeed, attempting this exercise correctly will show you what little control you have over your eyes, and, perhaps, even over the whole of yourself.

 “As you become proficient, change the object you gaze at from an actual object, to a given direction. Also, add the regulation of your blinking—but, in the beginning, do not mind that.

“Here is the second exercise. Find a comfortable place, and select a position for every part of your body. Then, you must do a simple thing—keep yourself entirely still.

“Like the exercise with gaze, maintain your position, remaining perfectly still, first for a minute, then several minutes, then try to reach an hour. If you make any adjustment whatsoever—if you scratch your nose or your head, or if you shift your weight, you must start over again. I will give you one admission at the start, and that is of swallowing. This will make the exercise a great deal easier. But, as you improve, you must regulate that action also.

“Both of these exercises are very simple, but they are incredibly difficult. Understand that neither is supposed to be relaxing, but instead unpleasant. This is because under the ordinary circumstances of life a man does not develop an immaterial body. Our lives are too easy. We go forever without being challenged, and we give in always to our nature, to our physicality.

“When you begin to contradict your nature, you develop that part of yourself which is not physical. These exercises thus create an artificial struggle, and this struggle requires the constant exercise of endurance and power over yourself. You must struggle each moment with boredom and restlessness, with fear and doubt, and with every itch and impulsion which becomes unbearable. But when you do this, you develop that part of yourself which is not physical.”

***

“It should be known,” said the Yogi, “that there exists a universal substance, called ‘prana.’ This substance, though material, is, to us, immaterial. ‘Prana’ is the matter of a reality above ours; and, because it is the matter of this superior reality, to us it is immaterial.

“‘Prana’ exists everywhere, but it can be found in some places in a greater quantity than others. Objects, for example, may be instilled with ‘prana.’ A man may also be instilled with prana—and if a man has an accumulation of ‘prana’ within himself, then he might be said to possess a ‘body’ of it.

“We call a ‘body’ of prana the ‘immaterial body,’ and we might conjecture that this body can interact with the ‘prana’ outside of it. Theoretically, this would be the basis for ‘siddhis’ or miracles—but I will not conjecture about the possibility of those here.

“Now, because ‘prana’ is the matter of a world above ours, if we could possess a body of this substance then this would be of very great benefit to us. If we had such a body, then that would mean our belonging to ‘that’ world more than to this one. And to whatever extent we belong to ‘that’ world is the extent to which we have a refuge from the misfortunes of ‘this’ world.

“So we will ask the question, ‘How does one acquire the immaterial body?’

“We do not, as I have said, have this body from birth: only very rare persons acquire immaterial bodies, and only through immense difficulty. In general, we all possess the physical body only. But, for those who would like to acquire something more than that, we have a great fortune because everything necessary to create the immaterial body is accessible to us ‘in ourselves.’ We are the ‘workshop’ with which we work, and with the right discipline we may acquire the immaterial body as a result of our efforts.

“But—there are preconditions. An ability to think for oneself is necessary. And this is a very quality rare indeed. This work also requires an understanding of pain. Pain, in fact, must be understood as the key part of our experience. If, for instance, a man can think for himself but his life is too comfortable, then he will have no motivation to acquire anything more than the physical body.

“Speaking in general, the ‘immaterial body’ is acquired as a result of profound and continuous emotional experiences, which go unexperienced by the majority of men. These experiences cause certain physiological changes, which facilitate the accumulation of ‘prana’ within oneself.

“A correct orientation of the different ‘internal faculties’ is also necessary to build the immaterial body. It should be known that in an ordinary person, the interior ‘faculties’ exist in a state of disharmony. We are, so to speak, ‘houses in disorder’—the faculties of intelligence, emotion, and desire, embodied by the head, the heart, and the genitals, exist in a wrong relationship within us.

“The process involved in ordering the ‘internal faculties’ includes the experience of a great amount of stress. But, when this ‘reorientation’ is gone through, the interior faculties come into a ‘right relationship,’ and this right relationship allows the creation of the immaterial body.”

***

“I must explain the two kinds of knowledge to you,” said the Yogi, “as this is something imperative to understand as a streamwinner. The beginning of the religious path consists solely of this discipline: the collection of right knowledge within oneself.

 “In our ordinary experience we are familiar with only one kind of knowledge: knowledge of the multiplicity of things in existence. This knowledge is infinitely acquirable, and infinitely vast. This knowledge is broken down into specialties and different, particular disciplines.

“There exists, however, another kind of knowledge, which is of an order entirely different from the first. This knowledge is knowledge of escape from the world.

“This knowledge is very limited in its scope, and its object is also something inscrutable to the majority of people. This second kind of knowledge is accessible to us everywhere—in every place and epoch—but it exists always in fragments and imperfect pieces.

“This second kind of knowledge,” said the Yogi, “is known by rare persons, who possess it as a whole and who have used it to ‘escape.’ These same persons are always trying to transmit this knowledge to us, but, because we live in a world of the first kind of knowledge only, we always misinterpret or ‘mistranslate’ what they are saying to us as the first kind of knowledge.

“The goal of the streamwinner is to learn to distinguish the first kind of knowledge from the second kind. The streamwinner’s goal is also collect this second kind of knowledge, possessing it as a whole within himself.”

[Alexander]

***

“Because you have traveled so far to find me," said the Yogi, "I will tell you what the Aryans are, since you have demonstrated an interest in the subject. The Aryans, or ‘noble ones,’ are not a race like you believe but a group of people. They exist in every place and in every age of history. They exist here in Asia, and they exist also in Europe. Aryans are people, like us, but they are different because they are destined for moksha, or release, within the next several lifetimes. We, however, are trapped in samsara, the circle of misfortune.

“The Aryans were given this name ‘Aryan’ as an honorific. It was used by Gautama so people would recognize and revere these persons—as doing so generates positive karma.

“You should know that there are four kinds of Aryan: the steamwinner, the once-returner, the nonreturner, and the arahant. All of the Aryans are ‘heroically-minded,’ meaning they are all set upon liberation as a goal.

“I will try to explain each noble person individually.

“A streamwinner, the first kind of noble person, possesses right view, has a certitude about the way out of samsara, and does not put any worth into external things. The streamwinner will be reborn at most seven more times before attaining liberation. Additionally, a streamwinner, unlike an ordinary person, can never be reborn in the lower worlds or hell.

“After many lifetimes, a streamwinner acquires a ‘whole’ of the second kind of knowledge within himself. I explained this earlier. This process takes a large amount of time; but, once a ‘whole’ of this second kind of knowledge is possessed, a streamwinner is able to become the next kind of noble person, which is a once-returner.

“Between the stage of being a streamwinner, and that of being a once-returner, comes the experience called the ‘first mystic death.’ In European religion, as I have learned from you, this experience has an important place. It is referred to as ‘repentance.’ During this experience a streamwinner dies to his false, pretend life, and emerges as a 'new man' with an exceptionally-developed individuality, one which is persistently absorbed in a state of joy.

“A once-returner is additionally someone who possesses an immaterial body. And a once-returner is also someone who has attenuated the sensuality and ill will which we feel toward others: in other words, he has weakened the essential fetters that bind us to the human world. A once-returner will be reborn at most once more as a human being.

“As time passes, a once-returner may develop into a nonreturner, or may become one in his subsequent birth. A nonreturner is someone even more remarkable than a once-returner: this is a person who has entirely destroyed the sensuality and ill will which we feel toward others. This does not mean, necessarily, that a nonreturner cannot still have sex, or cannot still communicate ill will toward others. But when these things are exhibited by a nonreturner it is better understood as an outward appearance; the roots of these things are not there.

“A nonreturner is someone who has conquered sorrow, loneliness and anger. He cannot experience these things as he is not entirely human anymore. A nonreturner additionally possess a relatively quiet mind. Meaning, while he still has thoughts, and while his mind is not entirely silent, he is powerfully transformed in reference to his mind relative to an ordinary person.

“A nonreturner can be understood as an incarnate deva, or immaterial being. A nonreturner will not come again to the human world, but will be reborn in the immaterial worlds as a deva.

“The final kind of noble person, the arahant, is a rare and heroic human being indeed. The human race has seen only a very small number of these persons, and those individuals we often refer to as ‘avatars,’ like Krishna and Bhishma in the Hindu religion.

“An arahant is a nonreturner who has passed through what is called the ‘second mystic death.’ In this experience he becomes entirely stripped of a sense of ‘I.’ His mind and individuality are annihilated, and because of this he is absorbed always in a state of interior silence. An arahant is peace itself, and is not identified with the physical body, or with the immaterial body. An arahant is able to perform miracles, either overtly, or else through actions that impact people, or move the Earth. An arahant can explore the other planes at will, and is a genuinely supernormal being.”

***

“I will explain one last thing to you,” said the Yogi, “and that is how to train yourself at introversion. This is the long process of absorption, or ‘samadhi,’ into the interior. This is a discipline which you should cultivate alongside your studies; but, in general, I recommend that you wait until you possess an immaterial body before you approach the regular practice of meditation.

“You remember the exercises I explained to you—gaze and stillness? They are there to help you to cultivate the immaterial body. Now, we must discuss what becomes possible once this body has been acquired. That is, what becomes possible once you have built the immaterial body, once you have rule over the physical body, and once you have mastery over the mind.

“When a noble person has an immaterial body, the exercises of gaze and stillness become easy. In general, these exercises will have become internalized by a good yogi, and they will have become integrated into his daily life. In a sense, he will practice these exercises at every minute of the day.

“But,” said the Yogi, “because we are in the world, our faculties are by nature still trained outward, toward external objects. And, even for those people who have immaterial bodies, their senses are still oriented in this way. But, it is possible to contradict this, and to direct everything inwardly.

“Here is the exercise I will give you.

“Fix your attention upon your breath—this will be what is called the ‘object’ of your attention. Now, all you must do is not let your attention waver, keeping it placed on your breath. It is very simple, and this exercise is similar to the exercises of gaze and stillness in its simplicity. But, here our intention is not to cause a conflict which develops the immaterial body, but instead to employ the immaterial body which has now been developed.

“When you begin to work with the attention, you will find that it always betrays you. You will fail, and each time you go to set your attention on the breath, a line of thoughts will develop which will lead you astray. When you see this happening, what you must do is trace your digressive thoughts back to their source, and then fix your attention upon your ‘object’ again. This is what you must do, hundreds and hundreds of times, until you have developed the power of your attention.

“Now, it should be known that there is nothing particularly remarkable about the breath. I recommend it as an ‘object’ like anything may be an ‘object’ for the attention. It may be that the sunrise, one’s gaze, a place on the forehead, or any other ‘object’ for the attention may be just as effective.

“To fix your attention on an object is called ‘vitarka’ or applied attention. To maintain your attention is called ‘vicara’ or sustained attention. When these two faculties of applied and sustained attention are developed and practiced, they lead in time to the retreat of the mind, and to the self-arising of joyful feelings.

 “I must begin,” said the Yogi, “by saying that the religious experience begins very humbly. While one may have fantastic images of the things possible, the experience does not begin as such but develops instead in a very laborious and organic way.

“When one begins to make progress then the many negative states which are experienced from all of this labor will begin to subside. Instead, they will be replaced by subtle, self-arising feelings of pleasure and joy—these are the first fruits, or ‘phala,’ of your work. They accompany the first stage of samadhi, which is proper to the once-returner.

“Now, as you continue to train your attention, you will find that your mind begins to consolidate, and that the tangents your thoughts went on before are now occurring less. You will gain a relative control over your thoughts and, eventually, you will arrive at a condition of relative quiet. When you have realized this relative quiet, you will have reached the second stage of samadhi, which is proper to the nonreturner.

“Accompanying this experience of quiet are sometimes supernatural phenomena. These phenomena are called ‘nimitta’ which translates from Sanskrit as ‘signs.’ Among the most universally experienced of these ‘signs’ is a kind of sourceless and high-pitched sound which arises in the ears—this is called the ‘divine sound.’ ‘Signs’ other than the divine sound can also begin to arise. One of these is called the inner fire or heat; this is a warmth which arises in the chest or heart, and which in Tibetan we refer to by the name ‘tummo.’ Like the divine sound, this or other signs may also be used as objects for the attention.

“It is important to know that once this stage is reached, should you die you will not be reborn as a human, but as a deva. But, should you want to reach liberation in your given life, you should work to cultivate your relative silence as an ‘object’ itself, putting aside the breath which was used as an object previously. As time passes, you will eventually provoke a crisis for yourself, which is that of the second mystic death.

“It is important to know that at this stage of introversion, cognition must be abandoned. One must reach a place where one sees only what is seen, one hears only what is heard, and one touches only what is touched. One should establish a state in which there is no mind, no ‘self,’ which acts as an intermediary in activities. And indeed, when there is no mind, there is no ‘you’ there, and you will cease to be.

“The state of inward silence marks the third stage of samadhi or absorption, and is proper to the arahant.

“When you have reached this advanced stage, your need to apply your faculty of attention will subside. You will fall into yourself, so to speak, and the previous, immeasurable labors that were necessary can now be put to one side.

 “When one has reached this condition of inward silence, the effort must be maintained to cultivate this silence as much as possible, and to ‘saturate’ oneself in it. And, having after infinite labors fixed yourself in silence, you will progress into the fourth stage of absorption, which is characterized by the ascent of what is called ‘viriya’ in Pali, or ‘virya’ in Sanskrit. This word translates as ‘energy’ or ‘virtue,’ and as you have pointed out to me this word contains the root for the Latin word ‘virility.’ When this power arises in you, you will overcome seemingly the most insurmountable of personal obstacles.

“Beyond this experience of ‘viriya,’" said the Yogi, "there is more. Beyond it one will gain the capacity to be transported to other worlds. But, if you can indeed progress to this fourth stage of absorption, then you are more than adept at going further, and at experiencing the next four stages of absorption. However, it should be known that fate is a strong hand in our lives, and most of us are not fated to build even the immaterial body, let alone reach these attainments in meditation.”

The Yogi went on to explain how one must take the time to sit, for an hour each day. He emphasized the importance of integrating one’s practice into daily life, so it becomes continuous through all other activities. The Yogi explained how he was several centuries old; how he had worked for many lifetimes; and how he was now, finally, reaching his goal.

[Jhanananda]

Thank-you, aglorincz, for posting this series on Sándor Csoma de Kőrös.  I had never heard of him.  He does not sound like a mystic, but he does sound like he was a linguistic genius.  His story certainly supports one of the central anthropological premises, which is summed up in the principle of diffusionism, which essentially postulates that humans have been on the move from their origin, and continue to be so, which explains why the gene pool is so narrow, and the traits so commonly shared among human societies. 

The story of Sándor Csoma de Kőrös also shows that it is not so very unlikely that Jesus may have traveled to India; however, I see no reason why he would have to go to India, because Indic religions are just as corrupt as western religions.  If Jesus was enlightened, then he would have figured that out, which may have brought him back to Judea, and martyrdom.

[mapeli]

Thank you for this story! It reminded me of Gurjieff/Ouspensky but less crazy and more Jhanananda. I enjoyed and benefited from reading this!

[Alexander]

Thank you for this story! It reminded me of Gurjieff/Ouspensky but less crazy and more Jhanananda. I enjoyed and benefited from reading this!

That is good. It is hard for me to write things like this. I cannot really get an audience to see if what I write makes sense. But I think that things like this should be accessible to people, so eventually I want to get a handful of stories like this available.

Also yes. I tried to integrate Ouspenky's beliefs about the immaterial body, with Jhananda's teachings about absorption, and my own personal knowledge I have about the noble persons. The story could probably use some artistic polish though, so it all sounds like the same thing a Tibetan Yogi could say. I like to keep it all coming from the mouth of someone else though, haha, so if someone of wrong view reads the story then it's still accessible to him in a limited way.

[mapeli]

The story could probably use some artistic polish though, so it all sounds like the same thing a Tibetan Yogi could say.

I don't know. I like that the level of polish or wrapper-story is quiet thin. I can't stand reading Ouspensky/Gurdjieff with all the filtering and digging needed to get to the candy, so to speak. Another thing about this is that for me the inner journey was and is more organic than what I get from reading The Fourth Way stuff. I just get stressed about trying to figure out what they mean. It makes the teaching seem artificial in some way. But please notice I'm talking about that stream of knowledge, not your excellent writing.

Reading your story had me ponder the concept of the immaterial body and its formation. For me, life it self was always struggle enough, and my horrible state of mind and that of the family and society around me was always more then enough material to struggle against, and there by forming this body I suppose. That kind of exercises that the yogi recommended I could never do for a longer period of time, and I do think that if not incorporated into a meditative practice that leads to Jhana I would have not done them, otherwise it would just have added to the suffering.
On the other hand 1), keeping up the discipline of meditation and an ethical lifestyle would provide a fairly organic tension in relation to the self and world, to form that body.
On the other hand 2) I did have a period when I practiced yoga to silence the body and mind and maybe that was enough. But I still have the opinion that The Fourth Way as it is written, seemed to over-exaggerate the pre-contemplative states and exercises, and a philosophy that may be excellent but is also and 'after-thought' in relation to the religious experience. To me, it seems.

Of course, the above is not criticism of your story, which I would like to add again that I greatly enjoyed. I would like to encourage you to write and post more similar stories because I too, even though I do get the message, get inspired by hearing it again in new frames and forms.

[Alexander]

I don't know. I like that the level of polish or wrapper-story is quiet thin. I can't stand reading Ouspensky/Gurdjieff with all the filtering and digging needed to get to the candy, so to speak. Another thing about this is that for me the inner journey was and is more organic than what I get from reading The Fourth Way stuff. I just get stressed about trying to figure out what they mean. It makes the teaching seem artificial in some way. But please notice I'm talking about that stream of knowledge, not your excellent writing.

Reading your story had me ponder the concept of the immaterial body and its formation. For me, life it self was always struggle enough, and my horrible state of mind and that of the family and society around me was always more then enough material to struggle against, and there by forming this body I suppose. That kind of exercises that the yogi recommended I could never do for a longer period of time, and I do think that if not incorporated into a meditative practice that leads to Jhana I would have not done them, otherwise it would just have added to the suffering.
On the other hand 1), keeping up the discipline of meditation and an ethical lifestyle would provide a fairly organic tension in relation to the self and world, to form that body.
On the other hand 2) I did have a period when I practiced yoga to silence the body and mind and maybe that was enough. But I still have the opinion that The Fourth Way as it is written, seemed to over-exaggerate the pre-contemplative states and exercises, and a philosophy that may be excellent but is also and 'after-thought' in relation to the religious experience. To me, it seems.

Of course, the above is not criticism of your story, which I would like to add again that I greatly enjoyed. I would like to encourage you to write and post more similar stories because I too, even though I do get the message, get inspired by hearing it again in new frames and forms.

They definitely overstate the pre-contemplative states, and do not mention any of the genuinely supernormal stuff like Jhananda does. But I understand what Gurdjieff's intentions were when he designed his school. The Gurdjieff work (its obtuseness included) is designed to take streamwinners, perfect them with knowledge of the "way out of the world," and then by the end hope to turn those streamwinners into once-returners. It is designed off of the old mystery schools, which functioned in the same way.

You, myself, Jhananda (and most of the people who find their way to Jeff Brooks) are, or are set to become, nonreturners or arahants. For us we have already struggled through being the lower noble persons, and that is why our lives have been so fortunate in that everything we needed to make progress in the holy life was given to us directly or fatefully.

So, those esoteric schools affect more people than Jhananda does, but it is focused on the long-term, two to four lifetimes' of progress, and on people who are just taking the first steps onto the "way." But Jhananda, if we wanted to say that he had a destiny, is there to give guidance to people who are already very advanced spiritually. So he teaches a small number of people, but very generously.

[mapeli]

Thank you for that clarification. It seems to make sense. And in all honesty, after having read through some of the fourth way material, I can still get one of those "right ideas" pop up as an explanation to something and I often enjoy it a lot. As far as schools go, I think it seems Gurdjieff at least had a great sense of humor.

Similar themes of stories that would be interesting is other kinds of people meeting with the yogi and/or that Sandor-guy, and dialogue with them. Like, priests of some different religions, children of different ages etc.