The Gurdjieff Movements: A Personal Journey

It was 1971, and I had been attending a group for almost a year when I was invited to take part in a Movements class. It was a new class, so we were mostly beginners. I found myself somewhere in the middle of the class with absolutely no idea what to expect. No preconceptions. I only knew of the existence of the Movements from references to them in some of the publications available at that time.  

We stood in silence, waiting. 

As the pianist situated in the corner of the room started to play a simple rhythm of four beats in the bar, the Movements teacher, who was facing us, started to move her feet in time to the music, asking us at a specific moment to begin, precisely together, a march in place. As I moved my foot forward and brought it back to the floor, the shock of that contact in unison with the others in the class sent a bolt of sensation through my whole body that awakened me to the simple reality and joy of being alive. I looked around in astonishment as if by doing so I might discover what on earth was happening. That experience has never left me.  

Over the years, the question of existence has only deepened and been replenished by immersing myself more and more in the special conditions of which the Movements are a vital part and that feeds and replenishes the search for meaning.  

This search led me to guiding others in Movements classes. In the UK, we have adopted the title of “Movements Assistants.” It is a term that, for me, implies that our role is to try and assist something rather than teach it. The title varies in different places, but for now, I will use the term “teacher.” 

Working with a Movements class is as much an expanding question for us as it is for those taking part in the class. The challenge is enormous. The more we participate, the more we learn. The more we learn, the more we enter the never-ending question of existence.  

First, the form must be learned so that it becomes ingrained. Different Movements have different aims/purposes. There are exercises which have been created principally to challenge and train the attention.  

Other Movements contain something else in addition, a certain knowledge that can only be lived, that can only be experienced while participating in the Movement. Afterward, when the class is over, there is a memory of receiving that knowledge. But it is only a memory of the mind because, without realizing it, I have already fallen back into an ordinary level of consciousness. My state may have temporarily changed,  but am I my state? I believe whatever state I am in, and that I still understand. But in fact, I only think I understand.  

Amongst the other Movements are dances, often entitled Temple Dances, and very strong rhythmic exercises called Dervishes.  

Multiplications are based on the laws of three and seven, which, according to the teaching, are the two laws that manage the whole universe. It is sometimes possible to have a taste of being a part of this huge movement while engaged in a Multiplication exercise: as if the lower represents a reflection of the higher. 

Other Movements are called Prayers.  

I am reminded now, as I write this, of a conversation some years ago with a Greek Orthodox monk on Mount Athos. We talked of the loss of real knowledge in today’s world. He said, “The problem today is that people have forgotten how to pray.” Taking part in these Movements offers the possibility of approaching and living that question. 

In the beginning, all of our attention is directed toward learning the Movement. The more we practice, the more we are forced to acknowledge, through direct experience, that all our movements are automatic. And we move automatically because the body, when it is allowed to, does whatever it wants. 

But in the Movements class, we are asked to persist when the body resists. When we persist, and as the form of the Movement begins to be known, little by little, some of that attention can be freed to approach another level of search, but crucially, without losing the connection with the body. It is essential that the body remains under the authority of a purer attention because it is only when under that influence that it can perform its true function of obedience to a higher authority. 

So it is vital that we begin to experience that the automatism of the body is maintained by tensions, tensions that in turn create this resistance to doing what is asked of it. When a light is shone on it, and for as long as that light remains, those tensions melt, allowing the refusal of the body to be transformed into a willingness to engage with the movement, with life. Once we know the purpose of these Movements, we must stay as close as possible to that purpose and allow the form to play its role and not become a distraction. The search is to find and stay with the life that exists within it. 

So it is essential that the one in front of the class assists the class in making this transition to another level, or everything will inevitably be taken back down to the ordinary level of consciousness, or, as Gurdjieff would call it, “sleep.” 

This process is an example of the movement of life that is forever coming and going without our realizing it. We only recognize that our connection with life’s movements has been forgotten when we experience the moment of being “remembered” again. This all takes place in an instant. The moment of return is recognized, but unless something is prepared to receive its appearance in us, we are taken by the strength of the impression and the “better” state it leaves behind. We only see results. Its actual departure eludes us. 

We need to be constantly reminded that the aim of the teaching is to help us recognize that our role in this life is to learn how to become an intermediary between above and below, in order that the process of transmission between the higher and the lower can take place. Of course, filling this role is a very high aim and most of the time beyond us, but at the same time, a taste of this possibility can be experienced in rare moments. Our role and responsibility is to prepare for this and also, as far as possible, protect the aim of the teaching from distortion. That means also distortion from us. 

Particularly in relation to the Movements, this raises the question as to the general availability these days of the form through videos on YouTube, etc., because by itself the form is only the outer part of the language. Practicing the form without a genuine understanding of what it is for, even with the best intention, can only lead to distortion.  

The concern is that people genuinely seeking meaning in their lives may be drawn to the outward form alone, as it inevitably carries an echo of truth simply because it was created by a master. By simply mimicking the form, accurately or not, an emotional “high” can be produced, which can easily be mistaken for its true purpose. We are all in front of this challenge. 

When Marthe de Gaigneron, one of the foremost Movements teachers who was with Gurdjieff from the early 1940s, was asked why all the Movements seemed to be done at such a fast tempo, apparently both in Gurdjieff’s lifetime and for some years afterwards, she replied, “Because we could not do them more slowly.”   

It is attributed to Aristotle that “Nature abhors a vacuum.”  Through the practice of the Movements, the evidence of this statement can be experienced again and again in our lives.   

When there is more time to move between one posture and another, if the movement is to be alive, something more conscious is needed to fill the extra space created by the slowing of the tempo. Otherwise, it will be filled by a lower energy. Both the Movement and the one doing it will inevitably be taken down to a lower level of consciousness filled with all kinds of distractions consisting mainly of our habitual way of moving, associative thoughts, and feelings.   

In the artificial conditions of the Gurdjieff teaching, that of course includes the Movements, the constant challenge of trying to be with what we are doing, brings us repeatedly in front of this fact whether we like it or not. The insertion of difficulties into a Movement such as unnatural postures, difficult inorganic rhythms, and varying tempos are designed to provoke resistance. The effort of trying to stay with these difficulties rather than escaping from them is unnatural for us as it creates an inner struggle which the body dislikes. But it is this sensation of struggle that awakens us to the fact that we are alive.  It reinforces the energy of refusal that we are usually completely unaware of but, in fact, influences everything we do.  

Our daily lives are designed to avoid the feeling of anything unpleasant unless there is some personal prize to be had. Anything we do not like is avoided if at all possible. In life, we only sense passively, that is either when forced to, as with physical pain, or with what brings us pleasure. At the same time, this refusal is at the root of our Being, constantly influencing our behavior. 

Because the form by itself originates from a higher source, that is, Gurdjieff, it can play the role of an attraction for a new quality of feeling, which helps us maintain the trying. It is said that every external posture also exists within us. When a posture on the outside is taken precisely and with a certain intention, it resonates with the corresponding inner representation of that posture. The result of that resonance can then appear on the outside. 

The question that arises from all this is: how to maintain the balance between the intention and the difficulty? Facing and indeed invoking this question is the main aim in all aspects of the Teaching, whether in our everyday lives or in the artificial conditions of groups and Movements etc., where we are protected from life’s temptations. There begins to be a realization that behind all this camouflage and through a shared participation with others, everything seems to be in movement—a huge movement to which we all belong.  

If this is true, then consciousness also cannot be static. It must be in constant movement like everything else. The human problem is that we cannot, with our “ordinary” attention, stay with and follow the movement of life. However, in the conditions of the Movements class, we can begin to experience this movement and our incapacity to stay with it. And we realize that all our movements are completely automatic unless a real attention can enter the scene. But that attention cannot be sustained by itself. Another influence is needed. We experience at certain moments that help comes from above, but why should it enter the situation? 

Something within the friction caused by the effort of trying to stay with and maintain the struggle attracts this higher influence as if it recognizes something of itself in the energy created by the struggle. It seems that like is attracted to like. The aim is to maintain this connection and so allow an energy that could have an influence on the earth to pass from one level to another. 

Of course, all this is simply a description of moments, glimpses of another reality, but moments that seem to be free of time. Only a partial understanding of these experiences can be expressed in words. Perhaps we can say that the Movements are part of a process of preparation. 

There is, however, a kind of confidence, certainty even, that all of these glimpses can gather together to create a “something” which is located somewhere secret inside. That means it is secret from the “me” that believes it understands.