Archive for the ‘George Gurdjieff’ Category


SARKIS POGOSSIAN, or as he is now called, Mr. X, is at the present time the owner of several ocean steamers, one of which, cruising among his favourite places, between the Sunda and Solomon Islands, he commands himself.

By race an Armenian, he was born in Turkey, but spent his childhood in Transcaucasia, in the town of Kars.

I met Pogossian and became friends with him when he was still a young man, finishing his studies at the Theological Seminary of Echmiadzin and preparing for the priesthood.

Before I met him I had already heard about him through his parents, who lived in Kars not far from our house and often came to see my father. I knew that they had an only son who had formerly studied at the ‘Temagan Dprotz’ or Theological Seminary of Erivan, and was now at the Theological Seminary of Echmiadzin.

Pogossian’s parents were natives of Turkey, from the town of Erzerum and had moved to Kars soon after it was taken by the Russians. His father was by profession a poiadji and his mother an embroideress in gold, specializing in breast-pieces and belts for djuppays Living very simply themselves, they spent all they had to give their son a good education.

1 A potadji is a dyer. A person of this profession can always be recognized by his arms, which are blue to the elbows from the dye that can never be washed off.

2 A djuppay is the special costume of the Armenian women of Erzerum.

Sarkis Pogossian rarely came to see his parents and I never had an opportunity to see him in Kars. My first meeting with him took place the first time I was in Echmiazdin. Before going there I returned to Kars for a short time to see my father, and the parents of Pogossian, learning that I would soon be leaving for Echmiadzin, asked me to take their son a small parcel of linen.

I was going to Echmiadzin for the purpose—as always—of seeking an answer to the question of supernatural phenomena, in which my interest not only had not diminished but had grown even stronger.

I must say here, as I mentioned in the previous chapter, that having become extremely interested in supernatural phenomena, I had plunged into books and also applied to men of science for explanations of these phenomena. But failing to find answers that satisfied me either in books or from the people I turned to, I began to seek them in religion. I visited various monasteries and went to see men about whose piety I had heard, read the Holy Scriptures and the Lives of the Saints, and was even for three months an acolyte of the famous Father Yevlampios in the monastery of Sanaine; and I also made pilgrimages to most of the holy places of the many different faiths in Transcaucasia.

During this period I happened again to witness a whole series of phenomena which were unquestionably real, but which I could in no way explain. This left me more bewildered than ever.

For example, once when I went with a company of pilgrims from Alexandropol for a religious festival to a place on Mount Djadjur, known among the Armenians by the name of Amena-Pretz, I witnessed the following incident:

A sick man, a paralytic, from the small village of Paldevan was being taken there on a cart, and on the road we fell into conversation with the relatives who were accompanying the invalid and talked with them as we went along.
This paralytic, who was barely thirty years old, had been ill for the past six years, but before that he had been in perfect health and had even done military service. He had fallen ill after his return home from service, just before his wedding, and had lost all use of the left side of his body. In spite of various treatments
by doctors and healers, nothing helped. He had even been specially taken for treatment to Mineralne Vodi in the Caucasus, and now his relatives were bringing him here, to Amena-Pretz, hoping against hope that the saint would help him and alleviate his sufferings.
On the way to this holy place we made a special stop, as all pilgrims usually do, at the village of Diskiant to pray at the miraculous icon of Our Saviour, which was in the house of a certain Armenian family. As the invalid also wished to pray, he was taken into the house, I myself helping to carry the poor man in.
Soon afterwards we came to the foot of Mount Djadjur, on the slopes of which the little church with the miraculous tomb of the saint is situated. We halted at the place where the pilgrims usually leave their carts, wagons and vans, at the end of the carriage road. From there the further ascent of a quarter of a mile must be made on foot, and many walk barefoot, according to the custom there, while others even do this distance on their knees or in some other special way.
When the paralytic was lifted from the cart to be carried to the top, he suddenly resisted, wishing to try to crawl up by himself as best he could. He was put on the ground “and he started dragging himself along on his healthy side. He did this with such difficulty that it was pitiable to watch him; but he still refused all help. Resting often on the way, he finally, after three hours, reached the top, crawled to the tomb of the saint, which was in the centre of the church, and having kissed the tombstone, immediately lost consciousness.
His relatives, with the help of the priests and myself, tried to revive him. We poured water into his mouth and bathed his head. And it was just as he came to himself that a miracle occurred. His paralysis was gone. At first the man was stupefied; but when he realized that he could move all his limbs, he sprang up and almost began to dance; then, all of a sudden recollecting himself, with a loud cry he flung himself prone and began to pray.
All the people there, with the priest at their head, immediately
fell on their knees and began to pray also. Then the priest stood up, and amidst the kneeling worshippers, held a service of thanksgiving to the saint.

Another incident, which puzzled me no less, took place in Kars. That year there was terrible heat and drought in the whole province of Kars; almost all the crops had been scorched; a famine threatened, and the people were becoming agitated.

That same summer there arrived in Russia from the patriarchate of Antioch an archimandrite with a miraculous icon—I do not remember whether of St. Nicholas the Miracle-worker or of the Virgin—to collect money for the relief of the Greeks who suffered in the Cretan War. He travelled with this icon chiefly to places in Russia with a Greek population, and he also came to Kars.

I do not know whether politics or religion was at the bottom of it all, but the Russian authorities in Kars, as elsewhere, took part in organizing an impressive welcome and in according him all kinds of honours.

When the archimandrite arrived in any town, the icon was carried from church to church, and the clergy, coming to meet it with banners, welcomed it with great solemnity.

The day after the archimandrite arrived in Kars, the rumour spread that a special service for rain would be held before this icon, by all the clergy, at a place outside the town. And indeed, just after twelve o’clock on that same day, processions set out from all the churches, with banners and icons, to join in the ceremony at the appointed place.

In this ceremony there took part the clergy of the old Greek church, of the recently rebuilt Greek cathedral, the military cathedral, the church of the Kuban regiment, and also of the Armenian church.

It was a day of particularly intense heat. In the presence of almost the entire population, the clergy, with the archimandrite at their head, held a solemn service, after which the whole procession marched back towards the town.

And then something occurred to which the explanations of contemporary people are absolutely inapplicable. Suddenly the sky became covered with clouds, and before the people had time to reach the town there was such a downpour that everyone was drenched to the skin.

In explanation of this phenomenon, as of others similar to it, one might of course use the stereotyped word ‘coincidence’, which is such a favourite word among our so-called thinking people; but it cannot be denied that this coincidence was almost too remarkable.

The third incident occurred in Alexandropol, when my family had returned there for a short period and we were living again in our old house. Next door to us was my aunt’s house. One of the lodgings in her house had been let to a Tartar who worked for the local district government either as a clerk or a secretary. He lived with his old mother and his little sister and had recently married a handsome girl, a Tartar from the neighbouring village of Karadagh.
Everything went well at first. Forty days after her marriage the young wife, according to the Tartar custom, went to visit her parents. But there, either she caught cold or something else happened to her, for when she returned she did not feel well, had to go to bed, and gradually became very ill.
They gave her the best of care, but in spite of being treated by several doctors, among whom, I remember, were the town doctor, Resnik, and the former army doctor Keeltchevsky, the condition of the sick woman went from bad to worse. An acquaintance of mine, a doctor’s assistant, went every morning, by order of Dr. Resnik, to give her an injection. This doctor’s assistant, whose name I do not remember—I only remember that he was unbelievably tall—often dropped in to see us when I was at home.
One morning he came in while my mother and I were drinking tea. We invited him to join us at the table and in the course of the conversation I asked him, among other things, how our neighbour was getting on.
‘She is very sick,’ he replied. ‘It is a case of galloping consumption and doubtless it will soon be “all over” with her.’
While he was still sitting there, an old woman, the mother-in-law of the sick woman, came in and asked my mother’s permission to gather some rose-hips in our little garden. In tears she told us how Mariam Ana—as the Tartars call the Virgin—had appeared that night to the sick woman in a dream and bade her gather rosehips, boil them in milk, and drink; and in order to calm her the old woman wished to do this. Hearing this, the doctor’s assistant could not help laughing.
My mother of course gave her permission and even went to help her. When I had seen the assistant off I also went to help.
What was my astonishment when, the next morning on my way to the market, I met the invalid with the old woman coming out of the Armenian church of Sev-Jiam, where there is a miraculous icon of the Virgin; and a week later I saw her washing the windows other house. Dr. Resnik, by the way, explained that her recovery, which seemed a miracle, was a matter of chance.

These indubitable facts, which I had seen with my own eyes, as well as many others I had heard about during my searchings— all of them pointing to the presence of something supernatural— could not in any way be reconciled with what common sense told me or with what was clearly proved by my already extensive knowledge of the exact sciences, which excluded the very idea of supernatural phenomena.

This contradiction in my consciousness gave me no peace, and was all the more irreconcilable because the facts and proofs on both sides were equally convincing. I continued my searchings, however, in the hope that sometime, somewhere, I would at last find the real answer to the questions constantly tormenting me.

And it was this aim which took me, among other places, to Echmiadzin, the centre of one of the great religions, where I hoped to find at least some slight clue leading to the solution of these inescapable questions.

Echmiadzin, or, as it is also called, Vagarshapat, is for the Armenians what Mecca is for the Moslems and Jerusalem for the Christians. Here is the residence of the Catholicos of all Armenians, and here also is the centre of Armenian culture. Every year in the autumn big religious festivals are held, to which come many pilgrims not only from all parts of Armenia but from all over the world. A week before the beginning of such a festival all the surrounding roads are filled with pilgrims, some travelling on foot, others in carts and wagons and still others on horses and asses.

I travelled on foot, in company with other pilgrims from Alexandropol, having put my belongings in the wagon of the Molokan sect.


Read Full Post »

If you wish to be rich, make friends with the police.

If you wish to be famous, make friends with the reporters.
If you wish to be full—with your mother-in-law.
If you wish to have peace—with your neighbour.
If you wish to sleep—with your wife.

If you wish to lose your faith—with the priest.
Source: from Gurdjieff Book “Meetings with Remarkable People”

Read Full Post »