Took the train from Paris to Fontainebleau (train and bus from station como ticket), and visited the Chateau. Then walked along the left side of the canal to the exit to the street then turning right on Rue Remy Dumoncel keeping to the right and eventually reached a church (called Centre Spirituel on map) where Louis 13th was baptized. From there across to Rue de Souvenir making a right and then to its end.
Having bought a bottle of cognac shaped in the Eiffel Tower along the way, I rushed into the Cemetery looking for those unique Stonehenge-like markers at the head and foot of the grave and flopped down on the grass of his grave dripping with sweat from the long walk in the hot sun; the bench designed for sitting was blocked by flowers.
Opening up my cognac bottle, I gave a "toast to the idiots" as Gurdjieff had done. (Like all things related to Gurdjieff there is now some sort of a list of idiot classifications, but I had not bothered with that.) It was enough to accept that I was an idiot, too. Yes, we are all idiots, trapped on this faraway planet. We are the elite who have studied Gurdjieff and feel superior to those idiots who are oblivious to their meaningless lives that begin and end too quickly. We elite are also the idiots because we know this truth and still fail to act to grow an eternal soul within. And for those elicit (me included), who call themselves teachers, they are the worst idiots because they attempt to teach others of the truth that can only be discovered within. ("There isn't a teaching that can live without a teacher" - my song "The University of God".)
Knowing full-well the futility of trying to establish a connection with a soul who has passed, such as the monks in Chapter 38 Religion of Beelzebub's Tales (See "Judas was a traitor"), I had decided to stand against the headstone to ask Gurdjieff to talk to me and prove that a soul does exist. I did not have much time as a taxi would be arriving soon to take me and my wife and son and daughter-in-law who would be delivering a grandchild within the week back to the station after a quick trip past Prieuré Study House.
I can report that nothing earth shattering occurred such as Ouspensky's hearing of Gurdjieff's voice, just the inner silence within. Being now 67 years old, I am remain eternally grateful for Beelzebub's Tales which was an affirmation of what I knew was the truth. 'Eternally' has meaning because I do not doubt that I have gained a soul; there is something of substance within me. I, like Professor Skridlov, find myself in tears over the silliest emotions, but that is my kesdjanian body. As for the food for my soul, I constantly work by means of my songs and writings to be of use to the world in my long, but short, life on earth.
Thank you Mr. G. I. Gurdjieff. It was wonderful to again recall the times when in my twenties I, like Hassein, sat in front of you in the spaceship. I am sure that we will meet some day.
