The Horse, The Carriage, The Driver

The horse, the carriage, and the driver is an analogy Gurdjieff uses to illustrate the three centers, the roles they play, and our relationship to them. The horse, representing my emotions, is rather spirited and unruly of late. It’s been rearing at odd moments. The carriage, my physical body, remains in good shape because I take time to tend it. The driver, my thinking center, can be problematic when not paying the kind of attention that is needed. These three parts of myself work best when a fourth entity, which Gurdjieff calls the Master is present. Therein lies the rub.

The Master

Who and what is the Master? I’ve come to believe it is “real I,” a higher and integrated part of myself. It could be conscience. Or maybe the two grow together. I have had tastes of this other “thing” which is what it feels like to me—something not quite formed enough to give the name of “I” to with assurance. At first, I was only aware of this on rare occasions. In recent years it’s felt more palpable, like an outline filling in. Yet this Master is not solid enough to take its place with authority inside the carriage. My sense is, that by continuing and refining my work over time, the I forms. Like a child, it must be nurtured and allowed to grow.

The Owner and Something Else

In the meantime, what do I do with this skittish horse, the carriage that for all its upkeep is aging, the driver that has been with me all my life, but needs oversight? I am, after all, the owner of this rig. I see that I need to work with the horse, continue to maintain the carriage, and offer continuing educate for the driver. I do the best I can.

But I also see that something in me needs to be recognized and allowed to manifest. Like Saturday night at our Gurdjieff Feast—all the elements were there, both inner and outer preparation led up to this evening. The intention of renewal and celebration had been set. Yes, there were toasts and stories, and some found their Idiot.

The Moment

And yes, there was a moment after desert was served. The room was alive with twinkling candlelight, the glow of the chandelier reflecting on wood paneling, white linen, wine, water, and Armagnac glasses. People had shifted around the tables creating small pools of conversation. Laughter and animated voices rose in decibels. I was in the middle of a personal conversation when I became aware of the moment that the STOP exercise was called for. But I did not act on it. I had never initiated a STOP nor been granted the authority to do so. Yet in that room I was a senior member representing the work. I realize now I did have the authority, and in that moment, I could have acted on it from the right place.

In this waking moment I see that lost opportunity as the kind that must be acted upon. Just as the voice of conscience must be obeyed to grow strong, the Master needs to be recognized. To have her take her place in my carriage, direct the driver, and train the horse, I must learn to listen for the voice and to obey the directive.