/lit/ - Literature

>>20489942
>>20488630
In a totally different religious system of Islamic Sufism, phenomena like this is referred to with words like kaif and baraka (blessing-power from God which can be given out through chosen recipients such as certain saintly figures and prophets, relics, tombs of such saints, even perhaps materials closely handled by such figures).

There’s a fascinating anecdote about the unconventional sage G. I. Gurdjieff, a figure occasionally mentioned here, who reputedly learned from as diverse sources as Sufi orders and travels in Tibet as a young man, by a one-time student of his, Fritz Peters, in his “My Boyhood with Gurdjieff”. The fascinating part is Peters doesn’t take the position of an adoring acolyte of Gurdjieff’s who was hypnotized into revering him — he paints Gurdjieff as a very complex, human figure with human failings and eccentricities just like anyone else (sometimes in an apparently even greater degree), reports getting in great fights with G. and eventually coming to leave him and his system of teachings, but not without still having a great respect for him — more in the vein of a great man that he knew and even as somewhat of a father figure, than as a “divine master” or saint whom he blindly worshiped.

Peters reports this experience after being away from Gurdjieff from many years, developing what today would be known as post-traumatic stress disorder from his experiences in WW2, and finding him again in Paris in the late summer of 1945.

>He stared at me again for a second, dropped his cane, and cried out in a loud voice, "My son!". The impact of our meeting was such that we threw our arms around each other, his hat fell from his head, and the concierge, who had been watching, screamed. I helped him retrieve his hat and cane, he put one arm around my shoulders and started to lead me up the stairs, saying: “Don't talk, you are sick."
>When we reached his apartment, he led me down a long hall to a dark bedroom, indicated the bed, told me to lie down, and said: "This your room, for as long as you need it." I laid down on the bed and he left the room but did not close the door. I felt such enormous relief and such excitement at seeing him that I began to cry uncontrollably and then my head began to pound. I could not rest and got up and walked to the kitchen where I found him sitting at the table. He looked alarmed when he saw me, and asked me what was wrong. I said I needed some aspirin or something for my headache, but he shook his head, stood up and pointed to the other chair by the kitchen table. "No medicine," he said firmly. "I give you coffee. Drink as hot as you can." I sat at the table while he heated the coffee and then served it to me. He then walked across the small room to stand in front of the refrigerator and watch me.