I came to a driveway and walked just far enough down to see Sherborne House, a huge old lord's manor coupled to a church. It was really there. It was a castle. I backed down the driveway to find a less intimidating entrance.

      The other side of the house was just as intimidating but the event had taken over and I walked up to the back door. As I approached, the door opened and Elizabeth Bennett, wife of J.G. Bennett, put two milk bottles on the back step. Her demeanor, dignified and focused, contrasted with her shabby work clothes. To me, American bumpkin fresh off the plane, Elizabeth was royalty. Without registering any surprise at seeing a hippie girl suddenly appear at the back door, she asked if I needed help. I said I had come to visit Avis. "Oh yes. You must be the girl she met on the plane. We have been expecting you." I was invited in.

      On the right was a huge room with high ceilings dimly lit from an inner courtyard where people silently chopped vegetables at old wooden tables. Through the stone corridor up some stairs, my eyes accommodated to the lack of light and I saw the rundown condition of the house. Holes pocked the walls and there was no furniture. Elizabeth took me to the upstairs library where Avis was sitting alone in a chair, the first furniture I had seen, underneath a tall window that looked out on a meadow. Books lined the room, and a tattered oriental carpet partly covered the floor.

      Elizabeth left me with Avis, who, pleased to see me, resumed talking. Within the hour, J.G. Bennett walked into the library. He was overwhelmingly tall, 6'4" or 6'6"; his white disheveled hair, intense energy, and tweedy clothes gave a mixed impression of Oxford professor/mad scientist/wizard. He was old and yet had the energy of a young man. His presence filled the empty room. Mr. Bennett's eyes were ice blue and he glanced at me only briefly before he spoke. "Are you Lynn?" "Yes." "Why have you come here?" "To visit Avis." This was a stupid answer but I felt immediately defensive. He was imposing, even frightening. The question, without any social preface, was that of a guardian at the gate. In any case, if he were a real teacher he wouldn't have to ask, he would just know. Mr. Bennett was silent, still looking down. I felt paralyzed and mute. My nervous system shut down and in the silence I felt psychologically stripped as he examined all my wires and circuits. Questions wasted time. He knew me instantly. Continuing to look down, he said, "In that case, sit next to me at lunch." He walked out. The examination took less than a minute. I knew he was the teacher I had come to find. Instead of joy or relief, I felt emptiness coated with dense resistance.

      Avis guided me to lunch in the dark formal dining room. Old portraits hung on the walls, pictures of people who were now ghosts living in the walls, no doubt. I sat on Mr. Bennett's right while young Americans served soup. Mr. Bennett asked me where I was from, and I said the only two words I said for the entire meal, "Los Angeles." Again, just as in the library I felt paralyzed but this time very disturbed. Bennett seemed to ignore me while he discussed how to tune a guitar with a man at the far end of the table. Unable to stop, I internally criticized the pettiness of their conversation all the while feeling that Bennett was reading my mind and understanding that I had no idea who I was. Abruptly, Mr. Bennett said to me, "I have someone I want you to talk to," and he introduced me to a couple of students from California. "Tell her what we are doing here," he told them.

      Over the next few hours, I had a short course on the Fourth Way. When the bell rang for tea, someone asked, "So, what are you going to do?" I slowly realized the obvious: I now had to ask Mr. Bennett if I could stay for the course. I found him at tea. He looked at me full on, "Do you have the commitment to see the course through?" "Yes." "Do you have the course fees and did you earn this money yourself?" "Yes." I had $1200, the exact fee for the course, another piece of the puzzle that snapped tightly into place. "Do you have experience in the Work?" "No." In fact, I didn't know what the question meant. What Mr. Bennett said next affected my relationships with people in the work for the next ten years: "There are people here who have many years of experience. They have learned the wrong way and will have to unlearn. In your case, you learn the right way from the beginning." He flashed a quick grin. "OK," I said. I was in.

      My empty ego billowed. Not only was I in, I was ahead of people who knew more. I was special and would have to be careful. At this school, you could learn in the wrong way. Who were the people spiritually gone wrong? I guessed often but never knew. Right at the outset, my guard went up.

      I was now a student of J.G. Bennett but my initiation was not complete. The hour before dinner was devoted to reading Beelzebub's Tales. Students quietly filled the lower library and sat cross-legged and motionless on the floor. Older students took the few chairs. The room was quiet, 90 people breathing. Minutes later, Bennett came in and sat in the big red chair. He began to read about spaceships, the planet Karatas, Our Lord Sovereign Endlessness, Mars, Pandetznokh, Zilnotrago, and You-cannot-jump-over-your-knees-and-it-is-absurd-to-try-to-kiss-your-own-elbow. This was strange and disturbing stuff, especially in contrast with Mr. Bennett's Oxford scholar persona. Parts of the reading seemed funny but no one laughed. No one moved. A bell rang. Bennett finished the sentence, closed the book, sat in silence for a couple of minutes, then he abruptly stood and walked out. Ninety people followed Mr. B. down the hall to dinner.

      In the dining room, I sat across from a man about 15 years my senior. I asked blandly, "What was Mr. Bennett reading from, H.G. Wells?" He sputtered and laughed uncontrollably. I had no idea why this question was so funny. "You don't know?" He was English. "No." Abruptly, his demeanor reversed and he said with controlled composure, "The book is Beelzebub's Tales to his Grandson, .... by Gurdjieff." Foolishly, I pressed forward, "Why is Mr. Bennett reading science fiction?" He lost it again, obviously delighted at this even funnier statement. I became aware of a certain tork on the rules of social engagement. Finally, Mick Sutton, long-time student of J.G. Bennett, composed himself and explained that the book in question was an impartially objective view of life on Earth. As critical as I was of just about everything in the universe, I drew a blank here. Gurdjieff's book was so weird, Mick's laughter so weird, I was in a different world entirely. This is how it is.

      The capstone of my Sherborne initiation occurred after dinner. Mr. Bennett gave an extemporaneous talk in the library. He focused a perspective that spanned all of time into the instant of speech. He talked about the meaning of life, immortality, will, the future of the planet and the present turning point in history as mankind struggles to learn a new role in the service of higher powers. As Mr. Bennett spoke, I sat motionless and relaxed. In this house, with these people, in this year, I would become enlightened. This was at the beginning of a new world. I was in the right place. I relaxed deeper and sheets of energy pulsed from my back. I floated at the ceiling, looking down on my new family, on Mr. B., on myself sitting there motionless. I observed from above in the silence. A voice said, "Is Lynn here?" I was back in my body, "Yes." I was shaking. Mr. Bennett then said, "I will answer these questions of yours later." He knew where I had been and he knew my questions. What were my questions? I had no questions. I was confident that Mr. Bennett would soon tell me exactly whatever it was I needed to know. Mr. Bennett continued his talk to the general group as if nothing strange had happened. This was the right place, these were the people, and Mr. Bennett was my teacher. Within a year, I would be enlightened.

      After the talk, Mr. Bennett sat silently, then stood and quickly walked out. I followed him into the hall. "Mr. Bennett!" "Yes?" he turned and looked at me as if he had never seen me before. "You said you would answer my questions." "Did I?" "Yes. You said you would answer my questions." He stood silently for a few seconds, looking downward, then said tersely, "I said nothing of the sort," and walked away.

      Initiation complete, the guardian angel that guided me to Sherborne departed. I had been given enough. Anything further would have to be earned by work. I was committed and I believed, but in what I didn't yet know.

      In the morning, I was handed a kitchen knife and told to scrap wallpaper off a 14-foot-high wall. Somewhere, I found a ladder.

 

* Meeting J.G. Bennett by Lynn Quirolo first appeared on "Stopinder: A Gurdjieff Journal for Our Time," Number 4, Spring 2001.