Miss Merston

Yesterday I was listening to some music composed by the mystic (is that what you'd call him? a mystic?) G.I. Gurdjieff and I remembered running across something about him many years ago when I read Colin Wilson's mammoth book on the occult, titled - wait for it - THE OCCULT. So I took out that volume and opened to a gathering of Gurdjieff and his disciples, "a special occasion when Miss Merston served tea to everyone. Every time she bent over to hand someone a teacup, she farted gently, and said, 'Pardon me.'" And now, like Miss Merston, I must beg your pardon for making you read this.