Section 1: Multiplicity and Fragmentation – “The Inner Chorus”

Welcome to the inaugural episode of Martfotai—a quiet path to freedom and becoming.

Over the past five years, after more than 230 episodes on The Dog Teachings Podcast, and especially within our last nineteen episodes, we've begun to deepen our exploration of presence, awareness, and the unfolding of consciousness.

To honour and preserve the lasting legacy of Russell A. Smith—and his clearly documented, objective method of activating the impartial observer within us—a commitment was made not to alter or add to Russell’s teachings. Yet, as our journey naturally progresses into deeper waters of presence and wholeness, we must now open a new path, a fresh channel through which we can freely delve into the fuller unfoldment of consciousness—embracing all parts of ourselves, both light and dark.

That new path is Martfotai.

Martfotai is a school of direct experience, rooted in G.I. Gurdjieff’s work. Its name—“Person of Light,” from Marta and Photon—points directly toward our aim: full self-individuality, presence, and clarity.

In Gurdjieff’s Fifth Obligatory Being Striving, he describes:

“The striving always to assist the most rapid perfecting of other beings, both those similar to oneself and those of other forms, up to the degree of the sacred Martfotai—that is, up to the degree of self-individuality.”

That striving—rapid perfecting—is the very heart of what we will do here. Martfotai isn't a set of beliefs; it is a practical way of transformation, a series of methods and principles that help you integrate swiftly, become whole, and then guide others toward their own self-individuality.

I’m Gary Eggleton—and today, we begin with one of the foundational insights on this path:

You are not one, but many. (pause)

This isn't metaphor. It is observable truth.

Have you ever watched yourself for even an hour and wondered who’s really in charge? (pause)

Notice how, one moment, you’re kind…
the next, frustrated.
One breath you’re confident…
the next, unsure or anxious.

Each of these moments is a different “I.”

And each believes it is the real you—unaware that it arrived only seconds ago and will vanish just as quickly.

Gurdjieff called this multiplicity.

Christ illustrated it when he asked the demon its name—and heard, “My name is Legion… for we are many.”

Every new impression—a tone of voice, a memory, a glance across the room—activates another part of you. A fresh “I” steps onto the stage to speak, to react, to lead.

But it’s not the same “I” who stood here five minutes ago. That one has already left. And the one before that… has vanished too.

What we call “personality” is simply a chorus—a cast of selves, each playing its part, each unaware of the others waiting backstage.

This is why you contradict yourself.
Why promises are broken.
Why pure intentions unravel into mechanical habits.

It’s not that you’re broken—it’s that you are divided.

This fragmentation—this inner crowd of selves—is not your fault. It’s the outcome of a life lived without conscious attention, where external impressions have ruled you, and you were never shown how to direct your own awareness.

So the first step is simple:

To see. (pause)

To observe the parade of selves that live within you.
To notice that you are not one, but many.
And to do so not with judgment, not with shame—but with honesty.

That is the beginning of freedom. Because what you can clearly see… you can eventually stop feeding.

And what you stop feeding… begins to dissolve.

Section 2: Understanding the “I” – Friend or Foe?

Once you begin to see the many “I”s that live within you, a new question naturally arises:

Are they bad? Should I fight them? Should I get rid of them? (pause)

No.

These fragments are not your enemies. They are parts of you—imperfect, yes, but trying in their own way to help you survive.

• That burst of anger? It was defending your boundaries.
• That anxious “I”? It thought it could protect you from failure or pain.
• That voice of withdrawal? It wanted to shield you from something overwhelming.

Each one serves you… only it does so blindly, from habit rather than clarity.

The danger isn’t the “I” itself.
The danger is identifying with it.

When you believe you are the anger… or the fear… or the voice that says you’ll never be enough—
you hand over the steering wheel.

In that moment, awareness is hijacked. You stop responding to life and start reacting mechanically.

See it… don’t be it. (pause)
What if you could step back right now?

Instead of getting pulled into anger or fear, you simply watch it—
like a cloud drifting across a vast sky.

You don’t resist it.
You don’t feed it.
You just see.

That seeing is not passive. It’s powerful.

Because what you see clearly, you no longer serve.

This is not about judging your “I”s.
It’s about understanding them—
seeing what they are, what they want, and what they lack.

When you no longer identify with them…
you’re free to choose.

And that, in the end, is real power.

Section 3: Daily Practice – Fasting the “I” (An Inner Lent)

Now that you’ve seen the fragmentation—and you understand that each “I” is not the enemy but simply a misplaced protector—it’s time to apply that insight.
This is where Martfotai becomes real.
Through practice.
Through presence.
Through the quiet refusal to feed what no longer serves.

We call this: Fasting an “I.”
Just as physical fasting cleanses the body, fasting from a particular identity cleanses the inner being.
This is an Inner Lent—a sacred discipline, not of food, but of attention.
You’re not punishing the “I.”
You’re not trying to erase it.
You are simply withdrawing the one thing it needs to survive: your attention.

Step 1: Choose Your “I.” (pause)
Pick one fragmented identity that regularly disrupts your inner life. It might be the voice of anger, insecurity, impatience, or numbness. Be specific—name it clearly. The more precisely you recognize the “I,” the easier it is to notice it.

Step 2: Withdraw Attention. (pause)
When that “I” appears during the day—don’t feed it. Don’t enter its narrative. Don’t argue or try to change it. Just notice… and gently say to yourself:

“Not now. Not you. Today, you fast.”
Let your attention slip away like water off a smooth stone.

Step 3: Redirect Attention. (pause)
Anchor your awareness in something real—your breath, the weight of your body, the sounds around you. Return to the present. Let the “I” drift backstage, no longer holding the spotlight.

Step 4: Observe Impartially. (pause)
Watch what happens without giving it fuel. You’ll notice it weakens. It quiets. It passes. Without your attention, it cannot sustain itself. If you don’t feed it, it starves. If you don’t use it, you lose it.

Step 5: End with Gratitude. (pause)
At day’s end—or in the moment—pause and give thanks. Not out of obligation, but out of recognition. Silently thank yourself for seeing clearly and choosing consciousness.

This practice is deceptively simple. Over time, it rewires your inner structure. It shows that attention is power—and that your freedom lies in refusing to serve the “I”s blindly.

Attention returned.
Power reclaimed.
Freedom rediscovered.

Section 4: Two Wolves Within – A Story of Inner Choice

A young boy came to his grandfather, filled with anger at another child who had wronged him.
The old Cherokee nodded quietly, then said,
“Let me tell you a story…”

“I too, at times, have felt a great hate for those who harmed others without regret. But hate wears you down. It poisons the one who carries it. Hate does not hurt your enemy. It hurts you.

It’s as if there are two wolves inside me, always fighting. One is good—he lives in harmony, takes no offense without cause, and only fights when it is just. The other is angry. The smallest thing sets him into a fit of temper. He fights without reason; his rage clouds his thinking; and though he is fierce, he changes nothing.

Both wolves try to dominate my spirit. Sometimes it’s hard to live with them both.”

The boy thought for a moment, then asked,
“Which wolf will win?”

The grandfather smiled and replied,
“The one I feed.” (pause)

That’s the whole teaching. No sermon. No explanation. Just the fact.

Your attention is food. (pause)
Each time you feed the angry, fearful, or anxious “I,” it grows stronger. It sharpens its teeth. It learns your rhythms. It gains ground.

But if you stop feeding it…
If you withdraw your attention…
If you let it go hungry just for today…
It weakens. It falls silent. It loses its power over you.

At the same time, by returning your focus to breath, stillness, or clear seeing…
You feed the other wolf. The quiet one. The one who watches without reaction.

It’s not about being good. Or perfect.
It’s about recognizing which wolf you’re feeding.

That choice determines your path—
Which voice speaks…
And which one fades away.

Section 5: Gurdjieff’s First Aphorism – “Like What It Does Not Like”

Gurdjieff’s very first aphorism was this:

“Like what it does not like.”

Not tolerate. Not endure.
But like.

To like what it does not like is not natural for the personality. It’s unnatural for the conditioned self—because every fragment wants only what it wants. It craves comfort, validation, superiority. And it resists anything that threatens its image or control.

But there is a way to reconcile what seems irreconcilable.

And that way begins with a shift in attention.

Instead of identifying with the “I” that resists…
You step back.
You observe.

You don’t side with the anger. You don’t push it away either.
You see it—fully, impartially.

In that seeing, something else appears.
A third force.

Not yes, not no—but understanding.
Not reaction, not repression—but recognition.

That third force is what allows reconciliation between opposites.
It doesn’t make the “I” like what it dislikes through force or suppression.
It reveals the why behind its dislike.

And once that is seen clearly, resistance softens on its own.

You don’t make the “I” like discomfort.
But you, the one who sees, can begin to understand the discomfort.

And in that understanding, space opens.

It’s not about flipping the switch.
It’s about letting the light in.

Every moment of inner conflict—every time an “I” rises that cannot accept, cannot bear, cannot love—there is an opportunity.

Not to force it. Not to pretend.

But to stand between the wolves…
And feed neither.

To watch.

To wait.

And to let the third force do what the personality never can:

Bring peace.

Not by agreement.
But by awareness.

This is the meaning behind “like what it does not like.”
Not an emotional liking, not a forced positivity…

But a quiet acceptance that sees both sides—and chooses neither.

Until what was once unbearable…
becomes simply what is.

Section 6: The Power of Stopping

One of the simplest truths to share is:
“A person can do nothing unless they can stop themselves.”

It sounds obvious. So ordinary.
But if you truly see what it means… it changes everything. (pause)

We like to believe we have free will.
That we’re in control. That we choose our responses.

But stop for a moment… and ask yourself:

When someone disrespects you—do you pause… or react?
When anxiety rises—do you meet it with clarity… or does it take over?

For most of us, the answer is clear: we react.
We defend. We obey the momentum of the “I” that got triggered.

In that moment—we are not free.

Real freedom begins the moment you can stop.
Not suppress. Not avoid.
Just… stop.

A single breath.
A single beat of silence before the old pattern plays out. (pause)

That pause is sacred. (pause)
It’s the space where choice can appear.

If you can stop—even for half a second—something else can enter:

• A breath.
• A new impulse.
• Clear seeing of what’s unfolding.

Without that pause, the “I” runs the show.
With it, you reclaim the seat of your own attention.

Stopping is not weakness.
It’s not passivity.
It’s the beginning of mastery.

The world—both inner and outer—thrives on your predictable reactions.
But the moment you stop—even once—you become unpredictable.
You become free.

That is the real rebellion:
Not fighting the system, but refusing to feed it…
No longer being ruled by the “I” that always speaks first.

The power of stopping is the power to interrupt the loop.
To reclaim your attention.
To return to presence.
To simply be.

And once you’ve done it, you know it’s possible.
You’ll never forget the taste of that freedom.

Section 7: Becoming Whole – You Never Lose Parts, You Grow Larger

There’s a subtle misunderstanding on this path— (pause)
We assume what people often call “awakening” means shedding parts of ourselves: anger, grief, insecurity, jealousy, fear.

But what if real presence isn’t something you need to find or gain?
What if you’re already awake—right now—and always have been?

Every moment, an "I" within you is on the stage, directing your life. The issue is not the absence of awareness, but that the actor currently performing is fragmented, shifting unpredictably from one scene to another—unpredictable to you, yet often entirely predictable to others.

In any ordinary day, you are always awake. You are always playing a role. The challenge is that you can't hold the stage consistently. You don't listen to the inner director, jumping erratically between roles and scripts, distracted from the reality right in front of you.

True awakening is not adding or subtracting parts.
It's seeing clearly who is on stage, who is directing, and learning to remain there—with steadiness, continuity, and intentionality.

Your “I” that feels small, overwhelmed, or reactive still exists.
Yet when you’re fully present, it no longer fills the sky.
It becomes a ripple in vast stillness—
like a drop of ink in an ocean. (pause)

Consider grief.
You don’t erase grief.
You expand your being, and grief remains—but no longer defines the space.

Or anger.
It may still flash, but now you see it, hold it, and choose not to act.
It passes through you like a storm in open air
instead of a story you inhabit.

This is wholeness.
Not perfection.
Not purity.
But capacity. (pause)

The capacity to hold opposites.
To bear contradictions.
To welcome all of yourself without collapsing into any of it.

When you’re small inside, every disturbance overwhelms.
When you’re vast, even pain becomes just another guest—
invited, but no longer in charge.

Have you felt that shift? (pause)

You begin to see nothing inside you is wrong.
Nothing needs banishment.
Each part is simply a voice—some young, some wounded, some outdated.

As your presence grows,
you become the one who listens,
not the one who gets lost.

You become the house,
not the noise inside it.

That’s where this work brings you.
Not to a better version of you,
but to a truer one,
a bigger one.

Whole not because the parts are gone,
but because now… they have somewhere to rest.

Section 8: Real Presence – Seeing Clearly

There’s a moment on the path—quiet, undramatic—where something shifts. (pause)
You stop searching for new beliefs.
You stop waiting for some future version of yourself to arrive.
Instead, you begin to see who is actually here, right now.
Clearly. Simply. Unflinchingly.

Have you ever noticed how the war inside you isn’t really between good and bad, but between clarity and confusion? (pause)

Real presence isn’t about gaining more knowledge.

It’s not about uncovering hidden truths or secret teachings.

It comes down to one thing only:

Where is your attention?

When your attention is scattered—hijacked by a hundred small “I”s—you remain divided.
Divided people are predictable.
Predictable people are easy to manipulate.

The fragmented world around you doesn’t require you to be lost or confused—just distracted.

The world around you thrives on your fragments—because fragments can be sold, guided, categorized.
But the moment you gather your attention…
The moment you become whole…

You slip out of its grasp.

Not by fighting.
But by no longer feeding it with your unconsciousness.

You become unpredictable.

Unbothered.

Free.

This is true clarity:

Not a dramatic event,

but a return to what was always here—

A coming home to stillness.

To presence.

To the quiet witness within you that never left. (pause)

And in that seeing, the illusion dissolves:

You watch old patterns rise… and fade.

You feel the old “I”s knock at the door… and pass.

You don’t resist them.

You don’t open the door.

You simply stand—

Silent.

Unmoved.

Clear.

This is not the end of the journey.

But it is the end of being fooled by it.

From here on, your experience becomes very different.

Because now… you see.

Section 9: Daily Anchor Practice – The Breath of Awareness

Let’s come back to now.

Not as an idea. Not as a theory.
As an experience.

Sit quietly.
No need to change anything.
Just be here.

Take a breath—in and out.

As you inhale, say inwardly:

“I am here.”

As you exhale:

“I am enough.”

Let it be simple.
No drama. No effort.

Just breath…
and awareness.

Notice the space between thoughts.
Notice the stillness beneath all movement.
Notice that you are not your thinking. You are the one watching thought come and go.

And from that place of quiet presence…

You’ll see:
You are not broken.
You are not behind.
You are not lost.

You are already whole.
Simply forgotten for a moment.
Simply covered, like the sky behind clouds.

Every breath is a return.

A return to the only moment you’ll ever touch—now.
A return to the only place you’ll ever be—here.

No “I” can give you that.
No identity needs to claim it.
This is yours.

Already.

Right now.

Closing Reflection & Invitation

You don’t need to become someone else.
You don’t need to wait for some future version of you to arrive.
You are already whole.
Already here.
Already capable of seeing clearly. (pause)

But your attention has been scattered—
Fed to voices that aren’t yours,
Drawn into identities that rise and fall like waves.

Fasting the fragmented “I” isn’t punishment.
It’s remembering.
Reclaiming the most sacred thing you have—your attention.

Because what you feed, lives.
And what you withdraw from… returns to stillness.

You don’t have to fight your patterns.
You don’t have to fix your pain.
You simply stop feeding what pulls you away,
And begin feeding what brings you home.

Each moment of clarity is a thread—
Pull it.

Each breath of presence is a door—
Walk through it.

Each refusal to feed a fragmented “I” is a quiet revolution.

This is how it begins.
Not with a bang.
Not with a breakthrough.
But with a choice so small, it feels like silence:

To see. To stop. To be.

That is the Martfotai path.
Not a religion.
Not a movement.
Not an identity.
Just a quiet walk…
Back to yourself.

So begin today:
Choose one “I” to fast from—just one.
And let that single thread of awareness begin to pull you out of the fog.

You don’t have to get it perfect.
You just have to return—
Over and over again.
In silence.
In simplicity.
In truth. (pause)

We’ll be taking a short break from the podcast while we focus on developing Martfotai into a full school dedicated to inner transformation. To stay informed and receive invitations as we launch new classes, practices, special events and courses, please visit martfotai.com and register your email.

We’ll announce our return both here and on our new Martfotai channel, as soon as we’re ready to continue this journey together.

Thank you deeply for walking with me today—and through all the days that have brought us here.

I'm Gary Eggleton, and this is Martfotai.

It is truly an honour to share this quiet path to freedom with you.

Until we meet again.