Mother holds a series of slips of paper in her hand:
This morning I was in a sort of zonea zone or a vein. You know, the veins of gold inside the earth? It was like that. In the mental banality of the world, there was a sort of luminous vein going past and in which I found myself plungedit felt pleasant, it felt very comfortable. And I started noting things down, when those people came with all the usual ineptitudes, each one asking something, each one shut in like this (gesture with blinkers), so it went away.
I called it, A few definitions.
The first one was about someone going away who wanted to take something [blessed by Mother] for his family. I told him, Oh, they arent receptive. So he asked, What does being receptive mean? (He didnt ask me, but when he left the room he was scratching his head and he asked his friend, What does Mother mean? What does being receptive mean?) I answered in English and it took many, many forms, and today, its one of the things that came in that vein. And whats peculiar in this sort of experience is that when it comes, the words take on a very precise meaning; I am not at all sure if its their usual meaning, but they have the vibration of their meaning, a sort of crystalline little vibration. And it comes without alteration. I put:
To be receptive is to feel the urge to give and the joy of giving to the Divines Work
all one has
all one is
all one does.1
Its the one that came first. After it, there came the old story of being purewhat does being pure mean? It doesnt mean all kinds of old moral ideas, no.
To be pure is to refuse
In other words, there was the sensation of something very activevery active: being passive wasnt enough, it was necessary to be very active.
to refuse any influence other than that of the supreme Truth-Love.
Truth-Love as one word.
Then a third definition came:
To be sincere is to unify ones entire being around the supreme inner Will.
To unify ones entire being around the supreme inner Will. And this supreme Will was visible, like a flame that had the shape of a sword; and only what is governed by That is allowed to act.
Then the last one (the last because they brought me my breakfast and I had to stop):
To be integral is to make a harmonious synthesis of all ones possibilities.
It came along with the vibration it contained. And it could have gone on, it was there, but then I was interrupted. Its more amusing than to listen to their stories, at any rate.
The inspiration of it all was that vein of gold?
Yes. It was light, not gold. It was a light like a strip (gesture). Then one is bathed in that and one is very happy.
And it brought me (what I have just said is nothing, it was the end) a clear vision of whats necessary for the world, the necessary transformations in the mental atmosphere of the earth to put an end to wars, for instance. The end to wars was one of the consequences. And each thing was in its place in relation to the other (Mother draws a sort of chessboard), and there was such a clear, clear vision of all the relationships, of all the positions, of all that.
Its great fun.
I mean its a pleasant distraction. It gives you the feeling of seeing very clearly all that must take place in the realm of not exactly of ideas, but of psychological reactions.
And it doesnt depend on me, I dont make an effort: it just comes. Its something that comes, then I seem to be plunged in a bath and I only have to look. It comes ready-made, effortlessly. Its a STATE in which I find myself, with, for example, the vision of the terrestrial mental progress, of the way in which the human mentality is organized (same gesture as if indicating a chessboard); and its very interesting because living conditions are conditioned by thought-states, and so I see how the thought-state must be changed in order for life to be changed (Mother draws currents of force on the chessboard). And I sit there, as if in a theater, and I watch, and it works.
If I had some peace I would write it down (because it comes all formulated) and it could be interesting. It must belong to the realm of revelation. Its like a luminous strip passing by, but it is all organized. But one needs peace (I scribbled the last note here while they were preparing my breakfast, and after that ). But anyway, its not of transcendent interest; its only because its very clear, very precise, and it obviously doesnt have the character of ordinary human thought: its ready-made, it comes ready-made.
In that state, for instance, all the cells, the whole body keeps stillyou no longer have a body, you no longer have cells, you no longer have all those disorders, all that friction: all that goes away. It disappears and another consciousness dominates. You understand why someone who could remain in it would be able to live indefinitely. But its probably conditioned, in the sense that the others must have their field of activity too, otherwise the progress wouldnt be general. But anyway, its nothing really transcendent, its just interesting.
***
(Soon afterwards, Satprem proposes to Mother the publication of a few brief extracts from the previous and very interesting conversation on illnesses in Notes on the Way, a new series started in the Ashrams Bulletin on Satprems insistence. In fact, Satprem wanted the Ashram to benefit a little from the treasure of Mothers experienceat least a few drops of it. It was those Notes on the Way that were, after Mothers departure, cooly and fraudulently renamed Mothers Agenda by the heads of the Ashram in the hope of stealing the title, throwing people into confusion, and preventing at any cost the integral publication of the real Agenda, which they dared to declare not genuine, so afraid were they of Mothers clear perception of the people around her and of the Ashram in general. Satprem remembers how much he had to insist with Mother to be allowed to publish those Notes on the Way. Her reluctance is now easier to understand.)
I wondered if we couldnt use the last conversation for the next Notes on the Way?
Its unpublishable. It goes in the Agenda.
Why? Would it create a revolution among doctors?
Yes. Oh, it would make a row!
Its really too bad we cant publish it.
Its too belligerent. And also far too personal. Oh, it would be the origin of endless stories, of the spread of numberless legends; and in America, in Africa, in England and elsewhere, all sorts of stories will be told about all sorts of illnesses I haveit will make endless tales. Its impossible.
I cant tell anything about myself, except perhaps one sentenceeven when one sentence appears in the Bulletin, what a to-do it makes! It always makes an interminable to-do for me.
I understand, but its a pity!
Later, later. Not now.
Because those questions of illness are so much part of this yoga.
Oh, I know that very well, I know, but not now: later.
People make too many personal stories out of what I say; you know, the anecdote about the guru, as you read them in books.
Theyre silly!
Yes, but (laughing) what can you do? Theyre silly, thats not so easy to cure!
I agree, its perfectly stupid, but Ah, lets take up Savitri.
Mother's translation.
***
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