July 13, 1963
I receive letters from everywhere, from Argentina, Canada and so on, from people I don't know but who are really sweet. Listen to this one (Mother takes a letter from beside her), it's from the mother of Z, who is here: If I were within walking distance of you, I would pick a rose, not yet full bloomed, laden and fragrant, to lay at your feet. This sounds like a love letter – well, it is! My son has been trying to teach me through you that all letters should be love letters.... It's lovely. So I replied like this: Indeed, all life is love if we know how to live it.
And then Nolini told me...
(Mother relates some Ashram affairs)
...The Force seems to act more strongly at a distance than near at hand – it's odd. That is to say, it catches hold of people and won't let go of them. Naturally, near at hand, there is always in me the constant will not to influence: to act without influencing, allowing a total freedom. And that... to tell the truth, people aren't ready for it. Yet that's how I understand things! I have the feeling that the world cannot be true unless it's absolutely free.
And the more power you have, the less you should influence.
But it [the will not to influence] is probably in my very material consciousness, so at a distance it doesn't count: people are caught, seized, held tight, and the Force won't let go of them. Very interesting.
(Then Mother tells about X's visit)
I gave him his “bath of the Lord”!
It was very interesting. I had to see someone before him, and I wanted enough time to prepare the atmosphere, but it didn't last too long. Then “it” condensed and accumulated. It made an absolutely still atmosphere, with only the internal vibration – I don't know how to explain.... I've said this a few times already: there is a Force which doesn't move and consequently can be said to be absolutely still, yet has an INNER intensity of vibration far more considerable than the vibration of motion. And it's a PALE golden light: it isn't white at all, it's golden. But not an intense gold: a pale color. It filled everything (there were no more walls in the room), and it was condensed, so condensed, as if... tight as if... under pressure, you know. There was nothing left but the inner vibration.
He came in, and there was only the ripple of his coming in. It took him maybe a minute or two to adapt. I don't know what his first impression was, but he looked visibly somewhat embarrassed – not ill at ease, but almost surprised, as if wondering, “What's going on?” Then after not even two minutes, he made his usual movement and stayed exactly twenty-two minutes without ANYTHING stirring. Nothing stirred. The atmosphere was absolutely still, without a thought, a movement, a reaction or anything.
Afterwards there came from outside the thought that the time was up (I had asked C. to open the door, and it hadn't opened yet), it made a slight disturbance, and it came precisely from where C. must have been. Then I saw that the door was open: it was twenty-two minutes later. So I looked at X once or twice and he opened his eyes.
I must say it's exceptional.
For five minutes, ten minutes (with one or two people I even went to a little over ten minutes), it happened that everything stayed like that, absolutely motionless: not a thought, you understand, nothing. The atmosphere was well prepared, but generally it doesn't last with people, even the best disposed in the world: after a while, they can't hold on – they can't bear it any more.
And the remarkable thing with him was the silence. The mental silence.
The other times, I told you, I more or less followed him to see what happened. The first time I saw him here [in the upper room], his aspiration rose in a cone, but a cone that was a little rigid and with a spiritual silver light that gave a feeling of... (what shall I say?) a commonplace light, I don't know how to explain... something very common, nothing exceptional. It was like a cone, tapering to a pointed tip, a very pointed tip ending in a nonexistent point – a nonexistence. It wasn't very satisfying. But this time... As a matter of fact, that was why I wanted to prepare the atmosphere, I wanted to see. It was good.
A little later
So what do you bring me?
A letter from the publisher.
Here's what he says:
“I must now bring myself to write to you. With regret and sadness, I confess, since it is to inform you that we do not think it possible to publish your book ‘Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness.’ I confess that what prevented me from writing to you earlier is not so much the fear of causing you pain, for you are able to rise above the shock such news cannot but cause, as the fact that I knew it would be impossible to explain our reasons to you. Frankly, we cannot really understand this book. And how to explain the reasons for not understanding something? As for me, I often had the feeling of passing from one plane to another, from the level of fact to that of conjecture, from the level of logic (with defined terms as a starting point) to that of presupposition (within a coherence unconnected with the knowledge you offer). I know that all this is disputable. I also know or guess that behind those pages lies an entire lived experience, but one doesn't feel the reader can participate in it. For what reason? Once again, I cannot say. The reader's blindness, quite possibly. The mind's limitation, too. But a book must build a bridge, pierce the screen, and there are doubtless cases in which doing so no longer depends on the author. I must therefore return this manuscript to you.”
He's all at sea. It's very funny!
It doesn't matter at all.
Yes, it means the book is really very good.
I had a feeling Sri Aurobindo put a lot of his force into it to make it a revelation – a lot. And I became convinced that my impression was correct when Pavitra told me it had opened some doors to him that had never opened before. But that means it has to be read by people who already know a lot. This book is perhaps a step forward, not merely an explanation.
We'll see in America; I think it will be a great success there.
There are fewer barriers there.
They're younger, that is. They're young and still feel they WANT to learn – they blunder, they make a mess of many things, but there remains that need to learn.
The French are a little stale.
They're caught in refined but terrible constructions.
Yes. And also they are too aware of being intelligent. They're imprisoned in intellectual castles!
I almost felt like sending my blessings to your publisher.... If he began to understand, it would be fun!
I'm not all that hopeful!
Do you think the cells aren't over there!
No, but there's their whole formation.
That's on another level.
It will come one day.
No, but I've had a contact.
Just now, as I spoke to you. That's why I told you I felt like sending him my blessings. “With my blessings THAT YOU MAY UNDERSTAND!”
Yes, suddenly a contact.
We'll witness some strange things – you can be sure of that.
The Force works in extraordinary ways.... I will tell you about that another time, not today.