The 'psychological preparation' of Satprem for his role as The Mother's confidant, as She narrated her experiences of the 'yoga of the cells' from 1951-1973.
This first volume is mostly what could be called the "psychological preparation" of Satprem. Mother's confidant had to be prepared, not only to understand the evolutionary meaning of Mother's discoveries, to follow the tenuous thread of man's great future unravelled through so many apparently disconcerting experiences - which certainly required a steady personal determination for more than 19 years! - but also, in a way, he had to share the battle against the many established forces that account for the present human mode of being and bear the onslaught of the New Force. Satprem - "True Love" - as Mother called him, was a reluctant disciple. Formed in the French Cartesian mold, a freedom fighter against the Nazis and in love with his freedom, he was always ready to run away, and always coming back, drawn by a love greater than his love for freedom. Slowly she conquered him, slowly he came to understand the poignant drama of this lone and indomitable woman, struggling in the midst of an all-too-human humanity in her attempt to open man's golden future. Week after week, privately, she confided to him her intimate experiences, the progress of her endeavour, the obstacles, the setbacks, as well as anecdotes of her life, her hopes, her conquests and laughter: she was able to be herself with him. He loved her and she trusted him. It is that simple.
When a question is put to me, the answer does not come from a will; what happens is that materials come which I then use to give shape to the answer, but it's only a shape. The thing itself is there, but it needs to be shaped. The difference between one and the other is rather like the difference between a picture and an apparition.
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Sometimes the Force comes direct. And it picks up words, any words at all, that makes no difference; the nature of the words changes, and they become expressive BECAUSE of the power entering into them. This happens when I look directly at the thing.
But when a question is put to me, it comes coated with all the mental atmosphere of whoever is asking the question. And this coating is often a mere reflection—much of the life has been removed.
The same thing occurs, there is the same difference, when I say something and when I see it (for example, when I look at one of those essential problems that will be solved only when the world changes). When I look at that in silence, there is a power of life and truth—which evaporates when it's put into words. It becomes diminished, impoverished and of course distorted. When you write or speak, the experience disintegrates, it's inevitable.
We need a new language.
For instance, if I have a vision (not a vision with pictures, not that, but something without any form or sound or words or ... the THING itself, when I live the thing), and then later I speak of it to someone ... I have a very tangible feeling of having to pull something to make it visible, perceptible and communicable—the splendor goes.
We need new organs of expression... It will come.
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