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.
(Letter to Mother from Satprem)
Pondicherry, March 7, 1960
Mother,
Here is the letter from the publisher. All comes from you, all is yours.
May I always serve you.
With love.
Your child,
Signed: Satprem
ÉDITIONS DU SEUIL
Paris, March 1, 1960
Dear Satprem,
Publisher and friend are here one in telling you that L'Orpailleur is a beautiful book whose richness and force have struck me even more this time than before when I read the first version. I cannot tell you how much your Job is my brother—in his darkness as in his light. The joy, the wild, irrepressible joy that furtively yearns and at times bursts forth, embracing all, this joy at the heart of the book burns the reader—for a few, in any case, who are prepared to be inflamed. In the end, I can't say if L'Orpailleur will or will not be noticed, if the critics will or will not bestow an article, a comment, an echo upon it, if bookstores will or will not 'sell' it (poor orpailleur!). But what I know is that for a few readers—2, 3, 10 perhaps—your book will be the cry that will rip them from their sleep forever. To your song, another song in themselves will respond. Where, how shall this concert finish? Who knows—anything is possible!
My words are a bit disjointed—but I'm not in the mood to give an articulate discourse. Which is a way of saying, once again, how happy I am—and grateful.
With my warmest regards,
Signed: M.C.
Page 360
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