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.
I see Z every day, yet he asked me, 'Why do you do nothing for me?'!! 'Each time you come here,' I told him, 'I am NECESSARILY doing something for you, it cannot be otherwise!' But since it's just a part of his work,1 it doesn't count!
Of course, I don't say, 'All right, now let's meditate! ...' So on his birthday I'll have to sit down and tell him, 'Now we are going to meditate'—that way he'll feel sure. What childishness!
It's so funny—the thing in itself doesn't exist for people. What's important to them is their attitude towards the thing, what they think of it. How odd!
Each thing carries within itself its own truth—its absolute truth, so luminous and so clear. And if you are in contact with THAT, then everything falls into place so wonderfully; but men are NOT in contact with that, they are always in contact through their thought: what they think of something, what they feel about something, the meaning they attach to it (or sometimes it's worse)—but the highest they go is always the thought they have of it. That's what creates all this mixture and all this disorder—things in themselves are very good, and then they get confused.
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