Mother’s Agenda 1965

March 24, 1965

Anything new?

Sujata had rather a bad dream: she came into a house which some people were supposed to keep a watch on, to protect, but no one had kept watch and so enemies had got inside. Sujata entered the house and found a room in which Sri Aurobindo was, and Sri Aurobindo's foot had been injured—he was groaning. He had been hurt by the adversaries that had been allowed to enter the house. Seeing Sri Aurobindo injured, she ran off to fetch you.

Maybe it's quite simply the image of what happened on February 11?

The foot means something physical.

I think that's what it is, just the symbolic image of what happened.

It's not something that will go on?

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A premonition? No.

It's the symbolic form of what occurred.

I told you my dream in which I was different parts of Sri Aurobindo's body.... The foot is his physical action through certain people or through the Ashram or through me.

I don't think it is serious. It's the image of what occurred, recorded somewhere.

(silence)

There is a rather curious development. For some time now, but more and more precisely, when I hear something, when someone reads something to me or I listen to some music or am told of some event, immediately something vibrates: the origin of the activity or the level on which it's taking place or the origin of the inspiration is automatically translated as a vibration in one of the centers. And then, depending on the quality of the vibration, it's something constructive or negative; and when at some point it makes contact, however slightly, with a domain of Truth, there is... (how can I explain?) like the spark of a vibration of Ananda. And the thought is absolutely silent, still, nothing—nothing (Mother opens her hands Upward in a gesture of complete offering). But this perception is growing increasingly precise. And that's how I know: I know the source of the inspiration, where the action is located and the quality of the thing.

What precision! Oh, an infinitesimal precision, in the details.

For instance, the first time I felt this in a clear way was when I heard Sunil's music on The Hour of God; that was the first time, and at the time I didn't know it was something completely organized, a sort of organization of experience. But now, after all these months, it has become classified, and it gives me an absolutely certain indication, which doesn't correspond to any active thought or any active will—I am simply an infinitely sensitive instrument for receiving vibrations. That's how I know where things come from. There is no thought. That's how the vibration of Sujata's dream came to me (Mother gestures down, below her feet): it was in the realm of the subconscient. So I knew it was a recording.

And the other day, when Nolini read me his article, it was neutral (vague gesture to a medium height), neutral all the time, and then, suddenly, a spark of Ananda; that's what made me appreciate it. And when you read me just now that text by Y., when she expressed her experience of the sunrise, there was a little beam of light (gesture to the throat level), so I knew. A pleasant beam of

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light—not Ananda, but a pleasant light here (same gesture), so I knew there was something there, that she had touched something.

And there are degrees in quality, you know, it's almost infinite.

It's the means given me to appreciate the position of things.

And completely, completely outside thought. The thought comes AFTER. For instance, for this dream, when you asked me the question, I said, "Logically, since the vibration is here (indicates below the feet), it must be a memory." And with a kind of certainty because... because the perception is perfectly impersonal.

It's an extraordinarily sensitive mechanism, and with an almost infinite field of receptivity (gesture of gradation).

My means of knowing people now is also like that. But for a long time now, when I see a photograph, for instance, it hasn't been going through thought at all; there are neither deductions nor intuitions: the photograph causes a vibration somewhere. And funny things happen, too; the other day, they gave me the photograph of a person, so I have a very clear perception: from the place that is touched, from the vibration that responds, I know that this man is used to handling ideas and that he has the self-assurance of someone who teaches. I ask (just to see), "What does this man do?" They tell me, "He is a businessman." I said, "Well, he isn't made to be a businessman, he doesn't know the first thing about business!" And three minutes after, they tell me, "Oh, excuse me, I am sorry, I made a mistake, he is a teacher"! (Mother laughs) That's how it is.

And it's constant, constant.

It is the appreciation of the world, of the vibrations of the world.

That's why I asked you just now to give me your hands—why? Precisely to see the vibration. Well, I felt what in English they call a sort of dullness, and I said to myself: something is wrong.

And no thought, nothing: simply vibrations.

So, what's wrong?!... (Mother laughs while looking at Satprem) Yes, that's it, it's a sort of "dullness."

Yes, I am quite submerged in matter.

That's right.

It's no joke.

No, but don't you want to get out of it?

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Oh, I am assailed! And then, my body also doesn't help me much.

Oh, no, the body never helps. Now I am convinced of it. You can, to some extent, help your body (not to a great extent, but up to a point, anyway), you can help your body, but the body doesn't help you. Its vibration is at ground level, always.

Yes, it's heavy.

Without exception. Without exception, it brings you down, and above all it's something that makes you dull, so dull—something that doesn't vibrate.

It's heavy.

But with this sadhana I am doing, there are some threads that lead you along, and I have some sentences by Sri Aurobindo.... For the other sadhanas, I was used to it: all that he said was clear, it showed the way, you didn't have to look for it. But here, he didn't do it; he only said or made certain remarks now and then, and those remarks are helpful to me. (There is also my meeting him at night, but I don't want to count too much on that, because... you grow too anxious for the contact, and that spoils everything.) There are in that way several remarks that have remained with me and are, yes, like leading threads. For instance, "Endure... endure."

Let us assume you have a pain somewhere; the instinct (the instinct of the body, of the cells) is to tense up and try to reject—which is the worst thing to do: it invariably increases the pain. So the first thing that must be taught to the body is to stay still—not to have any reactions. Above all no tensing up, and not even a movement of rejection—a perfect stillness. That's corporeal equanimity.

A perfect stillness.

After perfect stillness, there is the movement of inner aspiration (I am always referring to the aspiration of the cells—I am using words to describe something wordless, but there is no other way to express oneself), the surrender, that is to say, the SPONTANEOUS AND TOTAL acceptance of the supreme Will (which is unknown to us). Does the total Will want things to go this way or that way, that is, towards the disintegration of certain elements or towards...? And then again, there are endless nuances: there is the passage

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from one height to another (I am speaking of cellular realizations, of course, don't forget that), I mean that you have a certain inner equilibrium, an equilibrium of movement, of life, and it's understood that in order to go from one movement to a higher movement, there is almost always a descent, then a new ascent—there is a transition. So does the shock received impel you to go down in order to climb up again, or does it impel you do go down in order to abandon old movements? Because there are cellular ways of being that have to disappear in order to give way to others; there are others that climb down in order to climb up again with a higher harmony and organization. This is the second point. And you should wait and see WITHOUT POSTULATING IN ADVANCE what has to be. There is especially, of course, the desire: the desire to be comfortable, the desire to be in peace and all that—that must cease absolutely and disappear. You must be absolutely without any reaction, like this (gesture of immobile offering Upward, palms open). And then, when you are like that ("you," meaning the cells), after a while the perception comes of the category the movement belongs to, and you just have to follow the perception, whether it is that something must disappear and be replaced by something else (which one doesn't know yet), or whether it is that something must be transformed.

And so forth. And it's like that all the time.

Let me give you an example to make it a little clearer: I constantly have what's conventionally called a "toothache" (it doesn't correspond to anything in reality, but anyway people call it "having a toothache"). I had difficulty eating, a congestion, and so on. The attitude: you endure—you endure to the point when you don't even notice that things are going wrong. You endure, but you are aware (and besides, the external signs are there: a swelling of the gums, etc.). There was a period (it's been in that state for a long time, but anyway), a period that began with a first swelling, in December—control, work, etc., all the necessary inner precautions. Then one observes the movement; "one" wants to know where it leads, what it is (it's a long story, quite uninteresting—interesting only because it is instructive). And two nights ago, the situation was apparently the same as usual, the same thing, when suddenly there was a will to stay awake, not to sleep, and then I had the clear perception of a congestion and that it was becoming necessary to take out those things (bits of tooth that were moving—they were moving now more, now less, but it began in December), to take them out in order to let the congestion out. Previously, too, bits of tooth had moved, and one day they had come out by themselves,

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without difficulty—when the time had come for them to go, they had gone; so I remembered that: why not wait for that moment? That was the attitude for a long time. And then the cells were curiously shrinking back from a very close contact with something [a dentist] that wasn't in complete harmony with the directing force of the body. This is how, in common language, it was translated: T. (who is very nice, no question of that) doesn't know either the habits or the reactions or the type of vibration or what's necessary—she doesn't know anything. So how to make contact? Two nights ago, this came to me clearly: this is what you must tell her (and the exact words of the letter to be written), and you MUST send for her tomorrow morning. Then everything fell quiet, it was over, I went on with my night as usual, as every night. The next morning, I wrote what had been decided and she came; and, well, when she came she knew what she had to know and she did exactly what had to be done. She even said, "I will do only what you tell me to do."

And I will add a detail (not a very pleasant one, but it gives the measure of the truth): there were two bits of tooth she had to extract; first she extracted one, and it was just about normal, then she pulled the second one out, and there was a sort of hemorrhage: a huge quantity of blood had accumulated, thick and black—the blood of a dangerous congestion. But I had felt it (there was a pain in the brain, a pain in the ear, a pain...), and I thought, "That's not good, I should take care." The body was conscious that something was amiss. And quite an unusual hemorrhage. I even remarked to T., "It's good it came out." She said, "Oh, yes!"

All this to tell you that the thought is absolutely still, everything takes place directly: questions of vibrations. Well, that's the only way to know what has to be done. If it goes through the mind—especially through that physical thought, which is absolutely idiotic, absolutely—you can't know; as long as that works, you are always driven to do what you shouldn't do, particularly to have the wrong reaction: the reaction that helps the forces of disorder and darkness instead of contradicting them. And I am not talking about anxiety because it's a long, a very long time since my body stopped having any anxiety—a long time, years—but anxiety is like swallowing a cup of poison.

This is what is called physical yoga.

To get over all that. And the only way to do it is for all, every one of the cells, every second, to be (gesture of immobile offering Upward) in an adoration, an aspiration—an adoration, an aspiration, an adoration, an aspiration.... And nothing else. Then, after

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a time, there is joy, too, and then it ends with blissful trust. When that trust is established, everything will be fine. But... it's much easier said than done. Only, for the moment, I am convinced that it is the only way, there is no other.

There. Give your hands....