Mother’s Agenda 1966

November 26, 1966

(Mother looks very tired. This morning she did not eat anything nor did she receive anyone. When Satprem comes in, she gives him flowers and soup packets received from Israel:)

But you are the one who doesn't eat!

I didn't feel like it. Yet these soups are about the only thing I

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take.... But you understand, I don't do any exercise, the whole day long I stay without moving, so I really shouldn't overeat!

But the body still needs to be nourished, doesn't it?

I don't know.... Because attacks multiply tremendously, and today, for instance, I found only one solution, which was to stay lying down: while it was going on, not to eat anything, not to say anything, not to move. Then it's all right. As soon as I stop moving, eating, acting, it's all right.

It's been a long time since these attacks last came. I told you several times that I was able to resist the attack, but this time, this morning, it was formidable. Formidable. It was exactly like this Gentleman [Death] trying to uproot everything. So I resisted and resisted, then suddenly... it could no longer walk, I had to lie down and stay still. And also not eat—I didn't feel like eating. I can eat only when everything is fine.

As soon as there is stillness and contemplation, it's fine.

(silence)

No, there is an insistence (the same insistence as this Gentleman's, at any rate) on the impossibility of the thing, and it gives such obvious proof.... Naturally, the inside doesn't budge, it smiles—it doesn't budge—but the body... that gives it terrible tension. Because it's very conscious of its infirmity (it can't boast of being transformed), very conscious that it's millions of miles away from transformation. So... so it doesn't take much to convince it. What's more difficult is to give it the certitude that things will be different. It doesn't even understand very well how they can be different. Then there come all other beliefs, all other so-called revelations, the heavens and so on. The whole of Christianity and Islam have very easily solved the problem: "Oh, no, things here will never be fine, but over there they can be perfect." That goes without saying. Then there is the whole of Nirvanism and Buddhism: "The world is an error that must disappear." So it all comes in waves, and the body feels very... you understand, it would like to have a certitude of its possibility. That doesn't often happen to it. But the attack was too strong; it was from everything and everywhere at the same time, so strong: "This Matter CANNOT be transformed." So it fought and fought and fought, and suddenly it was obliged to lie down. But as soon as it lies down and abandons

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itself completely, there is Peace, and such a strong Peace—so strong, so powerful. Then it's fine.

It came with hosts of suggestions (they aren't suggestions: they are formations), adverse formations of disorganization; like, for instance the one C. [one of Mother's attendants, who has just fallen ill] received. I was warned two days beforehand and tried my best: I couldn't—I couldn't, he gave way. So now it's dragging on and on (the doctor himself says there's no reason for it to last so long), it's dragging on because he gave way. So all that must be slowly won back. And it comes to everyone, to every circumstance—not to me, never to me because it has no effect on me: if the suggestion comes, I say, "So what! I don't care." So it doesn't try, it's useless. But it comes to everyone, to disorganize everything and everyone, one after another. This morning, it was everybody at the same time, a complete disorganization of everything. I resisted and resisted and resisted, then suddenly something... (Mother makes a gesture). So the body said, "All right."

If I stay still, it's over. I skipped a meal. The doctor is unhappy, but (laughing) it makes ME happy! Meals are work (a lot of work).

It's the first time this year it has happened to me. Previously, it used to happen fairly often, but it's the first time this year. It shows that, all the same, things are improving.... Oh, but it was terrible, people can't imagine what it is! It takes hold of everyone and everybody, every circumstance and everything, and it gives shape to disintegration—quite like this Gentleman (I think he's the one!), quite like him. But it doesn't have the poetic form [of Savitri], of course, it's not a poet: it has all the meanness of life. And it insists on that a great deal. These last few days it insisted on it a great deal. I said to myself, "See, all that is written and said is always in a realm of beauty and harmony and greatness, and, anyway, the problem is put with dignity; but as soon as it becomes quite practical and material, it's so petty, so mean, so narrow, so ugly!..." That's the proof. When you get out of it, it's all right, you can face all problems, but when you come down here, it's so ugly, so petty, so miserable.... We are such slaves to our needs, oh!... For one hour, two hours, you hold on, and after... And it's true, physical life is ugly—not everywhere, but anyway... I always think of plants and flowers: that's really lovely, it's free from that; but human life is so sordid, with such crude and imperious needs—it's so sordid.... It's only when you begin to live in a slightly superior vision that you become free from that; in all the Scriptures, very few people accept the sordidness of life. And of

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course, that's what this Gentleman insists on. I said, "Very well." This body's answer is very simple: "We certainly aren't anxious that life should continue as it is." It doesn't find it very pretty. But we conceive of a life—a life as objective as our material life—which wouldn't have all these sordid needs, which would be more harmonious and spontaneous. That's what we want. But he says it's impossible—we have been "told" it's not only possible but certain. So there's the battle.

Then comes the great argument: "Yes, yes, one day it will be, but when?... For the time being you are still swamped in all this and you plainly see it can't change. It will go on and on. In millennia, yes, it will be." That's the ultimate argument. He no longer denies the possibility, he says, "All right, because you have caught hold of something, you're hoping to realize it now, but that's childishness."

So the body itself says, "But of course, I certainly accept that, I perfectly understand! That's not what I want; I don't want this thing or that: I simply want what the Lord wants, nothing else—what He has decided will be. When He says it's over, it will be over; if He says it is to go on, it will go on." But then, as this Gentleman can't have his way like this, it comes from every side: this or that individual, this or that thing, that circumstance, all of it, all of it is going to be disorganized. Then I start working [to thwart the attack].

Today it was really very clever—very clever. He is very clever.

He is a big joker.

There.

So I haven't done my work, haven't done a thing. But I decided I would see you—not to work but to see you.

(silence)

To protect others, it's very effective, because I start working and struggling. The only argument for this body is: "You plainly see it goes on deteriorating, so what are you hoping for?... It will go on deteriorating until it stops."

But if one looks at it without prejudice, quite objectively, it's only an appearance of deterioration: it's not true. On the contrary, on certain points it's much more solid than it used to be.

The most important point is what we could call the "unreality of deterioration," in other words, everything that isn't harmonious or is disorganized increasingly gives the sense of an illusion—it's increasingly an illusion—and the sense that a certain inner

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movement of consciousness would be enough for that not to be.

There, the problem comes up again. Because there are various detailed experiences (in tiny details), detailed experiences of different attitudes of consciousness to find out which of them is effective. It's a whole field of study. It's microscopic, of course, but extremely interesting. And then, the answer is always the same; it's so lovely: "When you forget that you are, when there only remains the Lord, all difficulties instantly disappear." Instantly: the previous second, the difficulty was there; the next second, gone. But it's not something that can be done artificially; it's not some mental or personal will to take this attitude: it must be spontaneous. And when it's spontaneous, then all difficulties INSTANTLY disappear.

Stop existing—the Lord alone exists.

And it's the only remedy.

But how to do this?... You understand, surrender, self-giving, acceptance, all that is really being done more and more, better and better, but it's not enough—it's not enough. That's the point. Even the attempt of the consciousness to center on the Lord's existence and to try and forget, even that isn't enough. It has some effect, but a mixed one: that's not "it." But when you succeed in... ceasing to exist—the Lord alone—instantly there's a glory, that's what is marvelous!

But it's difficult. There is a very old habit that makes it be otherwise.

Yet it's the only remedy, there is no other. It's not even a surrender (the word "surrender" isn't the true one because there is still "something surrendering," and that's not it), it's not even an annihilation because nothing is annihilated.... I can't explain: only the Lord exists, nothing else. And then, what a marvel! Instantly a marvel.

And in microscopic details, you know; it's not a question of "important" or "interesting" things, nothing of the sort: it applies to a cellular action. And it's the only remedy.

When will Matter be ready for "that"? That's the question.

Inwardly it's easy, but outwardly... There is all of a sudden, especially in the brain's matter, here (gesture to the temples), that movement of descent, of the Lord taking possession, and then outwardly you feel as if you're fainting. That's why you can't remain standing and have to lie down; but when you lie down, it's almost instantaneous, everything disappears: the sense of time, of difficulty, absolutely everything—there only remains a luminous

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immensity, peaceful and so strong!

That's the day's lesson.

(Mother laughs) Good, we have taken one more step—a big step.