Mother’s Agenda 1969

November 5, 1969

(The conversation begins an hour and a half late.)

To tell the truth, I don't know what to do.... On Wednesdays and Saturdays, I keep things to a minimum, that is to say, I turn down more than half the people. And this is how it is. And the other days, sometimes I keep working till noon. It has become...

Yet I start early But the requests [to see Mother] come to me through at least one, two, three, four... eight people: each of them brings requests. So there would be only one way, that's to have several bodies!

I wanted to tell you something amusing. You know that I haven't played [music] there for two years—impossible. The other day it was Sunil's birthday, and he told me, "Oh, you should play something to me for January 1st." I said, "I'll try." I went there, sat down,

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and my hands started playing. For a few minutes, I didn't hear a single sound of what I was playing! Then, little by little, the sound came, and I played for some ten minutes. And it came all by itself, as if I had last played yesterday!... So I complimented my body! I said to it, "It's fine." I was happy because I thought, "It hasn't lost"—it was easier than the last times I played! It came like this (dancing gesture), it was having fun finding the notes.

And someone played, I don't know who—not someone human. It consoled me somewhat! (Mother laughs)

It was better than the last time,¹ because there was no idea that I COULD do anything, the body was certain that it couldn't do anything at all, that it must have got out of the habit, but once I found myself seated, the hands started playing....

It seems to be more and more, "What You will I do." That's the body's attitude. The body says, "What You will I do."

So from that point of view, it's not going backward: it's going forward.

As far as organizing is concerned, I've lost control—I've lost control, everyone has taken control!... I've given up saying "I want," completely.

And I clearly see that everyone is harassed, the requests come by the twenty, twenty-five, thirty at one go. So we cut down on that as much as we can. And I had positively said (I insisted, and I repeat it at every opportunity) that on Wednesdays and Saturdays, I don't want to see many people.... I said, "I have work to do, I can't."

But I do understand: everyone is harassed. They bring me piles of requests—I turn down as many as I can.

There's something to be found.

What if I called you early?

Whatever is convenient to you.

There's no "convenience" for me.

Yes, there are conditions: these conversations, as I understand, can really be what they should be only if you have a minimum of really empty time when you aren't pressed by anything, so you can go into an experience.

That I can do any time.

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Yes, but still there's a minimum....

No.

Because how many times have you told me, "Oh, I had something to tell you, now it's gone away," how many times!

No, those were experiences that no longer seemed to me worth saying. No, that's not it—the state is immutable, mon petit, twenty-four hours a day.

Yes, the state is unchanging, but to express your experience you need a minimum of availability. When you are harassed at 11:30, it's clearly not the right moment.

No, if I had something to say, I would say it. See, I've told you the story of Sunil—I would say it. No, what I have to say isn't... There's a curve, and at the moment, there are some very, very contradictory things present and active: an increase of trust and a decrease of trust—both at the same time.

I get some very impertinent letters from people asking me why I did this or why I did that (I'm absolutely indifferent to it: when I read that, I laugh—it's all the same to me), but I see, I see the atmosphere: there's a progression of trust and dependence, a very rapid and great progression. And there is at the same time... all the little egos which rebel and are furious! But it's very good because it comes from the Pressure of the Consciousness that wants things to be... open.

For instance, some people had rancor for a long time, without saying anything—they are forced to say it. That's how it is. There's a very strong pressure for the transformation. And naturally, that's why I am flooded with people.... Because there's one point on which I don't yield, it's the hours of so-called sleep; from 8 at night till about 8 in the morning, it makes twelve hours during which the inner work can be done, and that I don't want to touch. Of course, twelve hours is a lot: it's half of the day So the other twelve hours, it's an avalanche. But I am holding on to that, because those are the hours when the most important work is done. (It's a little less, it's really like that between 9 and 5 in the morning, rather; that's really when the work is concentrated on the transformation.) It's not that the rest of the time is a denial, not at all: that state of consciousness is immutable. Basically, I don't think there are many

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minutes, even in a day's twenty-four hours, when the body isn't conscious of the divine Presence—that's how the body is. But the daytime hours are spent in action, they're for others; the night hours are for its own transformation.

So these hours of action are like that.... Every day, I see at least three or four people whom it was quite unnecessary to see; so that's noted, but it's not a lot; for most people, something is done, it's really something getting done. It stirs, you understand—it stirs. At times, there are even quite astonishing things.

So what should we do?

Only, I'd like... I said, "There are only two days a week when I ask to have at least one quiet hour so as to do some work...." I don't know what I should do. I cut down as much as I can, but it keeps coming and coming all the time. And many things that should be done aren't done.

I don't know what to do. I'd really like... I consider it should be at least one hour, a minimum of one hour, twice a week. I made that resolve long ago.

I could fix it an hour earlier, but then all the people would be waiting and pressing.

It's not for myself.

I know.

It's more for what we do that I find it sad.²

Yes, I know very well.

It's noon.

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