It's neither life nor death.. BOTH are being changed.. into something still unknown.. dangerous and wonderful. On Nov 17, 1973, she left her body - why?
"Before dying falsehood rises in full swing. Still people understand only the lesson of catastrophe. Will it have to come before they open their eyes?" This is the year of Watergate, of Nixon's first trip to China, the assassination of the Israeli athletes in Munich, the first oil embargo. This is Mother's last lap. A lap strewn with heartrending little cries and stunning visions. The end of one world, the beginning of another.... whether we want it or not. "Sometimes, it is so new and unexpected, it's almost painful." And I would ask her, "But is it a state outside matter?" "I don't go outside of physical life, but.... it looks different. But it is strange. And it is PHYSICAL, that is the extraordinary thing! As if the physical had split in two.... A new state in matter. And it is ruled by something that is not the sun, I don't know what it is.... I am touching another world. Another way of being.... dangerous but wonderful." How I listened to her little breath as she gasped for air, a breath that seemed to come from another side of the world: "There is no difference between life and death. It's neither life nor death, it is.... something. It is not the disappearance of death you understand: BOTH are being changed.... into something still unknown, which seems at once extremely dangerous and absolutely wonderful." And what if "death" were merely the other, MATERIAL side of our human bowl, the sunlit shore for a species to come? A new condition on both sides of the world, in which life and death change into.... something else? "I am treading a very thin and narrow line...." And then this cry, this entreaty: "Let me do the work!" On November 17, 1973, she passed away - why?
(Mother has just spent an hour and fifteen minutes eating her "breakfast.")
Do you have something?
No, nothing in particular, Mother.
Then I'll give you only ten minutes. Something strange is happening which I don't understand—and it's getting stronger and stronger: it took me more than an hour to eat my breakfast, yet when I started I told myself: I must finish this in twenty minutes. And I really thought I had finished in twenty minutes!
Time... I have completely lost the sense of time.
I was convinced I had finished in twenty minutes and it took me more than an hour—to eat nothing!
I take a bite or a sip, and then ten minutes, twenty minutes go by (gesture showing the glass or spoon in midair while Mother goes off) ... I don't know where, I don't know what.
But what's extraordinary is the disparity: usually I don't think about the time, but since it was your day and it was already late, I told myself: I must finish in twenty minutes—and it took me more than an hour!
There's something there I must understand. Clearly, the standard of time changes. But it's very impractical.
But is this consciousness you go into... (what's the word?) active or immobile?
(Mother closes her eyes for a moment) I feel I am in a light. A light that's....
If I go into it, it will last an hour!
The same at night: I don't sleep; at first, as I lie in bed, I have a pain here, a pain there.... Then I enter the consciousness where pain disappears, and suddenly I wake up (I am not "asleep," I am in... a light, a formless light), with the impression I've been in bed an hour, while in actuality it was five or six.
I just go into... (Mother closes her eyes) oh, I tell you it can last... I have but to do this (Mother closes her eyes) ... I could keep you here for an hour and not know it!
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But today I am so late I shouldn't keep you.
I regret it; but something has to be found.
But is this light active? Or are you just....
Oh, yes! It does PLENTY of things.... But not, not in the usual way. It's....
(Mother closes her eyes for a moment)
Did you feel something?
Yes, Mother!1
Well, that's how it is. And hours go by unnoticed.
One day I must take you there with me.
Yes, Mother.
Not today. But one day when I am not late, we'll go there together, and perhaps you'll know. Yes.
One must be patient, mon petit.
(Satprem hands Mother a garland of "Aspiration")
Oh, how nice it smells!
What day is today?
Saturday.
What date is next Wednesday?
The 6th, Mother.
The 6th, there will be a lot of people probably....
And the 9th there's also a meditation.
So we'll have to postpone it for the week after. What date will that be?
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December 13.
(To the attendant:) Put as few people as possible on the 13th.
(The attendant:) I don't put anyone!
I want to try an experiment.
(The attendant:) I won't put anyone... extra.
Good. So let's be patient!
(Satprem rests his forehead on Mother's lap)
It's completely, completely new.... Something completely new, which I don't understand.
We'll see. I would be interested to do it with you and see your sensation. But we must wait a little.
Au revoir, then.
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